Lucien's eyes opened.
A cold gust slid across his skin.
He wasn't in his room.
He was standing in a snow-covered courtyard, lanterns flickering against ancient wooden beams. The air smelled of frost and cedar. Snowflakes drifted slowly, each one falling in absolute silence.
He looked down.
Black training garb.
Thinner arms.
A smaller frame.
His younger body.
…I'm back here.
Something gathered behind him — smoke twisting, thickening, rising until it formed a tall humanoid shape. Two curved horns. A blank, expressionless black oni mask carved from shadow itself.
The smoke figure stood beside him, silent, observing the courtyard as if it remembered it too.
A low rumble escaped from behind the mask.
"So… it begins here."
Before Lucien could respond, the old wooden doors on the far side of the courtyard slid open with a heavy groan.
A Fujiwara elder stepped out.
His voice cut through the cold like a blade.
"Raizo. Step forward."
Lucien felt his younger body react instinctively — muscles tightening, heartbeat calming, breath narrowing to discipline.
He moved.
One step.
Then another.
The snow didn't crunch.
It simply accepted him.
Behind him, the oni-masked smoke figure followed like a shadow that had always belonged to him.
Lucien stopped before the elder.
"Come," the old man ordered without looking back. "Your indoctrination continues."
Lucien's throat tightened.
The smoke figure leaned close, whispering from behind the mask:
"The death of Raizo…"
Lucien stepped into the darkness of the hall.
"…and the birth of Raizo Fujiwara."
The doors slid shut behind him.
Lucien followed the elder through the long, dim hallway.
Tatami mats muted every step.
Paper lanterns cast warm light over old wood and older shadows.
Incense lingered in the air — sharp, disciplined, unforgiving.
The elder didn't slow.
"Raizo," he said without turning his head, voice rough like gravel dragged over stone,
"remind me of our great clan's past."
Lucien's younger body responded before he could even think.
"The Fujiwara have served from the shadows for over a thousand years," he recited quietly. "We preserved balance. Eliminated threats. Removed rot before kings ever smelled decay."
The elder nodded once.
"And our purpose?"
"To remain unseen.
Unquestioned.
Unfaltering."
"Good."
They continued walking through the corridor lined with old paintings— battles in the dark, scrolls of silent assassinations, silhouettes on rooftops, faces that were never meant to be remembered.
The elder's voice dropped lower.
"Our ancestors understood what the world forgets," he said. "Order is never born from peace. It is carved from blood. Balance is not maintained by the righteous… but by those willing to do what others fear."
Lucien felt the chill settle in his bones.
The oni-masked smoke figure drifted alongside him, whispering just behind his ear:
"And this… is where they built you."
Lucien kept walking.
The hall grew darker.
The air colder.
The elder's steps slower.
At the end of the corridor, he slid open another door.
"Enter, Raizo," the elder said.
"Today, you learn what it means to carry the Fujiwara name."
They turn a corner — old lanterns flicker.
"Long before the first emperor recorded in the chronicles…
before the Nihon Shoki, before the Kojiki, before written memory…"
The elder's hand brushes an ancient mural carved into the wall.
"…there was an emperor erased from history.
Fujiwara no Arata — The Hidden Sovereign."
A beat.
"He ruled not through conquest…
but through shadow."
They walk past murals showing veiled figures behind thrones, shaping politics unseen.
"The emperors that came after him?"
A faint smirk.
"Puppets for the history books.
Actors for the world."
Another turn — a courtyard opens, moonlight spilling across worn stone.
"For a thousand years, we shaped kings.
We decided wars.
We erased names and wrote destinies."
Raizo watches the elder's back.
"A clan that rules openly dies.
A clan that rules unseen… endures."
The elder stops at the wooden gate leading to the inner sanctum.
He finally faces Raizo.
His eyes are sharp — ancient even for a man still alive.
"You stand at the end of our line, Raizo."
He steps closer, placing a hand on Raizo's head — not gently, not harshly.
