They left Kanezawa before dawn.
Mist clung to the roads like reluctant hands, swallowing sound and shape alike. Lantern light bobbed briefly at the city gates before vanishing behind them, leaving only the muted crunch of hooves and boots against damp earth.
Hiroto did not look back.
If he did, he feared he would see the city watching him measuring, judging, waiting for him to fail.
Goro walked ahead, hand resting casually on his sword, eyes constantly scanning the roadside. Two Council guards followed at a distance, assigned more to observe than protect. Masanori rode behind them all, posture straight, unreadable as ever.
Yui rode close to Hiroto, wrapped in a thick cloak.
"Is that place really abandoned?" she asked softly.
"That's what they say," Hiroto replied.
Goro snorted. "People say a lot of things when they don't want to admit something scares them."
Yui tightened her grip on the reins.
Hiroto felt the pull again.
Not downward this time but forward.
The road itself felt attentive, as though something beneath the soil was aware of his presence. His shadow moved oddly, stretching ahead of him even where the light should not allow it.
Masanori noticed.
"You feel it," he said quietly, drawing his horse alongside Hiroto.
"Yes," Hiroto replied. "Like I'm being… recognized."
Masanori's eyes narrowed. "Archives tend to do that."
The Monastery of Withered Silence
By midday, the land changed.
Trees grew sparse and twisted, their branches bent unnaturally inward, as though bowing to something unseen. Birds were absent. Even insects seemed reluctant to linger.
At last, they saw it.
The monastery stood atop a low hill of stone, its once-white walls stained dark by time and shadow. Half the roof had collapsed inward, and ward-stones lay scattered around the perimeter like broken teeth.
Goro dismounted immediately. "Everyone alert."
The Council guards hesitated.
"This place is dead," one whispered.
"No," Goro corrected. "It's listening."
Hiroto felt it clearly now.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the air shifted.
The shadow beneath the monastery stirred not violently, not eagerly but with awareness.
As if opening one eye.
"This is it," Hiroto said.
They passed beneath the cracked gate.
The monastery courtyard was silent, its stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and prayer. Faded carvings lined the walls figures cloaked in shadow, standing before vast gates etched with impossible symbols.
Wardens.
Hiroto's breath caught.
"These weren't monks," he said.
"No," Masanori agreed. "They were keepers."
At the center of the courtyard stood a sealed stone door, taller than any man, its surface layered with overlapping sigils many cracked, some entirely faded.
Hiroto approached slowly.
His shadow reached out before he did.
The door pulsed faintly.
Goro swore under his breath. "I don't like that."
Hiroto placed his palm against the stone.
The world shifted.
The Archive Beneath
Darkness swallowed them.
Not the absence of light but something deeper.
Hiroto gasped as the ground fell away, his body suspended in a weightless void where memories drifted like embers.
Voices echoed.
Fragments of them.
"The Gate cannot be destroyed."
"Then it must be guarded."
"By blood."
"By shadow."
Hiroto landed hard on stone.
He staggered, blinking.
They stood in a vast underground hall, illuminated by floating orbs of pale shadowlight. Stone pillars stretched upward into darkness, each carved with names thousands of them.
Goro exhaled slowly. "This… this is wrong."
"This is a Warden Archive," Masanori said softly. "I thought it destroyed."
Hiroto felt it everywhere.
History.
Burden.
Failure.
At the center of the hall stood a figure.
Not flesh.
Not shadow.
A construct of both humanoid, robed, its face smooth and unmarked.
It turned.
"Blood recognized," it intoned.
"Archive awakens."
Yui clutched Hiroto's sleeve. "Brother…"
"It's okay," he said, though his heart hammered. "It's not hostile."
The construct stepped forward.
"You are late," it said.
Hiroto swallowed. "I didn't know."
"None do," the Archivist replied.
"Until the world reminds them."
Masanori stepped forward, cautious. "What is he?"
"Designation: Archivist Sentinel," the figure replied.
"Purpose: Preservation of Warden truth."
Hiroto's shadow pulsed.
"Then tell me," Hiroto said. "What are the Wardens?"
The Archivist turned fully toward him.
"Wardens were not warriors," it said.
"They were failures who chose duty."
Images flooded the hall.
Men and women sealing gates.
Sacrificing names.
Binding shadows into chains and keys.
"Power was never meant to be wielded," the Archivist continued.
"Only restrained."
Hiroto's chest tightened. "Then why do I have it?"
The Archivist paused.
"Because restraint requires choice," it said.
"And choice requires will."
Goro folded his arms. "That's poetic. Also unhelpful."
The Archivist tilted its head.
"Hostility unnecessary."
Goro blinked. "Did it just sass me?"
Hiroto almost smiled.
Almost.
Truth That Hurts
The Archivist gestured.
A new image formed one Hiroto recognized.
The Gate.
But not sealed.
Open.
Shadows flooding the land. Cities collapsing. Clans annihilated.
"This," Hiroto whispered. "The Vanished Era."
"Yes," the Archivist replied.
"The world blamed demons."
"The truth was ambition."
Masanori stiffened. "The clans."
"Names change," the Archivist said.
"Desire does not."
Hiroto clenched his fists. "Then the Gate beneath Kanezawa"
"Is not unique," the Archivist finished.
"It is merely the nearest."
Silence crashed down.
Goro cursed softly. "How many?"
"Enough," the Archivist said.
Hiroto felt cold.
"So even if I seal it… others remain."
"Yes."
"And people will try to use them."
"Yes."
Hiroto exhaled slowly.
"This isn't about one city," he said. "It never was."
The Archivist inclined its head.
"You understand."
Masanori looked at Hiroto with something close to awe and fear. "The Council doesn't know this."
"No," Hiroto said. "And they can't."
Goro nodded. "They'd weaponize it."
Hiroto met the Archivist's gaze. "What happens if I refuse this role?"
The Archivist was silent for a long moment.
"Then another will rise," it said.
"Less prepared."
Yui tightened her grip. "Brother…"
Hiroto placed a hand over hers.
"I won't let them repeat it," he said quietly.
The Archivist raised its arm.
A shard of shadowlight detached, floating toward Hiroto.
"Then take this," it said.
"Not power."
"Perspective."
The shard merged into Hiroto's chest.
Pain flared briefly then clarity.
He saw paths.
Choices.
Consequences.
He gasped.
Goro steadied him. "Easy."
Hiroto nodded, breath shaking.
"I see it now," he whispered. "Why the Wardens failed."
Masanori frowned. "Why?"
Hiroto looked up, eyes dark with understanding.
"Because they stood alone."
The First Shadow Moves
The Archivist began to fade.
"The archive will sleep again," it said.
"You will be hunted."
Hiroto gave a bitter smile. "I already am."
"No," the Archivist replied.
"Now… you will be challenged."
The hall trembled.
Far away, too far, something answered.
Goro stiffened. "We've got company."
The Archivist's voice echoed one last time.
"The age of hiding is over."
The light dimmed.
The monastery shook.
Hiroto drew in a steady breath.
"Then it's time," he said, shadow rising calmly at his feet, "to stop running from the dark."
And somewhere beyond the ruined walls
Another power had felt his name.