Chapter 05 ~ The Cracks Beneath Twilight

  The sun bled into the horizon like a dying ember, casting long shadows across the shattered remains of Drogaran’s underground arena. Crimson light spilled through the gaping wound in the earth above, gilding the broken stone and twisted metal in hues of blood-orange and gold.

  A dry wind drifted through the devastation, stirring ash and dust in soft spirals. The scent of scorched stone and charred wood still clung to the air, faint but undeniable—like the aftermath of a long-forgotten war. Somewhere nearby, a crow cawed once, then fell silent.

  From the northern ridge of the ruined valley, a rumble began—the growing thunder of hooves. A wave of cavalry crested the ridge in disciplined formation, their polished armor dulled by the travel but gleaming nonetheless beneath the dying sun. Dust plumed behind them as they descended, the standard of Drogaran flapping from long spears.

  Some rode helmed, faceless under steel; others bared tired expressions marked by age and battle. Their horses snorted and rumbled beneath them, stamping the earth with anxious hooves.

  A few of the knights murmured as they took in the scene: collapsed walls, blackened stone, pillars snapped like bones.

  “No ordinary skirmish,” one muttered.

  “More like a burial site,” another added.

  They circled the arena's perimeter, dismounting in groups. Squires spread out, scanning the rubble. One knelt beside a gash in the stone, fingertips brushing the soot.

  "Still warm," he said.

  Then a different tone rose above them—authoritative, clear.

  Captain Sakayanagi dismounted.

  His armor distinguished him instantly. It shimmered faintly gold, adorned with gemstones the color of sunlight—aesthetic and symbolic both. His hair was pale flax, tied back neatly, and beneath his sharp brows, his crimson eyes burned with quiet calculation.

  Where his soldiers murmured, he walked in silence.

  He passed between shattered pillars, stepping over scorched fragments of what might once have been armor. His fingers brushed the remains of a standard, burned to its pole.

  He turned to his men.

  “What did she do here?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question.

  “Captain,” said a senior knight, removing his helm. “There are no bodies. No bones. No survivors. No scent of rot. We found only fragments.”

  Another added, “If this was her test site, she erased the evidence completely. Either she’s dead herself, or she planned this.”

  Sakayanagi frowned.

  “Mirai was clever,” he said. “But not reckless. If she killed the candidates, she did so with intent. That girl believed the kingdom was broken. This may have been her attempt to cleanse it.”

  “Sir,” another knight said quietly, “Even in Drogaran, we've never turned full execution on children.”

  Sakayanagi’s expression darkened. “We have. But never this many. And never without orders.”

  Around him, the men looked uneasy. Some shifted, some stared blankly into the ruined arena. One of the younger knights, his armor still bright from recent knighthood, asked under his breath:

  “Why would anyone follow her? What kind of children become weapons?”

  An older knight beside him answered quietly. “The kind we force into chains.”

  A silence followed. Heavy. Real.

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  Then Sakayanagi asked, almost absently:

  “And her body?”

  “Nothing,” came the answer. “It’s as if she vanished.”

  He looked out across the devastation again.

  “So that’s it. Another war we started and forgot to finish.”

  He stepped back, shaking his head. “Send word to the city. Prepare a report. We’re done here.”

  He turned toward his horse, the golden light washing across his face.

  Then—

  Crack.

  The sound was soft. Subtle. Like a joint snapping.

  Then another. And another.

  The ground rumbled.

  Sakayanagi turned, sword half-drawn. His soldiers looked around, hands drifting to hilts.

  From the heart of the arena, the earth split.

  Stone cracked open like an egg, and a column of dust erupted.

  A pair of figures rose slowly from the ruins.

  A boy—blue-haired, burned and bleeding. His violet eyes locked on Sakayanagi’s.

  A girl—golden-haired, torn and dusted in ash, yet standing as if born of light.

  The knights gasped.

  Even the wind seemed to halt.

  And in the hush, Captain Sakayanagi whispered, not to them, but to the dying sky above:

  “Is this the end of the age of stone... or the beginning of something worse?”