"The death of Raizo…"
his thumb wipes ash from Lucien's cheek.
"…and the birth of Raizo Fujiwara."
The gate opens behind him.
Cold wind. Torches flare. Disciples kneel.
The elder whispers:
"You will be our blade in the dark."
The elder's pace never slows.
Raizo follows, small steps quiet on the polished stone.
They pass another mural — this one depicting shadowy figures moving across old battlefields.
Then the elder speaks again:
"Raizo… tell me."
A pause.
"Are you familiar with Hattori Hanzo?"
Raizo answers immediately, voice steady.
"Yes."
The elder gives a single nod, neither impressed nor surprised.
"Good. Then you know why I ask."
He places a hand behind his back as he walks.
"Men like Hanzo do not appear by chance.
They are forged.
Cultivated.
Shaped by hands greater than their own."
He glances at Raizo from the corner of his eye.
"And men like him… have always existed in the shadows of the Fujiwara."
They turn another corridor, lined with old scrolls sealed in glass.
"The world worships names like Hanzo.
But it forgets the ones who trained them…
guided them…
funded them…
and erased them when needed."
He stops in front of a sliding wooden door.
The torches flicker as if bowing to him.
"Even legends answer to someone, Raizo."
The elder steps aside, letting Raizo face the door alone.
"The question is…"
his voice drops, colder now,
"…will you become the legend?"
The door slides open.
Darkness waits inside.
Raizo stepped inside.
The door slid shut behind him without a sound.
The room was dark, empty…
but familiar.
He had stood here once before.
He had bled here once before.
A faint warmth brushed his cheek.
Then—
fwmp—
Tiny flames bloomed at the edges of the room.
One. Then four. Then all twelve ignited in sequence, circling him like a ring of molten eyes.
Twelve stone plates rose from the floor around him, each perfectly equidistant despite Raizo not seeing them moments earlier.
He didn't need to see the center.
His feet simply carried him there.
Instinct. Memory. Indoctrination carved into bone.
He stopped exactly where the room wanted him to stand.
Above him, three blue flames snapped into existence — steady, cold, hovering like judgment.
A heartbeat later, a fourth flame burst open above them.
Red.
Hungry.
Alive.
Twelve shadows pulled themselves out from behind the plates, tall and lean, silhouettes shaped like human forms but lacking faces, features, or mercy.
They didn't move. They didn't breathe. They simply existed.
The voice drifted beside him, materializing as a slow curl of smoke, the black oni mask settling over the haze like a familiar face.
"The hierarchy…" it murmured.
"Exactly as you left it."
Footsteps echoed.
The elder — the same one who guided him moments ago — walked toward the circle's center, expression unreadable in the shifting light.
He didn't flinch at the shadows.
Didn't blink at the flames.
He approached Raizo until they stood only a breath apart.
"Raizo Fujiwara," the elder said, voice echoing through the chamber.
He raised his hand toward the twelve shadows.
"Do you remember…
the price of standing here?"
The flames tightened around Raizo, blue flickering, red pulsing once like a heartbeat.
The shadows leaned forward.
Waiting.
Recognizing him.
Claiming him.
Raizo felt the weight settle into his bones —
the death of Lucien
and the birth of Raizo
all over again.
The elder's gaze settled on him, calm but crushing in its weight.
"Raizo," he said, voice carrying through the chamber without echo.
"Do you remember your place?"
Raizo didn't answer with words.
He didn't need to.
His body moved on its own—
not from habit,
not from respect,
but from something carved deeper than either.
He stepped one foot back.
His right hand slid across his chest — two fingers over the heart.
His left hand pressed against his lower abdomen — the sign of submission, not weakness.
Then he lowered himself.
Not a bow.
A descent.
Slow. Exact. The way every Fujiwara heir had done for over a thousand years.
Spine straight.
Head angled precisely thirty degrees.
Eyes down but alert.
Knees bending until they hovered just above the ground without touching it.
A bow not meant to honor a person.
A bow meant to honor an ancient system
and survive it.
