Ash clung to the air like a ghost refusing to leave. The world was painted in gray — burned sand, broken armor, and the blackened remains of Komoda Beach stretched endlessly under the morning haze. Nick knelt among it all, fingers tracing over a shattered helmet, the name Sakai faintly etched beneath the soot.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe. The silence was too loud.
Then — voices.
Faint. Disjointed. Like wind carrying fragments of words through hollow bones.
"…failed… protect…"
Nick's hand froze mid-motion. Yuna stood a few paces behind, her eyes scanning the hills. "You hear that?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "And I kinda wish I didn't."
Before he could make sense of it, the wind shifted — sharp, sudden — and with it came the sound of hooves. Mongol riders burst through the fog, their banners slashing the air with crimson streaks. Yuna swore under her breath and drew her dagger.
Nick rose, heart pounding. "Guess they didn't get the memo. Beach's closed."
Three horsemen charged straight for him. The first swung low — a curved blade glinting in the light. Nick stepped back, his instincts screaming. The next moment blurred. His arm moved on its own, sword rising, intercepting the strike at the perfect angle.
Clang!
The impact exploded through him — ash scattering, the world slowing into impossible focus. The Mongol's sword shattered at the hilt. Nick blinked, disbelief mixing with adrenaline.
"What the hell was that…" he muttered.
Yuna kicked one rider off his horse. "Less talking, more slicing!"
Nick grinned, snapping out of it. "Right. Classic tutorial moment."
The fight turned brutal fast. He ducked an axe swing, slashed across armor seams, turned a second parry into a counter that sent blood hissing into the sand. His body moved smoother than it should have — like something ancient had settled inside him and decided, Alright kid, watch and learn.
When the last Mongol fell, silence returned… except this time, it wasn't silence.
The whispers came again. Closer. Clearer.
"…the Ghost lives…"
"…protect… Tsushima…"
Nick spun around, blade raised. Nothing. Just wind snaking through the corpses. He frowned. "Okay… definitely not creepy at all."
Yuna wiped her blade clean. "You're hearing them again, aren't you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "They're… saying stuff. Like they're still here."
"Ghosts don't talk," she said firmly. "They're dead. Let them stay that way."
"Yeah, tell them that."
But he couldn't shake it. The air around him pulsed faintly, each gust of wind carrying something unseen — a rhythm that made his skin prickle. It wasn't just haunting. It was… awareness.
He sheathed his blade, stepping among the fallen. The ashes stirred at his feet like ripples in water. Every instinct screamed to move, to joke, to run. But instead, he knelt again — breathing slow, grounding himself.
"Alright," he whispered. "Show me."
He closed his eyes. The wind breathed back.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then it expanded.
He could hear Yuna shifting behind him — her heartbeat, her quiet exhale. The grass swaying miles away. The faint click of armor far beyond the dunes. His consciousness stretched outward, guided by something soft and ancient.
The whispers returned, now like a chorus. Hundreds of voices blending into one steady hum — not words, but emotion. Regret. Pain. Hope.
The Sense of Kami awakened.
Nick opened his eyes. Everything glowed faintly — edges sharper, sounds richer. He exhaled. "Okay… that was new."
Yuna stared at him like he'd lost it. "You're hearing the island now?"
"More like… it's hearing me," he said, standing. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna start talking to trees or anything."
She gave him a long look. "You already do."
He grinned. "Fair."
They began walking inland, following the whisper of the wind that seemed to invite him forward. Burned fields turned to half-ruined farms. The smell of smoke mixed with that of damp earth. Every few steps, Nick's hand brushed his sword, still feeling the echo of that perfect parry.
It wasn't just instinct — it had been something else, like a hand guiding his.
By dusk, they reached a small cluster of huts — the survivors of Komoda's outskirts. A few villagers huddled around broken fences, clutching makeshift spears. When they saw Nick's armor and face, they froze.
"It's him…" someone whispered. "The Ghost of Komoda…"
Nick sighed under his breath. "Man, this face has too much reputation."
They helped the wounded, Nick using his newly discovered "chi" — his resolve — to close wounds that should've taken days to heal. The villagers called it a miracle. He called it video game logic finally paying rent.
As night fell, the fires burned low. One old man leaned close to Nick, voice trembling. "They say a hero once wore an armor blessed by the spirits — hidden in a valley east of here. The Armor of Tadayori. It's said only one chosen by the wind can find it."
Nick felt the wind shift again, curling around him like a knowing smirk.
"Chosen by the wind, huh?" he murmured.
Yuna raised a brow. "Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking."
"Oh, absolutely," he said, smirking faintly. "Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that side quests always lead to better loot."
The wind blew once more — soft, guiding — and for a fleeting second, he swore he heard the faint sound of a bowstring being drawn somewhere far, far away.
The island was calling again.
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