Year: 1576 A.W.

  Subject: Judy Despot

  Age: 20

  (Part 1)

  Footsteps rolled across the open fields in a measured rhythm, a rolling wall of mirrored discipline. Metal glinted with sunlit resolve, each step carving purpose into the earth. Then a voice, sharp and clean, cut through the wind like drawn steel.

  "Eyes forward. Feet sharp. We march, not wander."

  The reply came at once, layered in perfect unison.

  "Yes, ma’am!"

  They were D-Rank agents. The lowest rank of the Blood Wardens. Led by Judy Despot, a C-Rank Operative with a voice carved from stone and a spine that never bent. For two days, they had marched through wind-swept valleys, over thorn-slick ridges, across plains that never seemed to end. No breaks. No questions. Only the rhythm of survival. This wasn’t punishment, it was purification. Weakness did not exist within the Blood Wardens. Not for long. Those who joined them came at their peak and left something else entirely. Something forged. Something feared. Something not quite human anymore.

  Judy stopped. The armoured agents behind her halted without a word. This was the first time they had stopped in two days, and yet they stood unfazed.

  "What’s wrong, sir?" someone asked from the crowd, each hand drifting toward their blade.

  She knelt, fingers brushing the grass. Dirt pressed into her black gloves. She listened for the vibrations running beneath the soil, then her gaze sharpened.

  "One…" she murmured. "Two… four… footsteps. Two people."

  She pointed. "You two, point west. You perch at point north. Standard formation. Cover the angles. Watch the wind."

  The three soldiers in black armour darted to their positions. Judy stayed still. She had used her Art of Sound, tuned to footsteps, wind shifts, heartbeat patterns. But now the sounds had vanished. Seconds passed. Tension thickened, coiling tighter with every breath. Then came a clash, sharp and sudden, the sound of blades at full intent. Judy drew her weapon without hesitation. No time to plan, no time to adapt, but she didn’t need time.

  "Formation 0023. Enhanced dome."

  Her words landed like a stone dropped into still water. Voidguards moved in rhythm, wordless and precise, forming a circle around her. Blades lifted in mirrored arcs, angled outward, a skeletal dome of steel.

  [Tactical Note: Formation 0023]

  A standard D.S.O. manoeuvre used in encounters with unknown threats. Designed for maximum defence, it leaves narrow blade-sized gaps for visibility and counter-strikes. Any enemy who breaches the dome is met with instant reprisal from all angles.

  A grin touched Judy’s lips. This was her element. A sealed perimeter. A field of silence. And her Sound Arts humming beneath it all. She exhaled slowly.

  "It doesn’t matter how fast you are," she murmured. "You exist within the very air itself."

  Her eyes closed, and still she saw everything: the rustle of leaves, the heartbeat of birds, the scurry of ants underground. Beyond that, a curl of mist bending where wind shouldn’t. Something moved. A presence. Human in shape, but not harmless. Judy’s voice stayed calm.

  "Back to marching formation."

  Her soldiers recoiled without hesitation. They trusted Judy with their hearts.

  "There’s danger nearby," she added, "but the right kind. The kind you hope is on your side."

  She stood and sheathed her blade. "After all," she said with a flicker of certainty, "a human child can’t be a demon."

  They marched toward the treeline. Judy’s gaze pierced the fog, searching. She didn’t know what she was looking for, only that something was there. Boots pressed bark into mulch. Then came the faint sound of steel, sharp and distant. Judy raised her hand in one fluid motion. The agents halted.

  The rookies were fresh, barely tested, but under her command they were hers to protect. The pressure thickened, unseen and ancient. Her resolve hardened into three words: Find. Protect. Destroy. Leaves spiralled downward without wind. Crows burst from the canopy in a chaos of wings. Still, they stood firm. Hands on hilts. Breaths held. Eyes cutting through the fog.

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  Then, it appeared. A thin streak of silver, faint and almost imaginary. Judy’s breath caught. Then another, and another. Silver slashes streaked across the air, fast and soundless. Each movement clean and precise, but beneath the grace was panic. He wasn’t dancing. He was running. A child, no older than six, with white hair and weightless steps. Each slash painted the fog with power unseen but felt. Judy’s eyes widened. His form resembled the legendary Arts of Thunder, but the discipline wasn’t there. Wild. Unhoned. Raw.

  She turned to her agents. "Do you see him?"

  They blinked. "No, sir!"

  She smiled faintly. That confirmed it. He was just that fast. Untrained, but natural. A rare gift. Too rare to lose. He belonged with them. He belonged with the D.S.O.

  But words wouldn’t reach him. Only action would. She closed her eyes, counted the rhythm, then—flash. The silver cut crossed her line of sight, and she moved faster than thought. Her arm snapped forward. She caught him. Ritzo’s breath exploded from his lungs. His instincts screamed, but her grip locked firm. His momentum turned against him, bracing for bone to shatter. It didn’t. She moved with him, spinning with grace, her blade drawn in a smooth reversal that launched him upward like an arrow. He jolted awake, scrambling back as she steadied him in her arms.

