The village of Hoshiyama sat nestled in a cradle of mountains, far from the war-scorched cities of the mainland. It was a place untouched by bloodshed, its people quiet and pious, unaware that their lives would birth a storm.
It was here that Kaien, a humble swordsmith, and his wife Miyori, a healer and spiritual attendant to the stars, lived in solitude. Their lives were simple, peaceful. Years passed in harmony, but always beneath that peace was a quiet yearning — they had no child.
Until the dream.
Miyori awoke in the dead of night, drenched in sweat, trembling. Her mind scorched by visions not her own. A voice — ancient and echoing — spoke to her from within a black sun. No name. Only a command:
"Bear him. And he shall walk the abyss."
The next morning, she was with child.
Kaien, though shaken, stood by her side. He believed her. Not just because he loved her, but because he, too, began having dreams — visions of a boy without a shadow, standing alone while the world burned behind him.
The village grew uneasy. Some whispered that the couple was cursed. Others avoided them altogether. Still, Kaien and Miyori held to each other, firm in their belief that this child was meant for something greater — or darker — than they could understand.
When the time came, the sky turned void.
No stars. No wind. No sound. Just stillness. The midwives fled as Miyori's labor began, terrified of the black mist that circled the shrine. Kaien held her hand as she screamed beneath the blood-moon sky, his sword at his side, his soul trembling.
The child was born in silence.
He did not cry.
He only opened his eyes — and the shrine's sacred flames extinguished.
They named him Shinkū Shigeru.
The abyss had taken form.
---
Six Years Later
Shinkū grew quickly — too quickly. He spoke late, but understood everything. Animals reacted strangely to him. Snakes passed him harmlessly. Birds refused to sing around him. Wolves would not meet his eyes.
He moved with precision no child should possess. One morning, Kaien watched in disbelief as Shinkū performed a perfect stance of Void Flow, a foundational Kimoto form.
"Who taught you that?" Kaien asked.
Shinkū, only five, answered without looking up: "I remembered it."
Miyori wept that night. Not out of fear, but from the weight of it all. The dreams. The voice. The stillness that clung to their child like a second soul.
Kaien grew distant. Not in love, but in thought. He began to spend more time at the forge, carving blades in silence. Each weapon he crafted was offered to no one — only laid at the foot of the mountain. As if he knew war would come for his son one day.
---
The Arrival of the Masters
It wasn't long before the Kimoto Masters learned of the boy.
They came without announcement — six robed figures stepping through the village gates like ghosts. They examined Shinkū for hours. One stared into his eyes and collapsed. Another placed a hand over his chest and pulled away, fingers scorched by invisible flame.
Only Master Renji, the youngest, dared speak.
"This boy is the result of divine fracture," he said.
"Then he is not meant to live," replied another.
"No," Renji said. "He is meant to survive."
By week's end, Kaien stood with his son at the base of Mount Enkaku. Miyori kissed Shinkū's forehead and whispered:
"Do not be afraid to be feared."
Kaien added only four words:
"Remember where you came from."
And then, they let him go.
---
Mount Enkaku – Training Grounds
At the enclave, Shinkū's presence unnerved even the most seasoned monks. The sacred fire dimmed when he passed. The birds no longer nested near the meditation hall. Disciples avoided him. Elders debated his very existence.
But Renji trained him with no mercy.
Every dawn, Shinkū was submerged in ice-cold rivers for Breath Sealing. Most students took months to endure it. Shinkū endured it the first day — without trembling.
By age eight, he had mastered the Seven Postures of the Void, techniques that relied on surrendering ego and form — a style impossible for most. But Shinkū moved like the wind through shadows, untouchable, unreadable.
He never smiled.
Never asked questions.
Never complained.
His silence became legendary.
---
The Forbidden Archive – Year Eleven
At eleven, Shinkū broke the first law of the enclave: he entered the Kuronoma, the Black Archive.
No doors were forced open.
They opened for him.
Inside, he read forbidden scrolls, histories of the Jūshin, and cursed writings that would blind ordinary men. Three days passed. When the monks found him, he stood in front of a scroll etched in blood and fire — the record of a name:
Shinkai — the Fallen Master.
Once a hero. Now imprisoned in the Cradle of Chains. A man who once sought to burn the world to purify it.
When Renji confronted Shinkū, the boy only said:
"He's not done."
Renji's hands tightened around his staff. "You read things not meant for mortals."
Shinkū turned to the mountain winds. "Then maybe I'm not one."
---
The Curse of Stillness – Year Twelve
In his twelfth year, strange things began to happen.
Plants near his quarters withered.
Meditation rooms cracked when he entered.
Sparring partners began hearing whispers mid-fight — voices from the void. One lost his mind. Another fell into a coma. The council gathered in secrecy.
"Exile him," said Master Tenraku. "The gods may have sent him, but they did not stay to guide him."
"He is still a child," argued Ayami. "And perhaps the only one who can stand against what's coming."
The vote was inconclusive.
That night, Shinkū walked into the council chamber uninvited.
"If I am the curse," he said, "then teach me to master it. And if I fail—kill me."
None answered.
---
Legacy Stirring
That night, high atop Mount Enkaku, Shinkū stood alone under the stars.
He had never once felt warmth from them. Never once felt the wind carry his name.
But now… something shifted.
A pulse in the heavens.
A whisper, just like the one from his mother's dream.
"When silence breaks, walk."
And in the stillness, Shinkū smiled — not from peace, but because the silence within him was beginning to stir.