The twelve shadows leaned forward in unison, like predators acknowledging the posture of a trained cub.
The three blue flames tightened, narrowing their glow onto him.
The red flame flared once — as if humored.
The elder nodded.
"Good," he said quietly. "You remember."
Raizo held the position without shaking.
The voice floated beside him, the smoke-mask turning slightly.
"…your body still knows," it murmured. "Even if your mind pretends it forgot."
Raizo didn't rise.
He waited.
One second.
Five.
Ten.
The elder finally spoke.
"Stand, Raizo Fujiwara."
He rose smoothly.
Effortlessly.
Perfectly.
As he stood in the center of the burning ring, surrounded by shadows and judgment, Raizo felt something he hadn't felt in years —
the exact weight
of who he used to be.
One of the blue flames flickered—
not brighter,
but sharper.
A silhouette behind it shifted, long hair flowing like ink in water.
A woman's voice drifted out.
Calm.
Cold.
Measured.
"Elder."
The man guiding Raizo paused mid-step.
"Is this the one you spoke of?"
Her tone didn't rise, didn't question — it weighed.
"The boy with the millennium body…
and the millennium soul?"
The chamber reacted before Raizo did.
The other eleven shadows turned slightly toward him.
Not moving — orienting, like wolves catching a scent.
The blue flame above the woman curled inwards, tightening into a sharp spiral of light.
Raizo kept his posture.
The elder finally answered.
"He is."
A ripple went through the shadows — not audible, but felt, like pressure tightening around the ribcage.
The woman behind the flame leaned forward just enough for her outline to sharpen.
"So it is true," she whispered.
"A vessel born only once in a thousand years…"
A pause.
"…wearing the face of a child."
The voice beside Raizo murmured softly through the mask made of smoke—
"Great. They're doing the prophecy thing again."
Raizo didn't react.
He knew better.
The elder stepped past him, addressing the twelve.
"His training begins today.
His suffering begins today.
And his becoming…"
He looked back at Raizo.
"…will shape the century to come."
The red flame cracked once overhead, sending sparks drifting downward like falling embers.
The woman's silhouette straightened, the blue flames steadying around her.
"Then let us begin," she said.
One of the blue-flame silhouettes leaned forward.
"Boy," she said, tone slicing through the chamber,
"you have trained here for years.
We allowed it — despite you lacking Fujiwara blood — only because the old fool who brought you in… had an unusually sharp eye."
Raizo's fingers twitched.
Just a twitch.
But the elder closest to him noticed instantly.
His head turned slightly, a warning in the stillness.
The woman continued, unconcerned.
"Do not mistake tolerance for belonging."
Raizo's hand slowly curled into a fist.
Old fool.
Old man.
The only person who fed him.
Taught him.
Gave him a name worth anything.
His jaw tightened—
And then a voice — not spoken, not whispered —
cut through his skull.
"Boy."
The elder's voice.
Inside his mind.
Clear.
Cold.
Absolute.
"Do not let your temper rise here. You will be killed."
Raizo froze.
His breath hitched.
Not from fear —
but from the sudden, violent realization:
This wasn't technique.
This wasn't training.
This was…
telepathy.
For the first time in years, the floor seemed to shift under him.
And the other voice —
the one that had been with him in countless nightmares —
laughed.
A low, amused rumble from somewhere behind his ribs.
"Ahhh, Lucien… I remember this part," it mocked.
"Just like yesterday. The moment your whole understanding of reality cracked.
That expression you made when you realized the world wasn't limited to the factories you grew up in… but filled with things men weren't meant to see."
Raizo gritted his teeth.
"Shut up," he hissed under his breath.
"You weren't even there at the time."
The smoke-formed oni mask flickered into being beside him for a heartbeat.
"Details," it whispered.
Then vanished.
The blue flame pulsed once — as if amused —
while the twelve shadows watched the boy whose anger almost betrayed him.
The ceremony wasn't over.
Not even close.
The ceremony didn't pause, didn't soften. The woman's silhouette behind the blue flame shifted, her attention narrowing on Raizo.
