(6 months ago)

  Inside a modest home, the flickering glow of lanterns cast warm light upon wooden walls. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered faintly, mingling with the crisp evening air that drifted in through the open window.

  A young girl twirled in place, her dress fanning out like a blooming flower. She beamed up at her father, her dark hair swaying with each excited movement.

  Alicia: Father! Look!

  Hirako glanced up from his seat, the usual sternness in his gaze softening as he took in his daughter’s enthusiasm.

  Hirako: Oh, you look beautiful, my dear. Are you going somewhere?

  Alicia nodded eagerly.

  Alicia: Yes! I’m going to the festival with Mother and my friends. Everyone’s going!

  The annual festival outside the royal capital was a grand affair. Lanterns floated in the night sky like fallen stars, music filled the streets, and laughter echoed through the air. It was the highlight of the year for many, especially children like Alicia.

  She looked at her father with hopeful eyes.

  Alicia: Will you come with me?

  Hirako’s smile wavered, a shadow crossing his face.

  Hirako: I’m sorry, Alicia. I have to go to the royal capital. Duty calls.

  Alicia’s face fell. She pouted, her arms crossing over her chest.

  Alicia: But all my friends are going with their parents…

  Hirako sighed, placing a firm but gentle hand on her head.

  Hirako: I’ll try my best to finish early. I’ll come before the festival ends. That’s a promise.

  Alicia studied him for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

  Alicia: Okay.

  Her mother entered the room then, adjusting a shawl around her shoulders.

  Mother: It’s time to leave, Alicia. We’ll be late.

  Hirako’s wife turned to him, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

  Mother: Take care, husband.

  Hirako nodded, watching as the two most important people in his life stepped through the door.

  That was the last time he saw them alive.

  Hours passed. The festival was at its peak, the streets alive with dazzling lights and the hum of celebration. Hirako had managed to conclude his business in the capital earlier than expected.

  He rode in a carriage, the cool night wind brushing against his face. The faint sound of festivities reached his ears, bringing a small sense of relief.

  Coachman: Sir, is it true about that cult?

  Hirako exhaled sharply.

  Hirako: That’s not something you need to worry about. We will deal with them soon enough.

  The Arcanors were already a looming threat, but now there were whispers of cults stirring in the shadows—fanatics devoted to an unknown cause.

  Coachman: Still, it’s unsettling. The Arcanors haven’t been seen in ten years, but people say the air feels different lately. It’s like…

  His words were cut short as the horses suddenly reared back, whinnying in panic. The carriage jolted violently.

  A distant explosion thundered across the night sky.

  Hirako’s stomach turned cold.

  Coachman: W-What was that?!

  Hirako: Where did it come from?!

  The coachman’s face was pale as he pointed ahead.

  Coachman: The festival.

  Hirako didn’t wait. In one swift motion, he grabbed a knife from his belt and severed the reins.

  Hirako: Give me your horse.

  The coachman, still dazed, scrambled off.

  Coachman: H-Hurry, sir! Take it!

  Hirako swung himself onto the horse’s back and spurred it forward.

  His pulse pounded in his ears.

  The night was no longer filled with music. It was filled with screams.

  The towering festival structures were collapsing, fire consuming them in hungry waves. Rides crumbled, lanterns exploded, and smoke swallowed the air. People ran in every direction, their faces twisted with terror. Those who fell were trampled, crushed beneath the chaos.

  Hirako arrived at the entrance, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  Hirako: Don’t panic! Bring water from the wells! Help those who can’t run!

  No one listened. Fear had taken over.

  He leapt from his horse and sprinted forward, shoving past the fleeing crowds, his eyes darting desperately from face to face.

  Alicia! Jona! Where are you?!

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  He called their names until his voice was hoarse.

  But there was no answer.

  The carriage rumbled to a stop. The silence felt deafening.

  Coachman: We have arrived, sir.

  Hirako exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair before stepping out.

  Hirako: Thank you for your help.

  The coachman gave a small nod.

  Coachman: It’s the least I can do, sir.

  With that, the carriage disappeared into the night, leaving Hirako standing at the gate of a grand estate.

  Two guards blocked his path.