  "W-Who are you?!"

  She smiled faintly, posture steady. Behind her, several figures stood motionless. Not soldiers, not men. Statues in human skin, black coats, metal-thread uniforms. [D.S.O.] etched into their breastplates like a warning, not a badge. Ritzo’s breath quickened. The woman turned fully.

  "I’m Agent J.D.," she said. Her tone clipped, military. "You’re good with that blade. Not trained, but dangerous. What’s your trainee number?"

  Ritzo blinked. No answer came. Judy noticed the flicker in his eyes. Not confusion. A distraction. She followed his gaze toward the trees. Something was wrong. His blade had been colliding with something. Even now, his right arm twitched. A presence, not seen but felt, manifested beside her. Judy turned fast, hand drifting toward her blade, and froze.

  A girl stood at her flank. White hair. Blue eyes. No older than sixteen. She hadn’t walked up. She hadn’t appeared. It was as if the world had stepped aside to let her in. Judy’s mind raced. Siblings.

  The girl’s expression was serene, empty, calm in a way that was unnatural. Not an enemy, but absolutely a threat. Judy’s soldiers hadn’t noticed. They still scanned the treeline, unaware that the balance of power had shifted. Then a voice, soft and measured, no louder than a leaf falling.

  "You should move away from my brother."

  The weight of her presence dropped all at once. A collective intake of breath. For a single, impossible moment, everyone but the siblings had died. Not literally, but spiritually. The world had stopped to acknowledge the girl. Judy stumbled back. Fear wrapped her heart. Her body wouldn’t move. This wasn’t just power. This was history, cracked and stitched with something ancient, corrupted, forgotten, and still breathing.

  She steadied herself, forcing her voice. "You must be Tenshiro’s. Explains that incredible speed of yours, boy."

  Her eyes drifted between the siblings. Two presences, wildly different. One frantic and flickering, the other still and unshakable. Judy glanced at Aurora, now standing beside Ritzo once more. "I’m sure we’ll meet again… someday."

  It wasn’t a farewell, but a memory arriving too soon. No command, only recognition. The invisible thread wove the space between their souls. Ritzo looked up at Aurora, then at Judy. Neither spoke. Something inside him shifted. Beneath their strength, he sensed regret. Judy gave Aurora a slight nod, then turned. No salute. No ceremony. Her soldiers fell into step, silent as shadows. The mist swallowed their figures one by one until they were gone. But the air still held her final words, echoing like a promise not yet fulfilled.

  Aurora unsheathed her blade. The sound sliced the air. Ritzo barely had time to register it. Her eyes met his, soft but sharp, a calm smile touching her lips.

  "If you pass the exam, Ritzo…"

  "We might meet her again."

  (Part 2)

  The sky was grey, the clouds asleep. The world in 1576 was dark, filled with misery, pain, and violence. And yet, in the midst of it all, there was a light. A flame of hope flickering deep within the dark. Unseen. Unreachable. But one day, its light would be known.

  Months had passed since Judy’s departure. The Tenshiro siblings now stood near 7A-Blackreach, a secure D.S.O. outpost. A sanctuary for those cast from the world, too far from Catherine’s reach. Aurora and Ritzo had trained nonstop for over three weeks. No rest. No reprieve. Only repetition. Only war.

  Blades clashed in the fields. Aurora’s face was calm, motionless. Her strikes weren’t meant to kill, but to sharpen. Ritzo grunted; his blade grew heavier with every clash, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until he passed the exam. Not until he saw her again. Judy Despot. Her presence still burned in his memory. Something about her stayed with him. Familiar. Like Aurora, but colder. Burdened.

  Aurora slowed, adjusting her stance. Her words wouldn’t reach him at full speed. "Ritzo… concentrate."

  He paused. His thoughts had drifted.

  "In life, your mind is a sanctuary," she said. "But in battle it becomes a weapon, or a weakness. Clear your mind, Ritzo."

  He stood in the grass, damp with dusk. Her words were strong, heavy with meaning, but they couldn’t quiet the feelings inside him. No matter how far Aurora pushed him, he was still a child. A child forced into a world of war and death. Aurora stopped. She too was young, but her eyes belonged to someone who had walked through fire and remembered the smell. Yet even with all she carried, she saw him. A child born among thorns.

  She lowered her weapon gently onto the soil. Those trained in Thunder begin with silence. Silent breath. Silent thought. Silent step. Yet she walked to him with footsteps he could hear. Loud, but soft. She would not hide herself from him. Not now. Not ever. Ritzo stood still, eyes fixed on the grass. Hoping his emotions would stay buried, but they didn’t. His fingers shook. His chest ached. He was small. Worn. Breaking.

  Then something warm enveloped him. Aurora’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in without a word. She looked up toward the weary stars. She would not let them see his tears. And there, in the open field beneath a sky too distant to care, they rested. No walls. No orders. No masks. Just the fire. The dark. And silence, watched by stars that would never see him cry.