"Boy," she said, voice sharpened like a blade, "do you know what the Millennium Soul is?"
Raizo answered quietly. "No."
"Then listen."
The blue flame rose a fraction.
"The Millennium Soul is the will that bends eras. It is neither good nor evil. It is dominance of intent—so absolute that history reshapes around its bearer."
Her shadow moved slightly.
"Many who carried it changed the world simply by existing. Alexander. Napoleon. Hitler. Julius Caesar. Saladin. Leaders whose willpower carved new realities into the earth."
No judgment. Just fact.
"That is the Millennium Soul."
She lifted her hand, and the flame curved toward Raizo like an eye.
"And now… the Millennium Body."
The chamber tightened again — even the shadows leaned in.
"Far rarer," she continued. "A vessel attuned to instincts beyond mortal senses. A body that evolves without training. That sees killing intent. That adapts to impossible pressure."
She listed them calmly, like reading names from a forgotten ledger.
"Musashi. Imhotep. Atul of the Eastern Marches. Genghis Khan. Warriors whose bodies moved before thought, whose instincts eclipsed human limitation."
Then she paused, her flame dimming as if in contemplation.
"But possessing both the Millennium Soul and the Millennium Body…"
Her voice lowered.
"…that is almost unheard of."
The blue flame bowed, flickering downward — a sign of ancient respect.
"Only a handful across all recorded time ever bore both. Hattori Hanzo. Shatul the Unnamed Blade. Figures whose existence changed the shape of nations."
The flame dimmed further, almost kneeling.
"And one who still lives."
A hush fell over the chamber.
"The Oni of Osaka."
Even the twelve shadows shifted — not in fear, but in acknowledgment.
Her flame withered small, as if lowering its head.
Then—
The crimson flame above erupted.
No roar, no violence — just pure force swelling through the chamber, commanding attention with the ease of gravity.
Its voice slid across every stone in the sanctum.
"Until now…"
The words vibrated in Raizo's ribs.
"…only the Oni of Osaka walked with both the Millennium Soul and the Millennium Body."
The blue flames bowed deeper. The shadows knelt without moving.
The red flame brightened to its highest intensity and spoke again, addressing Raizo directly:
"But now another stands before us."
Raizo felt his entire body tighten, breath thinning under the sheer pressure.
The flame descended another inch, judgment absolute:
"You, Raizo."
A final beat.
"You possess both."
The crimson light pulsed, sealing the truth into the chamber itself.
"You… and the Oni of Osaka."
Silence.
As if the entire sanctum held its breath for whatever Raizo would become.
The red flame still burned overhead, steady, oppressive, absolute.
Raizo didn't move.
He couldn't move.
The weight pouring from the crimson fire was not heat — it was authority. His muscles refused to answer him. His lungs tightened. His heartbeat slowed until it matched the pulse of the flame.
The elder stepped in front of him.
Closer.
Close enough that Raizo could smell the faint incense on his robes.
"From this moment," the elder said, voice low but cutting through the chamber like a blade through silk,
"you are no longer Raizo."
He raised one hand and placed two fingers against Raizo's forehead.
The touch wasn't violent.
But Raizo felt something carved into him — an invisible brand pressed into bone.
"You are now Raizo Fujiwara."
The twelve shadows bowed their heads.
The blue flames dimmed.
The red flame glowed brighter — approving, claiming.
Raizo's legs trembled under the sheer presence, but he didn't collapse. The crimson pressure held him suspended on the edge of breaking.
The elder stepped back half a pace.
His eyes sharpened.
"Run."
Raizo instinctively tried.
But his foot barely twitched a centimeter.
The elder's expression didn't change.
"Again."
Raizo pushed harder. His muscles shook. His breath came out fractured.
Again — nothing.
The pressure from the crimson flame was like a mountain pressing down on his spine.
The elder flicked his fingers once.
The shadows around the twelve pillars straightened.
"Do you understand, Raizo?" the elder said quietly. "To carry our name, your will must overpower pressure itself."
