The training ground had not changed in decades.
Same cracked stone tiles.
Same wooden pillars scarred by blades long retired.
Same silence that never felt empty—only patient.
Tobi stood at the center, barefoot, sword sheathed.
He had been there since dawn.
Not training.
Not resting.
Just standing.
Breathing.
In.
Out.
Yanshi watched from the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He hadn't corrected Tobi once. That alone was unsettling.
"Stillness," Yanshi finally said. "Is not the absence of movement. It's the absence of panic."
Tobi didn't respond. His jaw tightened slightly.
The Dark Dragon Sword rested at his side, wrapped and sealed—yet even restrained, it felt heavier today. Not physically.
Aware.
Yanshi noticed.
So did Ishawa, leaning against a pillar nearby, pretending to be bored. His gaze never left the sword.
Miss Shiratori stood farther back, hands clasped, expression unreadable. She felt it too—the faint pressure in the air, like the world holding its breath.
Something had shifted since the Guardians appeared.
Not loudly.
But permanently.
---
A Sword That Refuses Silence
"Draw," Yanshi said calmly.
Tobi hesitated.
That hesitation was new.
Before, he feared the sword might hurt him.
Now, he feared what it might show him.
He exhaled—and drew.
The sound was wrong.
Not metal against air, but something deeper—like a low growl buried beneath steel. The blade caught the morning light and bent it slightly, shadows stretching unnaturally along the ground.
The Dark Dragon Sword reacted.
Not violently.
Not yet.
The markings along the blade faintly pulsed, then dimmed—as if testing Tobi's grip.
Yanshi's eyes narrowed.
"That sword isn't waiting for strength," he said. "It's waiting for permission."
"Permission… to what?" Tobi asked quietly.
Yanshi didn't answer.
Because he didn't like the answer.
---
Elsewhere — Ren
Ren woke up with his hand already gripping his sword.
He didn't remember reaching for it.
The place he was in felt wrong—not hostile, not safe. Just… unfinished. An abandoned road cut through overgrown ruins, stones cracked as if something massive had passed through long ago.
No bodies.
No blood.
Just absence.
His sword felt heavier here.
Not like a weapon.
Like a memory.
Ren stood slowly, eyes scanning the horizon. The wind carried something that wasn't sound—more like pressure, brushing against his thoughts.
You're late, something whispered.
Ren frowned. "Late for what?"
No answer.
But somewhere far away—unreachable but undeniable—he felt it.
The Dark Dragon Sword.
Awakening.
And for the first time, Ren wasn't sure whether it was calling him… or warning him.
---
Back at the Training Ground — The Watchers Arrive
The air shifted.
Miss Shiratori straightened.
Ishawa stopped pretending to relax.
Yanshi turned slightly—not toward Tobi, but toward the treeline bordering the courtyard.
They weren't alone anymore.
Seven presences brushed the edge of perception.
Not fully formed.
Not hostile.
Observing.
The Light Guardians did not reveal themselves openly this time.
They watched through reflections in steel.
Through the pause between breaths.
Through the space where shadows overlapped unnaturally.
Tobi felt it and swallowed. "Why does it feel like I'm being judged?"
Yanshi allowed himself a thin smile.
"You are," he said. "But not by enemies."
The Dark Dragon Sword pulsed again—stronger.
This time, the ground cracked beneath Tobi's feet.
He dropped to one knee—not from pain, but from pressure. The blade screamed—not aloud, but inside his bones. Images flickered:
A battlefield under a broken moon.
Seven figures standing together.
A blade drenched in shadow—not his, but connected.
Tobi gasped.
Miss Shiratori stepped forward. "Enough."
The sword fell silent instantly.
Too instantly.
That scared Yanshi more than the outburst.
---
What Wasn't Said
As Tobi steadied himself, Yanshi helped him up—not with words, but presence.
"You did well," he said quietly. "That reaction wasn't rejection."
"Then what was it?" Tobi asked.
Yanshi looked toward the sky.
"Recognition."
Far away, something ancient stirred.
The seal had not broken.
But it had noticed.
And somewhere between ruins and memory, Ren tightened his grip on his sword—unaware that the path he was walking and the training Tobi was enduring were no longer separate lines.
They were converging.
Slowly.
Inevitably.