The training grounds were empty in the late afternoon, washed in a dull amber light that made everything feel paused—like the world had taken a breath and forgotten to exhale.
Tobi stood alone at the edge of the yard, wooden sword in hand, shoulders tight. He had been repeating the same form for nearly an hour. Not because he needed to—but because stopping felt worse.
Every time he paused, the weight at his side reminded him it was there.
The Dark Dragon Sword rested against the wall behind him, wrapped, silent. Too silent.
Tobi wiped sweat from his brow and turned—
—and froze.
A man sat on the low stone steps near the shrine gate, legs crossed casually, elbows resting on his knees as if he'd been there the entire time. He wore no uniform. No insignia. His presence didn't demand attention.
It claimed it.
"You're late today," the man said, voice calm, almost conversational.
Tobi's grip tightened.
"…Do I know you?"
The man smiled faintly. Not amused. Not threatening. Just aware.
"Not officially."
Tobi shifted his stance without thinking—feet grounded, shoulders squared. The kind of posture you take when something feels wrong but hasn't proven it yet.
"I don't remember hearing footsteps," Tobi said.
"You weren't listening for them."
The words landed heavier than they should have.
The man rose smoothly to his feet. He was tall, but not imposing. His movements were controlled, economical—nothing wasted.
His eyes, though…
They didn't scan the space.
They recognized it.
"You train alone more than you used to," the man continued. "That usually happens when someone starts carrying weight they don't want others to see."
Tobi's gaze flicked, just for a second, toward the wrapped sword.
The man noticed.
Of course he did.
"Does it still hurt," he asked quietly, "when you hold it too long?"
That was when the air changed.
Not violently. Not sharply.
Just… tighter.
The Dark Dragon Sword reacted.
Not with whispers. Not with heat.
With stillness.
The hum beneath Tobi's skin—the constant low pressure he had grown used to—settled. For the first time since he'd drawn it weeks ago, the sword felt contained. As if something unseen had placed a hand over its breath.
Tobi swallowed.
"…Who are you?"
The man's eyes softened—not with kindness, but with something older.
"Kaien," he said. "That's enough for now."
Tobi studied him carefully. There was no malice in Kaien's stance. No intent to fight. And yet, every instinct Tobi had was screaming the same warning:
This man knows.
Kaien turned slightly, his gaze drifting to the far edge of the grounds, where the shadows stretched longer than they should have.
"You're not the only one," Kaien said, almost to himself, "who's hearing things he doesn't understand."
Tobi's heart skipped.
"…What do you mean?"
Kaien didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer to the shrine gate, fingers brushing the old wood as if remembering something it had long forgotten.
"There's another," he said. "Someone standing too close to a past that never asked to be remembered."
Tobi felt it then—a pressure behind his eyes. A name he didn't want to think.
"If he remembers before he's ready," Kaien continued, voice low, "he won't come back the same."
Silence fell between them.
Tobi's voice came out rough.
"…You're talking about someone I know."
Kaien finally looked at him again.
"I know."
The Dark Dragon Sword shifted—just slightly. Not resisting. Not responding.
Listening.
Kaien noticed. He always did.
"It doesn't like uncertainty," Kaien said. "Or maybe… it doesn't like being understood."
That chilled Tobi more than any threat could have.
Kaien stepped back, already turning away.
"When you go looking for him," he said, not facing Tobi now, "don't call his name first."
Tobi frowned. "What?"
"Listen," Kaien replied. "If he answers too quickly—"
Kaien paused.
"—it's already too late."
And then he walked away.
No sound of footsteps.
No shift in air.
One moment he was there.
The next, the training grounds were empty again.
Tobi stood frozen long after the sun dipped lower, the wrapped sword at his side heavier than ever.
Somewhere—not far, but not close—
Ren was moving.
And the past had begun to wake.