He gestured once more — a small, almost bored motion.
"Run."
Raizo forced his foot forward—
—an inch.
The voice beside him laughed under its breath, smoke curling up through the oni mask.
"Oh, I remember this. The lesson they loved the most."
Raizo gritted his teeth.
Another step.
Barely two inches.
The elder's expression was calm, almost indifferent.
"Run," he repeated, each word like a commandment.
Raizo pushed harder. Something in his ribs screamed. His vision shook. His bones felt like they were grinding against the flame's aura.
But he moved.
He moved.
Half a step.
Then another half.
The elder nodded once.
"Good," he said. "Again."
Raizo tried.
The flame pressed harder — like a hand on his entire body pushing him into the earth.
His knees buckled. His breath vanished. His vision tunneled.
But he stayed upright.
The elder stepped closer, his voice no louder than a whisper:
"To be Fujiwara… you do not run because you have strength."
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth — not warm, not kind, but knowing.
"You run because the world itself tries to stop you."
The red flame throbbed once above them, the pressure doubling — the room bending around the weight of it.
Raizo fell forward—
And woke up.
The dream ripped away like torn cloth, the crimson fire still burning behind his eyelids.
Raizo fell forward—
—and Lucien jolted awake.
He sat up in an instant, breath dragging in sharp, uneven pulls. His shirt clung to his skin. His hair was damp at the temples. The room was dim, the curtains barely letting in morning light.
But the heat of the crimson flame still burned behind his eyes.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
Steady heartbeat.
His older, taller body.
His room.
Not the Fujiwara sanctum.
But the memory clung to him like smoke.
He hadn't dreamed of that place in years.
He hadn't remembered that ceremony since the day he ran from Japan.
The voice rose slowly, like someone stretching inside his skull.
"…you really dug deep this time."
Lucien didn't answer.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, still trying to slow his breathing.
The voice continued, quieter.
"Funny. You spent years trying to bury Raizo… and now he's clawing his way back."
Lucien stared at the wall in front of him.
"I don't want to remember that," he muttered.
"Which is exactly why you did," the voice replied, as if it were obvious.
Lucien swung his legs off the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
For a long moment, he sat in silence.
That ritual… the pressure… the crimson flame…
He had forgotten how small he once was.
How heavy the Fujiwara made him.
How much they carved into him.
And the fact that he was dreaming it again—
—it meant something was shifting.
Or returning.
Or unraveling.
He wasn't sure which one scared him more.
The voice murmured:
"Feels like something is waking up, doesn't it?"
Lucien didn't deny it.
He just stared at the floor…
…because for the first time in years…
Raizo Fujiwara felt close.
Too close.
Lucien pushed himself up and walked toward the wardrobe, stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The cold floor under his feet felt more real than anything else in the last ten minutes.
He opened the wardrobe and grabbed a black T-shirt and dark slacks.
Simple. Quiet. Something that felt like him, not Raizo.
The voice drifted in as he pulled the shirt over his head.
"You know," it said lightly, "you haven't dreamed of that place in years."
Lucien buttoned his slacks, not bothering to answer yet.
The voice continued anyway.
"So why now?
Why that ceremony?
Why her voice?
Why the flames?"
Lucien grabbed a belt off the shelf, threading it through the loops.
"You're asking me?" he muttered.
"You're the one whose subconscious dragged you all the way back to Japan."
Lucien snorted under his breath.
"I don't choose what I dream."
"No," the voice replied, "but dreams choose what you're avoiding."
Lucien went still for a second.
Then he reached for a bottle of cologne, sprayed twice, and rubbed his wrists together.
"Drop it," he said quietly.
The voice hummed.
"I would… but you saw it, didn't you? The way the crimson flame looked at you? Like it remembered its favorite toy."
Lucien grabbed his watch from the table and fastened it.
"It was just a dream."
"Sure," the voice said, unconvinced. "And I'm the Emperor of Kyoto."
Lucien ignored it and moved to the mirror.
