Ida's words hung in the stale air. "I shouldn't be telling any of this to someone who will likely be my enemy."
Shion frowned, taking a defensive step back. "Fine. As I expected, it can't be—"
"But of course," Ida continued, his voice conversational, "if I were wearing my uniform, this conversation would never have happened. I would have ended your life the moment I saw you running through the street. Right after you stole that bread."
The casual certainty in his tone was like a physical blow. Shion's breath hitched for a split second, his mind conjured the sensation, the icy kiss of a blade against his throat, the hot tear of flesh, the choking silence that would follow.
His hand flew to his neck, fingers pressing against his pulse as if to confirm he was still whole. A gasp escaped him, shallow and ragged.
In that moment, the friendly mask fell away completely. Shion saw the monster underneath a creature of pure, disciplined violence who was merely toying with him. A tremor, born of equal parts rage and primal fear, ran through his body. He took another stumbling step back.
Ida merely smirked.
"But luckily," he said, gesturing to his simple clothes, "today is my day off. I'm just a commoner visiting the capital. So, for now, I am not the leader of the Dead Sun serving my master. I am just… a man talking to a boy and I will tell you this, Shion."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Have you ever thought of becoming a Sword Saint?"
Shion blinked, the whiplash of the question cutting through his fear. "A Sword Saint? What's that?"
"Wow." Ida looked genuinely taken aback. "You don't know what a Sword Saint is?"
"Is it… some kind of special sword or something?"
Ida sighed, a short, surprised laugh escaping him. "You never fail to amuse me, kid. A Sword Saint is a rank known across the entire world. Didn't any of your elders ever speak of it? You are truly clueless about the things that matter."
"Damn it!" Shion yelled, the fear boiling over into frustration. "Just tell me! What is going to happen tomorrow?!"
"Okay, okay. Young people today are so impatient." Ida's expression grew serious. "You see, the Crown Prince is currently bedridden. He tried to ascend his rank to Sword Saint to raise his power and status, but something went… wrong. Now, he is caught between life and death. The emperor has tried everything to cure him, sadly nothing worked until one day a foreign advisor appeared at the capital, he suggested that to restore his health, he needed the blood of an ancient tribe whose blood can cure any ailment."
Shion felt the world tilt. "You m-mean… Atiluis blood? But that's absurd. It can't possibly work, right?"
"Who says it doesn't?" Ida replied softly. "It does work. For a few hours after a transfusion, he can speak properly and he can walk. Then he fades back to his deathlike state. So, yes. It works."
The horror of it crashed over Shion, wave after icy wave. He turned away from Ida, his legs carrying him on unsteady feet to the nearest wall. Without a sound, he drove his forehead into the rough wood.
Thud.
Pain bloomed, sharp and bright. A warm trickle of blood began a slow path down his temple. He turned back to face Ida, his golden eyes wide with a devastation that went beyond tears.
"Tell me, Ida," Shion whispered, his voice raw. "Does that mean tomorrow… every single Atiluis is going to die? Is this our last night?"
Ida met his gaze, and for once, his smile was gone. "Yes. Unfortunately, that is what is going to happen."
Silence swallowed the shack. Shion's mind raced, a frantic animal in a cage. Does the Chief know? Does Ariel's father? We have to run. We have to warn everyone. We have to—
A broken sound tore from his throat. "Aah… This helpless feeling… I hate it." He slammed a fist against the wall. "If I were strong, if I were an adult with power, I could have freed my people. I could have protected my mother. She wouldn't have died in this filth! But I'm weak. Stupidly, pathetically weak, and she is gone forever because of it!"
"..."
"I'M WEAK!" Shion roared, punching the wall again, the knuckles of his small hand splitting open. "AND I HATE IT! DAMN IT!"
"Hey, Shion." Ida's voice cut through the outburst. He had reached for the enormous weapon swaddled in white cloth at his side. He placed it gently on the dusty floor between them. "Look at this."
With deliberate care, he began to unwrap it. The pristine linen fell away, revealing not a gleaming knightly sword but something ancient. The blade was long and dark, forged from a metal that seemed to drink the dim light. Jagged, tooth-like serrations ran along its edge, reminiscent of a serpent's spine. The handle was fashioned from a rough, grey stone that looked more like a tombstone than a grip.
"What a weird sword," Shion mumbled, but the words died in his mouth. A pressure filled the room a cold, sinister energy that seeped from the blade. It felt like it was awake.
"Touch it," Ida said.
"Huh?"
"Aren't you curious? This blade is not normal, you see she is my family and her name is Bahuka."
"Her?" Shion was too bewildered to process the odd pronoun. The dark pulse of the sword seemed to pull at him, a dangerous whisper against his mind. Driven by a morbid curiosity that overrode his fear, he took a hesitant step forward. His bloody fingertips stretched out, making contact with the cold, stone-like handle.
The world dissolved.
One moment he was in his shack, the next he was adrift in an infinite, lightless void. It was not simply dark; it was an absence of everything, there was no sound, no ground, no air, only a crushing, empty cold that seeped into his soul. The space felt simultaneously vast enough to swallow galaxies and yet suffocatingly close.
Then, she appeared.
A woman's form materialized from the shadows, though 'woman' was not quite right. He could see the pale curve of lips. He could see slender, graceful arms. But where her eyes should have been, there was only a deeper, more terrifying darkness. She raised a single, elegant finger and pressed it to those silent lips.
"Ssh."
No sound was made, but the command echoed directly inside his skull, freezing the scream in his throat. A primal, mind-breaking horror locked his limbs. He was a mouse before a silent, cosmic owl. Tears, hot and involuntary, streamed down his face. His entire body trembled violently, wanting to run, to beg, to shatter.
He couldn't move.
With a final, desperate wrench of his will, as if tearing his own spirit in two, Shion threw himself backward not physically, but with every ounce of his being.
He gasped, collapsing onto the filthy floor of his shack. He was back. The tears kept flowing down and his body was trembling, and the echo of that silent Ssh was etched into his mind, a scar of pure terror.