  Guard: Who are you?

  Hirako: Tell him my name is Hirako. He will know who I am.

  A few minutes passed before the guard returned. Wordlessly, he opened the gate and gestured for Hirako to follow.

  Inside the guest chamber, Hirako sat on a cushioned chair, his fingers drumming against the table. He had no time for formalities.

  Then, the door creaked open.

  A young man entered. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his sharp features betraying nothing.

  Iris Hawke.

  He dismissed the guard with a glance before sitting across from Hirako.

  Iris: It’s been a while. Why are you here, old man?

  Hirako didn’t waste time.

  Hirako: I need your help. Save the boy.

  Iris leaned back, unimpressed.

  Iris: What boy?

  Hirako: You know who.

  Iris: The so-called spy?

  Hirako: He’s innocent. I know it.

  Iris: And you’re certain of that?

  Hirako: Yes.

  Iris: You’re too soft, Hirako. Maybe the boy fooled you.

  Hirako clenched his fists.

  Hirako: He reminds me of someone. The first time I met you… that same fire in his eyes. He doesn’t belong in that prison.

  Iris narrowed his eyes.

  Iris: That’s not enough reason for me to get involved.

  Hirako stood abruptly, his voice rough.

  Hirako: I believe in him, Iris. If you ever trusted me—just once—help him.

  For the first time, Iris hesitated.

  A long silence stretched between them before he exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple.

  Iris: Fine.

  Hirako’s shoulders eased slightly.

  Iris: Go home. I’ll bring him to you.

  Hirako didn’t thank him. He simply nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

  Because this wasn’t about gratitude.

  It was about redemption.

  (Scene change)

  Scene: Shinjiro with handcuffs ready to be thrown in the valley.

  (It was a small cliff leading to a forest but one could not know the depth as it was covered with dense fog . Even if someone fell down they would not die from the fall but from the beasts )

  Damian: Throw him!

  (The guards pick Shinjiro)

  Shinjiro: No! Please ! No!

  (The guards were struggling with Shinjiro)

  Damian: Do it!

  (After a lot of struggle they managed to throw him down)

  (Shinjiro landed on back and fainted)

  Shinjiro: (opens his eyes) I am alive. How?

  (He tries to stand up on his feet and runs towards the forest away from the cliff)

  Shinjiro: I was lucky. Thank you God. I can escape this hell finally.

  (Shinjiro hears a sound, a wolf grumbling his teeth. It looked like a wolf but it was bigger and more furious.)

  (Damian was standing on the cliff with the gaurds and Kaede)

  Damian: He must be dead by now.

  Kaede: Possibly.

  (Iris arrives)

  Iris: What are you people doing here?

  Damian: Why are you here?

  Iris: It’s my hunting ground.

  Kaede: It’s him. Iris Hawke, He is an Aetherblade.

  Iris: Do we have a problem here?

  Damian: It’s an execution ground. Come back later.

  Iris: I am going down.

  Damian: Didn’t you hear me?

  Iris: (stares at him) I did. You should shut up before you piss me off.

  Kaede: Mr. Damian. Let him do what he wants.

  Damian: (nervous) You are right.

  (scene change)

  Shinjiro: What was that?

  (The wolf jumps at him)

  Shinjiro: (falls down dodging it) A wolf? No it is a beast. I am going to die!

  (Wolf grumbles again and attacks him)

  (Iris arrived at the scene and cuts him down)

  Shinjiro: I am saved! (to himself)

  Iris: Are you the spy?

  Shinjiro: No.

  Iris: Who are you then? What are you doing here?

  Shinjiro: They wanted to kill me and threw me here.

  Iris: So you are the spy.

  Shinjiro: I am not a spy. Believe me.

  Iris: Oh! (walks towards him)

  Shinjiro: I mean it. I am not a spy!! (he raises his hand for defense)

  Iris: (cuts the chain binding his hands)

  Shinjiro: (opens his eyes) I am alive. Thank you for believing me. Who are you?

  Iris: Stand up.

  Shinjiro: Thank you.

  Iris: Go ran away.

  Shinjiro: Thank you again.

