A thousand years ago, the sky burned with black flames. They were not normal fires: they
were the signs of the return of the primordial monsters. Not common beasts, but living
remnants of the original chaos. Beings whose very existence twisted reality. Their wings
darkened the day, their breath melted mountains, their roar broke the will of entire
armies.
Where they passed, kingdoms turned to dust. Libraries burned like torches. Entire
languages and cultures vanished in a single night.
Humanity — once proud of its ingenuity — was reduced to whispers and ruins.
Amid that end of the world, Masaru emerged, a blind blacksmith from a lost village. He
had no magic, no armies. He only had fury. His wife and daughter had been turned to
shadow by a breath of fire.
Masaru did not cry.
Masaru forged.
Among the charred bones of a dead dragon, he heard a voice: a sealed spirit, ancient,
thirsty for rage. It did not speak in words, but in intent. Masaru offered his soul. In
exchange, he asked for one thing.
A weapon.
One hundred sleepless nights. One hundred days without speaking, eating, or sleeping,
his fingers bleeding and bones breaking from the heat. Made of cursed steel, dragon
bones, and ancient fire, the sword was born: Ryusatsuga, the Dragonfang Slayer.
It was not just a katana. It was a vow. A curse.Every wielder fell in battle… or before, consumed from within by the blade. The sword
grew with the blood of beasts, but also fed on the soul of its bearer.
The last user sealed it in a cursed mountain, and engraved these words:
Whoever awakens the Fang must pay its price
—
Today, centuries later, the world lives a false peace.
The wise sense something stirring beneath the earth. Some dream of dark wings. Others
live without knowing why.
One of them is Kaien.
An orphan of seventeen winters.
—
The village of Kiyoshi, among mist and rice fields, seemed asleep. Its inhabitants lived
with closed mouths and half-breath souls. They repeated prayers to gods who no longer
answered. But the elders knew the truth:
When the silence is too deep… it is prelude, not peace.
Kaien lived there. He didn't fit in. Not because he was aggressive, but because he carried
something even he didn't understand. Sometimes he woke soaked in sweat. Sometimes
he heard a roar. Not in the air. Inside his chest.
He didn't remember his parents. Only the fire. The roar. And the emptiness.
He lived in a ramshackle cabin with other children he had gathered. They were not his
blood, but they were family.
Haru, small, sweet, convinced he could turn stones into rice if he cooked them long
enough
Mei, who wove flower crowns for everyone and always cared for the plants "with love"
Riku, the most mischievous, but who slept close to him when it rained
To feed them, Kaien stole. Not for pleasure, but out of necessity. He fought in
underground tavern brawls to earn money. And despite everything, he never lied to the
children. He only promised that as long as he lived, they would eat.But inside, Kaien sought more than survival.
He sought something to give meaning to his existence.
That morning, like many others, he had woken to the sound of small footsteps running
through the grass.
—Kaien! Come quick, Riku caught a mutant frog!
—It's not mutant, it's just ugly! said Riku
—It still scares me! Kaien, protect me!
The young man sighed, half asleep, and got up. He wore a patched shirt … and a smile
that was not always real, but always warm.
He lived on the outskirts of the village of Kiyoshi, in a cabin that creaked with every
strong wind.
He was an orphan, yes. But he was also something more:
The boy who never let the children feel alone.
He had no magic. No last name.
But he knew how to tell stories under the rain.
He knew how to heal scrapes with leaves, and fix broken dolls with mud.
There was something about him that adults avoided looking at for too long.
A kind of gentle sadness.
Like someone who learned to lose without becoming bitter.
Kaien did not talk much about his past.
Nor did he ask questions.
But when the children gathered around him, his eyes softened, as if in that moment, the
world was not so bad.
The change came with a purple storm.
Red thunder. Rain that smelled like iron.
And something else: a creature that emerged from the forest like a nightmare with claws.
It was not a dragon, but it had its essence. Skin marked with burning runes, obsidian
claws, and eyes filled with a hatred that was not human.The best warriors of the village — the ones Kaien secretly admired — ran to face it.
They fell in seconds.
And Kaien knew immediately:
There is no hope.
But then he thought of them.
Mei's crowns. Haru's attempts. Riku's jokes.
The adults came out with torches.
The dogs stopped barking.
And a rough, impossible-to-place buzzing began to crawl along the walls of the village.
Kaien felt it first.
Not with his ears.
With his stomach. With his blood.
—Take the others to the barn. Lock it from inside
—Why…? What's happening?
Kaien did not answer.
He only looked at the horizon.
And ran.
Not out of courage, but out of desperate love.
Kaien had heard the story forever.
In Kiyoshi, everyone knew it: high on Mount Tsukame, sealed between ancient bones and
black stones, slept a cursed sword.
They said whoever touched it… died.
They called it Ryusatsuga.
A relic of another time. A promise of strength in exchange for a soul.
No one in the village dared to seek it. Neither soldiers, nor elders, nor even the desperate.
But that night, Kaien did not think of the curse.
He only thought of the children.
And if the legend was true — if that sword could give him the strength to face themonster — then the price… didn't matter.
He climbed the mountain through sharp branches and mud, ignoring the pain. He
reached the cave sealed with black stone and forgotten runes.
With trembling hands, he removed the stone with great effort.
An explosion threw him to the ground. He saw fire, a hand reaching out, heard a voice he
did not remember.
And in the center of the cave, on an altar of bones… the katana.
Ryusatsuga.
Sleeping. Alive.
Its heartbeat answered his.
An ancient voice echoed in his mind:
You have lost too.
Take its blade… and bring it to the heart of the beasts.
Kaien extended his hand.
The metal was cold… then burned.
The sword had accepted him.
And the cycle… began again.