The forest seemed to close in around Kaito, the shadows twisting unnaturally in the pale moonlight. His heart pounded as he faced the cloaked figure.

“Who are you?” Kaito demanded, gripping his wooden sword. “What do you mean ‘too late’?”

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, they stepped closer, their movements unnervingly smooth. “That emblem is not for you to touch,” the figure said. “Leave now, or you’ll bring ruin upon yourself and your clan.”

Kaito swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. “If this is about the clan, I have a right to know. What is this emblem? Why is it here?”

For a moment, the figure was silent, as if weighing their options. Finally, they let out a sigh. “You’re stubborn, just like your father,” they muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

Kaito’s breath caught. “You knew my father?”

Before he could get an answer, the figure raised a hand. A gust of wind surged through the clearing, sending Kaito stumbling back. By the time he steadied himself, the figure was gone, leaving only the rustling leaves in their wake.

The clearing was silent again, save for the soft hum of the glowing emblem. Kaito knelt beside the boulder, brushing away more dirt to reveal its full shape. The emblem was circular, its intricate patterns forming a design that seemed both ancient and strangely familiar.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He pressed his hand against it. The metal was cool to the touch, but as his fingers traced the patterns, a faint warmth spread through his palm. Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled.

“Kaito!” a voice shouted from behind.

He spun around to see Master Genji running toward him, his expression uncharacteristically alarmed.

“What are you doing?” Genji barked, grabbing Kaito by the arm and pulling him away.

“There’s something under the boulder,” Kaito said, his voice shaking. “I think it’s important. Maybe—”

“Enough!” Genji’s tone was sharper than Kaito had ever heard. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just touched?”

Kaito hesitated. “No... but if it’s important to the clan, I—”

Genji’s grip tightened. “Listen to me, boy. That symbol is not something you’re ready to understand. Forget you ever saw it.”

Back at the training grounds, Genji paced in front of the dimly lit firepit. Kaito sat nearby, rubbing his arm where the old man had grabbed him.

“That symbol,” Genji began, his voice low, “is tied to the Crimson Talon’s darkest chapter. It’s a relic from the Age of Ash—a time when the clan nearly destroyed itself.”

Kaito leaned forward. “But why would something like that be buried here? And why—”

“Enough questions,” Genji snapped. “All you need to know is that it’s dangerous. Promise me you won’t go near it again.”

Kaito nodded reluctantly, but doubt gnawed at him. If this relic was so dangerous, why hadn’t the clan destroyed it? And why had Genji reacted so strongly?

That night, as Kaito lay on his straw mat, sleep eluded him. The image of the glowing emblem burned in his mind, and the cloaked figure’s words echoed in his ears.

The next morning, Kaito’s resolve was firm. He couldn’t ignore what he’d seen—or the questions it raised. If this relic was tied to the clan’s history, then understanding it might be the key to proving himself.

He’d have to be careful. Genji would surely be watching him now, and the figure from the forest could return at any time. But no matter the risk, Kaito knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t back down.

As he stepped outside, the first rays of sunlight bathed the mountains in golden light. Kaito tightened the strap on his sword and set his jaw.

“Father,” he murmured, glancing toward the sacred hall on the highest peak, “I’ll find the truth. No matter what it takes.”