He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back into something presentable.
His reflection was older, sharper, calmer.
But for a split second — just a flicker — he thought he saw the younger Raizo staring back, eyes burning with the same indoctrinated focus he thought he had buried.
He blinked once, and it was gone.
Lucien grabbed a black overshirt from the chair and slid it on.
The voice spoke again, quieter this time.
"You feel it, don't you? Something's moving. Something old. Something you never finished."
Lucien opened the door.
"Not now," he said.
"Ah," the voice replied, amused, "classic Lucien response. Avoid first, handle later."
Lucien stepped into the hallway.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
He didn't dignify that with an answer.
He just walked toward the stairs, fully dressed, face set…
…but the weight of Raizo Fujiwara still clinging to the back of his mind.
Lucien descended the stairs, adjusting the cuff of his overshirt as he stepped onto the landing.
Halfway down, a blur shot past him.
Lex.
Hair a mess, shirt half-tucked, socks mismatched, sprinting like the floor behind him was on fire.
"I'mlateI'mlateI'mlate—!"
He nearly slipped on the last step, caught himself, then bolted toward the bathroom with the force of a panicked animal.
Lucien paused on the stairs.
The voice let out a low, amused sigh.
"Ahh… now we're back."
Lucien continued walking, passing Lex's fallen backpack on the hallway floor.
From the bathroom came the sounds of running water, frantic movement, and Lex yelling:
"Who stole my other shoe?!"
Lucien shook his head.
The voice chuckled again.
"Assassins, emperors, ancient flames… and then this."
Lucien stepped into the main hall, expression calm, but something in his chest easing—
Normalcy trying its best to hold the line.
Lucien stepped off the stairs just as Lex came sprinting back out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, shirt buttoned wrong, one shoe on and the other nowhere in sight.
Elaine appeared behind him like a storm cloud.
"LEX! Look at this floor! Did you wash your face or flood the entire room—?!"
"It wasn't me, it was the tap—it attacked—!" Lex yelled back while running in circles.
Elaine grabbed him by the collar mid-spin.
"STOP MOVING!"
Lucien walked past them as Lex flailed helplessly in her grip.
The voice snorted.
"Feudal indoctrination one night, domestic chaos the next. Truly versatile environments you live in."
Lucien didn't answer, heading for the dining room.
Aldric, Rowen, Reggie, and the kids were already there.
Aldric sat with the morning paper, glasses low on his nose, completely unfazed by the battlefield happening ten meters away.
Rowen typed on his tablet, glancing up only once when Lex shrieked as Elaine forced his second shoe on.
Reggie was calmly sipping his coffee, already dressed for work, checking something on his phone.
Ryan and May sat quietly beside him — uniforms neat, bags packed, shoes clean, sitting straight and waiting with the patience only children raised on routine ever had.
They watched Lex's panic like it was their morning entertainment.
Lucien pulled out a chair and sat down.
His chest felt… off. Light, but tight. The aftertaste of the dream still clinging to the edges of his mind.
The voice drifted closer.
"Hard transition, isn't it? One night you're Raizo… next morning you're here."
Lucien kept his eyes on the table.
He didn't argue.
Elaine finally shoved Lex toward the door. "GO. CAR. NOW."
Lex ran like a missile.
Rowen sighed, rubbing his forehead. Aldric turned a page.
Reggie lowered his phone just long enough to call out, "Ryan, May—go on. He'll catch up."
They nodded and headed out neatly, as Lex ricocheted off a wall trying to put on his backpack.
Lucien exhaled quietly.
Normal life pressed around him — loud, messy, human.
A stark contrast to the cold silence of the Fujiwara hall still echoing at the back of his skull.
The voice settled beside him, barely audible.
"You're slipping between two worlds again."
Lucien looked down at his hands.
"…yeah."
The dream clung to him like smoke he couldn't wash off.
He didn't shake it.
He didn't deny it.
He just sat there a moment longer, letting the clash of normalcy and memory settle in his chest—
not quite belonging to either.