[The Gift of Mourning: The Blade of the Covenant]
After the storm of truth I had unleashed upon Ryo's ears finally settled by his mother's grave, a heavy, prolonged silence descended, broken only by the mournful rustle of the trees. I looked at Ryo; he was no longer the child chasing butterflies in the tall grass. He had become a dragon coiled and ready, preparing to take flight amidst the coming conflagration.
From beneath my shroud, I produced a long chest wrapped in ancient, weathered leather. "Ryo... come closer." The silver-haired youth stood before me with a quiet, regal solemnity. I unlatched the chest, and a faint radiance spilled forth—as if dawn itself were breaking from the heart of the night. It was a golden blade that shimmered with a royal luster; its edges were white, as if carved from sacred, frozen clouds, and its hilt was encrusted with a rare, pulsating golden gemstone.
"This blade... the old blacksmith Arin gifted it to me years ago," I said, my voice carrying a weight only I could truly understand. "In the third year of our training, when I told him in secret that I was nurturing a child who carried a lost hope in his veins. Arin didn't ask for your name. He went to his forge and smelted his hatred and his hope into this steel. He told me: 'Give this to the one who will plant light in the very heart of the darkness.'"
Ryo gripped the hilt. The moment his fingers made contact, the air itself seemed to vibrate in recognition. His golden eyes flared with a new, dangerous brilliance. "Master Ray... this beauty... it belongs only to one who knows its cost," Ryo whispered, his thumb tracing the razor-sharp white edge. "I swear by my father's blood, and by the hands of the man who forged this, that this blade shall not know its scabbard until it is drenched in the lifeblood of those who betrayed Draka."
[Return to Draka: The Shock of Light and Deception] After days of intensive training with the new weapon, I decided the time had come. "Ryo... prepare yourself. Tonight, we set foot in the city." We moved under the thick shroud of fog. It was the first time Ryo had stepped beyond the boundaries of the eastern forest in eight years.
[Shadow Memories: Ryumin and the Blacksmith] As we journeyed toward the city, I replayed the tape of the last eight years in my mind. Trust had not been built in a single night. In the third year, when the Ryumin syndicate expanded to become the most powerful organization in Draka's shadows, I realized I needed an expert eye and equipment that common assassins could not possess.
I had confessed the truth of my work with Skyro to Arin—the man who had forged my own blade. He didn't recoil in horror; instead, he smiled a tired smile and said: "I forge the weapon, and you wield it... we are two sides of the same coin." Since that day, Arin became the "Lungs" of the syndicate, through which we breathed in news of the markets and rare minerals.
I remembered when Skyro himself visited that small, cramped shop. Ryumin's headquarters had already become an underground fortress, teeming with hundreds of warriors and scholars. "Master Arin," Skyro had said, coolly adjusting his glasses. "This filthy hovel is beneath your genius. The new headquarters has magical forges and technologies Draka has never seen. Come work for us as the Grand Blacksmith." But Arin, despite his frailty, shook his head in a firm refusal. "Thank you, Skyro, but the walls of this shop carry the breath of my pupils who were murdered. I wish to stay here, amidst the dust of my memories, to witness Baron's end through this tiny crack in the door."
[Draka: The Bitter Homecoming] We entered the city. Ryo wore a long shroud that obscured his distinctive silver hair. The youth stood paralyzed, overwhelmed as he beheld the streets of the capital for the first time in nearly a decade. The lights, the teeming crowds, and the distant palaces shimmering under the moonlight. "Is all this beauty... built upon a lie?" Ryo asked, his voice thick with the suppressed agony of years.
"Beauty is merely the mask that ugliness wears, Ryo," I told him, pulling him away from the watchful eyes of the guards. "Do not look at the lights; look at the blood that was shed to illuminate these streets."
We moved through the back alleys, dodging the Asura guard patrols that had grown increasingly frequent. Ryo watched the people with an intense, predatory focus; he saw the beggars in the mud, and he saw the nobles in their flowing silks. He absorbed every detail, his chest tightening with a growing rage at every scene of injustice he encountered.
[The Shop of Secrets: The Breath of the End] We reached Arin's shop—the place that had been my sanctuary for eight years. I pushed the door, but the bell didn't ring this time; it was silent, as if life itself had abandoned the premises. "Master Arin?" I called out, but silence was the only reply. I entered the back room, where the air was heavy with the smell of burnt oil and bitter medicinal herbs. There, on a hard wooden cot, Arin lay. His body had withered away completely, his veins protruding over his pale skin like a map of impending death.
"Arin... I've returned," I said, approaching his bed. The old man opened his eyes with agonizing slowness. His vision was clouded, but as soon as he glimpsed my shadow, he tried to smile. "Ray... you cursed ghost... have you come to witness the extinguishing of my final flame?"
"I didn't come alone, Arin," I said, stepping aside to reveal Ryo standing behind me. "I brought the child I told you about... the one for whom you forged the Blade of Dawn."
[The Royal Revelation: The Dragon and the Smith] Arin turned with a Herculean effort, and when his gaze fell upon Ryo, something extraordinary happened. The old man's entire frame convulsed, and his eyes widened to an unsettling degree. He tried to reach a trembling hand toward Ryo's face. "Arthur...??" he cried out, his voice choked with tears and bewilderment. "My King... have you returned from the depths of the sea to forgive me?"
Ryo leaned down and took the old man's hand gently. "I am not Arthur, Master Arin... I am his son, Ryo. And I have come to thank you for this blade."
Arin's hot tears fell onto Ryo's hand. He let out a bitter laugh, punctuated by a wet cough. "Ryo... yes... Ryo. You resemble him so much it burns the heart. The same features, the same golden eyes that radiate justice... but..." Arin paused, scrutinizing Ryo's face with clinical precision. "...your features are sharper. There is a ferocity that lives beneath your skin. You are not 'kind' like your father, my boy. You were raised by a demon, and that is what has made you the weapon this world truly needs."
[The Tale of Lost Blood: Arin's Wound] Arin closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Arthur was a heart that walked the earth... and that is why they killed him. I was the First Royal Blacksmith; I smelted love into his armor. After his death, Baron wasn't satisfied with murder. He sent his sons, Muriel and Cyril, to my workshop. They killed my young pupils—those children who called me 'Grandfather.' They slaughtered them before my eyes because they refused to reveal the location of the hidden Royal Armor."
Rage flared in my chest like volcanic magma. I felt the cursed blade "Sin" vibrate in its scabbard behind my back, and my Red Eye began to pulse with a demonic flicker. Arin continued in a broken voice: "They left me alive to rot in my regret, thinking I was finished. But I stayed breathing just to see this moment."
[Who Am I?] A funereal silence filled the room. Arin looked at me with withered but piercing eyes. "Ray... you are not a mere mercenary. From the first day you entered my shop, I saw a weight in your eyes that no human in this world should carry. Your eyes hold a strange sorrow... as if you do not belong to this earth. As if you carry the sins of an entirely different world."
I remained silent for several minutes. The only sound was the old man's ragged breathing. I felt Ryo looking at me intently. It was time to unseal a portion of the black box I called my "Memory."