The place was not marked.
No wardstones.No sigils.No names carved into stone.
Raishin had taken Kurogane there once before—but only in passing. He'd called it old ground. Useless land. No resonance.
Now Kurogane stood there alone.
The wind moved differently here. Not stronger. Just… unobserved.
"Come out," Kurogane said quietly. "I know you're not absent."
Nothing answered.
He waited.
The internal brace remained still. Not suppressed. Not engaged.
Waiting.
"You've been watching," Kurogane continued. "Not just me."
The ground shifted—not visibly. Not audibly.
But the presence was suddenly aligned.
A man stood several paces away.
Not appearing.Not arriving.
Simply standing, as though he had always been there and the world had only just noticed.
He looked ordinary.
Middle-aged. Weather-worn. No aura. No lightning. No authority.
His eyes, however, held something unsettling—not power, but continuity.
"You're late," Kurogane said.
The man tilted his head slightly. "You reached the right silence. That took time."
Kurogane swallowed. "You're Raiketsu."
The man did not deny it.He also did not confirm it.
"I watched your great-grandfather do the same thing," the man said instead. "Stand where lightning would not answer him."
Kurogane's breath caught.
"Takeshi," the man continued. "He never called it strength. He called it refusal."
"You knew him," Kurogane said.
"I knew the line," the man replied. "He was one of many."
The words hit harder than expected.
"You didn't protect them," Kurogane said.
"No," the man agreed. "I observed whether protection changed the result."
Kurogane's fists clenched. "People died."
"Yes."
"No regret?"
The man looked at the empty horizon. "Regret interferes with measurement."
Kurogane stepped forward. "Then why me?"
Raiketsu finally looked at him fully.
"Because you are the first who was never chosen," he said.
Kurogane frowned. "The Council chose me."
"They selected you," Raiketsu corrected. "That is not the same."
He gestured to the ground. "Your bloodline never sought visibility. Never escalated. Never concluded that power justified direction."
Kurogane felt it—the truth pressing into place.
"You didn't want someone who could win," he said. "You wanted someone who could stop."
Raiketsu nodded once. "Winning ends wars. Stopping them prevents inheritance."
Kurogane's voice lowered. "You're going to train me."
Raiketsu shook his head. "No."
"Then why are you here?"
Raiketsu stepped closer—not threatening, not distant.
"Because war preparation has begun," he said. "And because after this point, ignorance becomes a choice."
Kurogane felt the internal brace stir—not in protest.
In recognition.
Raiketsu glanced at it. "It knows who I am."
"It's not supposed to," Kurogane said.
Raiketsu's mouth curved faintly. "That's because it was never meant to obey."
Silence returned.
Not empty.
Intentional.
"I won't become you," Kurogane said.
"Good," Raiketsu replied. "Then you might survive what's coming."
"What's coming?" Kurogane demanded.
Raiketsu turned away.
"A war where lightning will be rewarded for memory," he said. "And punished for restraint."
He paused.
"When they ask you to lead," Raiketsu added, "remember this place."
"And if they force me?"
Raiketsu looked back one last time.
"Then you will finally understand," he said, "why I never intervened sooner."
The wind shifted.
Raiketsu was gone.
Not vanished.
No longer relevant to the space.
Kurogane stood alone again—except he wasn't.
The ground felt heavier.
The silence sharper.
Somewhere far above, Council projections escalated.
And beneath them all, lightning adjusted—not toward power, not toward control—
but toward witnesses.