  The Cracks Beneath Twilight (Part 2)

  Blades hissed from their sheaths. Spears lowered. Horses shifted uneasily beneath armored riders. A full circle of knights closed in around Akira and Shiroha, their gleaming silver and earth-toned armor catching the last golden light of the sun.

  The dust had not yet settled. Small stones still rolled from the cracked dome behind them, and the air buzzed with tension. It was not the kind born of battle, but of disbelief.

  Dozens of voices shouted over one another:

  “Who are you?!”

  “How did you survive the collapse?!”

  “What happened here?!”

  Akira and Shiroha stood shoulder to shoulder in the center of the ruin, their breaths shallow. Their eyes darted right, then left, then skyward—searching for logic, for escape, for anything. There was none.

  Akira’s violet eyes trembled. Shiroha’s heart pounded so loud, it drowned out the voices. The pressure of what she had done crashed into her all at once.

  This was me. My power. My scream. My fear. It broke the world around us.

  Her legs trembled.

  But before she could speak—

  Akira stepped forward.

  He raised his hand protectively in front of her, blocking the knights’ advance with nothing more than his resolve.

  “If you’re looking for someone to blame,” he said, voice steady, “then blame me.”

  Shiroha flinched.

  “What… what are you doing?” she whispered.

  Akira didn’t waver. “I’m the one who caused this chaos. Mirai tried to kill us. I acted in self-defense. I… I couldn’t let her hurt Shiroha.”

  His words echoed through the crumbling pit. The knights froze. Murmurs spread again, but softer this time—uncertainty edging into their doubt.

  Shiroha stared at him, her golden eyes wide, a hand half-raised to stop him. Why are you lying? Why are you protecting me like this?

  One of the soldiers turned and marched toward Captain Sakayanagi, who still stood at the edge of the scene, unmoving.

  “My lord. What are your orders?”

  Sakayanagi’s crimson eyes flicked toward the two survivors. His expression did not change. He observed them with the calm of a scholar inspecting a puzzle.

  Then he spoke, quiet but clear:

  “Escort them. Gently. Take them to the palace.”

  Shock washed over the knights like cold rain.

  “To… the palace?” one muttered.

  “Why would we—?”

  Sakayanagi turned fully toward them. “Because we don’t make enemies of power we don’t understand. We invite it in. Study it. Learn its shape. Perhaps… we even learn from it.”

  The tension broke.

  Several knights approached slowly, sheathing their weapons.

  Akira looked over at Shiroha.

  She was already looking at him.

  And she was smiling.

  They rode under twilight.

  Two horses trotted in the middle of a slow-moving convoy—Akira on one, Shiroha on another, their backs straight despite the fatigue. The hooves struck soft stone paths that led from the collapsed arena back toward the heart of Drogaran.

  As they crested a final hill, the capital came into view.

  A city sculpted from the bones of the mountains. Buildings rose like carved thrones of stone, shaped by magic and engineering alike. Bridges arched between towers, engraved with glowing runes. Floating lanterns danced in midair. Crystalline fountains pulsed with golden light, casting sparkling spray over the streets.

  The people were elegant. Graceful.

  Men and women in fine robes laughed gently in marble courtyards. Children chased each other past bakeries carved from slate and obsidian. Even the alleyways glistened. Joy radiated from every corner.

  Akira’s violet eyes narrowed.

  He said nothing.

  But the contrast burned inside him. My village was made of dirt and sweat. Of hunger. These people live in light. Do they even know what suffering is?

  The stone beneath the horse’s hooves felt too clean. Too polished. Like walking on someone else’s dream.

  He turned his head slightly.

  And found Shiroha looking at him.

  Her golden hair moved with the wind, catching the soft glow of the city’s magic-lights. Her expression was unreadable—but her eyes were deep.

  I understand you, they said. Don’t say it aloud. Not yet. But I understand.

  She tilted her head just a little.

  Shook it once.

  And gave him a look that said: Not here. Not now. But I hear everything.

  Akira exhaled slowly.

  Their horses moved side by side.

  Their eyes remained locked.

  Their silence spoke volumes.

  Above them, the first stars of the evening began to glimmer.

  And behind them, the ruins of power—and the ghosts of the forgotten—grew more distant with every step forward.