  Shinjiro: Where should I go? (realises)

  (Shinjiro stops all of a sudden)

  Shinjiro: Mister! Where am I supposed to go?

  Iris: Your home. If you are not a spy. And to the Daimyojin’s hideout If you are spy. I will track you down.

  Shinjiro: I don’t have a home. I can’t go back to the village. I have no one there.

  Iris: What about your parents?

  Shinjiro: They disappeared. I don’t know why. It was my fault I guess. I wasn’t able to do anything. I lost my friend too, if only I understood him and could help him. I am sorry if I talk too much it’s been a while since I talked like this. (cries)

  Iris: (to himself) It was probably not his fault.

  Shinjiro: Where am I supposed to go? (cries)

  Iris: Listen kid! Become an aetherblade! (knocks Shinjiro out)

  (Iris brought Shinjiro safely to Hirako)

  Shinjiro woke up but his memory was vivid about what happened. He did remember Iris and Hirako told Shinjiro about how Iris saved his life. Shinjiro’s body healed after some months. He did not leave the house as Hirako was being careful about protecting and hiding him.

  (Hirako writing his journal)

  Shinjiro’s physical wounds have healed now. But even though he smiles, I feel a sense of sadness from him. He asks me about his friend. I am trying to investigate about him but I know nothing at the moment. He is getting frustrated about not able to go outside. It has been 6 months since I met him. I let him go outside today, Today has been one year since I lost my family. The same day of the festival. I miss you Alice and Joan!

  (In the festival, A show was going on)

  Historian:

  ( Standing atop a stone platform, addressing a gathering of young recruits in the glow of a setting sun. )

  In the Age of Ruin, the world was unrecognizable. The skies wept ash, the earth cracked under endless wars, and from the void came the Arcanors—monstrosities born of hatred and despair. Armies crumbled, cities fell, and hope seemed to vanish like breath on a cold morning.

  ( The Historian gestures to an ancient emblem etched into the stone—a symbol of crossed blades wreathed in energy. )

  But in that darkness, one man stood against the tide. S. The Aetherblade. A name spoken not with reverence, but with awe, as if it could burn the tongue.

  Young Listener:

  ( Leaning forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. )

  They say he was a god. Is that true?

  Historian:

  ( Chuckles dryly, their voice lowering to a solemn murmur. )

  A god? No. S was mortal—flesh and bone like you and me. But he carried within him a power no god could match. He didn’t wield aether as others did—he became it. His strength was unrelenting, his strikes like the wrath of the heavens. Alone, he held back the Arcanors when armies could not.

  ( The Historian’s voice grows heavier, filled with awe and sorrow. )

  But even S knew he couldn’t fight forever. And so, he forged a brotherhood. A handful of warriors who had witnessed his strength and followed him into the fire. These were the first Aetherblades—not soldiers, not generals, but warriors driven by sheer will and unbreakable resolve.

  Skeptical Listener: ( Frowning. )

  How could he trust anyone with power like his? Wouldn’t they falter?

  Historian: ( Turning sharply, their gaze piercing. )

  S didn’t choose them for their strength or skill. He chose them for their hearts—their refusal to bow to fear, their resolve to stand even when death loomed. Under his guidance, they learned to harness the energy within themselves, though none ever matched his brilliance.

  ( The Historian pauses, drawing the audience into the weight of their words. )

  When S vanished after the final battle, his group remained. They were no longer just a handful of warriors. They had become a symbol of resistance—a shield against the darkness. The Aetherblades rose as an order, not to conquer, but to defend. To carry forward S’s legacy: that strength is a duty, not a privilege.

  Elder Listener: ( Speaking softly, with a tinge of melancholy. )

  But even now, they say the Aetherblades still seek him, don’t they?

  Historian:( Nods slowly. ) They do. Because while they stand as protectors of this fractured world, they know the truth. Should the Arcanors rise again, should the world teeter once more on the brink of ruin, it is not they who will save us.

  Young Listener:( Eyes widening. ) It will be him.

  Historian:( Smiling faintly, looking toward the distant horizon. )

  Yes. S. The Aetherblade. The one who led us into the light, and who, perhaps, will return when the shadows threaten to consume us once more.