The twin moons hung high above the forest, casting pale light through the lattice of skeletal branches. A soft breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of moss, stone, and incense long burned out. The night was hushed, reverent—almost as if the world itself knew that something sacred was about to unfold.
Shin stood alone at the edge of the ancient path, his silver-trimmed robe catching strands of moonlight as they slipped between the leaves. His crystal orb hung at his side, calm and unlit, while the amulet gifted to him by Alexandra pulsed gently at his chest. Each breath he took echoed in his ears, too loud in the surrounding stillness. Before him stood a torii gate, blackened by time and streaked with silver veins of age. Beyond it, shrouded in a glimmering mist, was a shrine few still knew existed.
He stepped through the gate.
The air changed instantly. Colder. Heavier. More real.
Each stone along the path glowed faintly underfoot, illuminating the way forward through overgrown vines and fallen petals. Fox statues lined the trail, chipped by time but not forgotten, their eyes glittering with a ghostly awareness.
He had only ever heard of this place in whispered memories—his mother's lullabies, his father's stories spoken on nights when war was far and sleep still had meaning. The hidden shrine of the Soma Clan. A place where only true heirs could tread.
The path narrowed until it opened into a clearing. At its center stood the shrine itself: a simple yet elegant structure, draped in paper charms and surrounded by a circle of ancient standing stones. At the heart of it all stood the altar, bound in sacred rope and sealed with a crest carved from both moonstone and sunsteel—the two elements said to represent his parents.
He approached.
The amulet at his chest flared.
A gentle hum resonated through the shrine, the paper charms fluttering even though the wind had stilled. The altar pulsed with life. The circle of standing stones began to glow, casting shifting patterns of light across the clearing.
Shin placed one hand on the altar.
The light intensified.
Reality bent.
The world around him twisted like rippling silk. The shrine melted away, replaced by a vast, quiet expanse of mist and moonlight. Shadows coalesced before him, slowly taking form.
Two figures emerged.
The first was a tall man with storm-gray hair tied in a loose warrior's knot. His armor was ancient but immaculate, forged from mithril and blessed steel. At his side hung a katana that shimmered with spectral heat—its edge impossibly thin. His face was stern, his gaze sharp. Murasabe Soma, Shin's father.
Beside him stood a woman cloaked in white and crimson, her eyes a mirror of Shin's own. Her long, raven-black hair flowed like liquid night, and upon her left hand shimmered a glowing gauntlet carved from polished jade and etched in sacred kanji. Ahsoka Soma, Shin's mother.
They looked at him—not through him, not past him, but at him—as if they had always known this day would come.
"Shin," Murasabe said, his voice low and tempered by age. "You have come far."
"And not without pain," Ahsoka added, stepping forward. Her presence radiated warmth, but her eyes held fire. "We've watched you. Every victory. Every burden. Every choice."
Shin opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His throat tightened. He bowed deeply, not out of formality, but reverence.
Murasabe approached. With both hands, he unsheathed his katana and laid it upon the altar that had appeared between them.
"This is Tsukien—a blade forged from the heart of a fallen star and quenched in my blood," he said. "It cut through the pure curses of Falzath. It shaped the borders of the Eastern Provinces. It is my legacy. But now, it is your burden."
The katana glowed faintly as Shin reached for it. As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a surge of power coursed through him, electrifying in its intensity. The energy crawled up his right arm, crackling along his nerves until it reached the crystal orb resting in his pocket. The orb responded, pulsing with light.
Without hesitation, Shin summoned Yoshimatsu. The katana materialized in his hand, glowing brighter than ever before. Crimson lightning licked along its edge, but now with a sharper clarity, as though Tsukien's blessing had honed it anew. Etched into the grip was a new insignia—the mark of his father, solidifying the legacy now carried through Yoshimatsu.
He felt the bond settle within him. Not a burden. A promise.
Ahsoka stepped forward next, removing the jade gauntlet from her hand. She held it up, palm facing Shin.
"This is the Spirit Gauntlet. Purified by the High Priests of Tsukimori-no-Inari. It was once a tool of demons, twisted by hatred. I redeemed it with my spirit. It amplifies the will of the one who wears it. Rage becomes strength. Sorrow becomes purity."
She placed it in his other hand. The moment the gauntlet touched his skin, it latched onto his right hand, synchronizing instantly with his Master Crest. A gentle warmth spread across his arm, surrounding him in a cocoon of radiant energy. The surge of power that followed was both soothing and empowering, amplifying his strength as if a sacred fire now pulsed within him.
Light flared briefly from the gauntlet, then dimmed. In its place around his wrist was a sleek bracelet, bearing the same sacred inscriptions. It had fused to him—not merely an accessory, but a part of his very soul.
With both relics in his grasp, Shin knelt.
"We did not call you here only to pass these on," Murasabe said. "There is a shadow rising—a convergence of fate. The sixth Servant approaches."
Ahsoka's voice became somber. "Their heart will be your mirror. If they fall into despair, so too may you. If they rise in love, so too might the world."
Shin looked up, jaw set. "And if they waver?"
Murasabe's eyes narrowed. "Then everything collapses. The war. The rebellion. Even the bonds you've built."
Ahsoka touched Shin's cheek, her expression tender.
"You must not face this alone. You never were meant to."
Behind the veil of mist, another presence stirred.
Shin turned.
At the edge of the spectral realm stood a silhouette—faint, but clear. Laverna, her form cloaked in shadow, her eyes glowing with amber light. She had followed him, silently, unnoticed even in the divine barrier. Her presence did not disrupt the space—it was allowed.
She stepped forward but said nothing. Her eyes met Shin's, and in them he saw not pity, but resolve. Fierce and unyielding.
Ahsoka looked at her. "You carry pain, child. But you also carry love."
Laverna bowed her head, voice quiet. "I will protect him. Even from fate itself."
Murasabe nodded once, the gesture rare and meaningful.
The vision began to dissolve, the shrine returning piece by piece.
As the spectral world faded, Murasabe's final words echoed.
"Legacy is not memory. It is action."
And Ahsoka's voice followed like a prayer.
"Let your love for them become the shield that fate cannot break."
The altar dimmed. The paper charms settled. The forest returned to its silence.
Shin stood alone once more.
But not empty.
In his hands rested Tsukien and the Oni Gauntlet—relics of his bloodline. Warnings of a future not yet written. Symbols of a past that demanded he rise.
Behind him, Laverna stepped from the shadows and stood by his side.
They walked away from the shrine without words.
Some truths need no voice to be carried.
Only hearts strong enough to bear them.