Heavens, Northern Sky Mountains…
The domain of Iron, King of the Northern Heavens. God of Light and Life.
Inside a chamber sculpted from golden luminescence, Jakari sat quietly. Behind him stood Bantar, his loyal servant and longtime friend. Before them hovered a celestial orb—a viewing mirror through which they watched the unfolding conversation between Jakari's avatar and the Apostles of Death on the mortal plane.
"Look down," Jakari said, his tone mild but heavy. "What do you think?"
Bantar stepped forward and reviewed the recent exchange again. His eyes narrowed as he replayed Aitken's words.
"My Lord," Bantar began carefully, "if there really are Binturus left… your father would have known. They couldn't possibly stay hidden on Earth forever."
"I thought they were extinct," Jakari said, still watching. "All but the ones he subdued."
"All the records agree," Bantar confirmed. "But that was a dark time in the heavens. If they've returned, and we misstep, we risk war. Again."
Jakari's gaze sharpened.
"Father would be furious," he muttered. "If something from that era—something he missed—came back for him."
"Yes, my Lord," Bantar echoed.
Silence followed. The orb dimmed as Jakari stood, brushing down his robe of woven starlight.
"Well then," he said lightly, turning toward the exit, "I'll be out. Should you need me, seek me there."
"My Lord—" Bantar called after him. "With the Kotowari no Sasuke no Gi approaching…"
Jakari stopped mid-step. A chill filled the room as his eyes narrowed. That glare—it made Bantar regret speaking.
"So what?" Jakari's voice could slice metal. Even Bantar, who had known him for eons, flinched at the pressure of that barely restrained divine fury.
'You say you're my friend,' Bantar thought bitterly, 'but I always feel one wrong word from me will cost me my head.'
Still, he stood firm. "My Lord… your father wouldn't approve of this. He might hold me accountable. I advise you not to act rashly."
Jakari turned back to the door but paused.
"My dear friend, we both know I didn't ask for your advice."
He looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming like fractured suns.
"If my father asks—tell him I've gone to the ends of the world. To Uncle Noir's territory."
"B-but—"
"Even if you told him," Jakari interrupted, "you know it won't matter. Father… was always slow to war."
And with that, he was gone.
Bantar sighed and lowered his head.
He knew Jakari wasn't just talking about this incident. The God of Light had long since abandoned battlefields. Now he pursued peace, knowledge, the quiet pursuits of enlightenment—things Jakari had never truly admired.
---
Four Stars Academy…
A week had passed since Togira hatched.
Each day, Itekan and the others took turns feeding it their SE. There were no strict academy rules about pets, but few students ever brought one. Exceptions existed, of course—students like Kazumi Keisen, a beast-walker, or Cheim Nell, a known animagus.
Most professors didn't appreciate pets in their lectures—except Professor Tedorinzu, who had grown fond of Togira since the day of its birth. But the class they had now was one of the few that didn't care either way: Kinjutsu—Weapon Mastery.
At the moment, Itekan sat cross-legged, surrounded by swooning classmates—mostly girls—while Togira napped comfortably on his head. Rose, seated beside him, gently stroked the creature's face like she was its number-one fan.
'Wjo-dis-chibk?' Togira grumbled telepathically.
Itekan chuckled under his breath. He was only a week old, yet Togira already swore like a sailor.
'Be nice,' Itekan replied, trying to keep a straight face as Rose cooed sweet nonsense at the beast.
'Teel-ber-to-gurrt-awai-drom-me,' Togira whined again.
Unable to hold it in, Itekan laughed—only to yelp as Togira bit down on his hair in protest. Gasps and squeals followed.
"Oh my stars, he's soooo cute!"
"I can't even—he just bit him! That's ADORABLE!"
But Itekan didn't find it cute. He was in genuine pain.
"Okay! Okay!" he winced, trying to pry the 12-horned cub from his scalp. "That's enough, Togira."
He turned to the girls. "Alright, he wants to rest. Back away, please."
Groans and theatrical cries filled the room as the fangirls backed off, leaving only Rose, who remained seated beside him, unmoving.
Togira gave a grumble. 'Arghh—the chibk remeins…'
Itekan sighed. Rose's gaze was intense, as if afraid he might vanish if she blinked.
Then the door opened.
And in walked Sensei Pwain—three hours late.
"You're LATE, Sensei!!" screamed Komi, another of Togira's many admirers.
Scratching his head nonchalantly, Sensei Pwain offered the lamest excuse they'd ever heard.
"Sorry. My house was overrun by 137 wild cats. Took me the whole morning to get them relocated across the Three Nations."
Everyone blinked.
Even Itekan wondered why he bothered lying. No one could challenge him either way.
Because… they had tried.
---
One month earlier...
It was a Tuesday evening, the last lecture of the day. All 50 trainees showed up on time—or close to it. But Sensei Pwain was nowhere to be found.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Two.
By the three-hour mark, he appeared.
There was no knock. Just a sudden burst of smoke, black as midnight, flooding the room.
"What was that?!" someone yelled, coughing.
Itekan squinted. He was certain he saw another shadow flicker in the smoke before the blast.
He was already here, Itekan realized. The smoke was just a distraction. A prank. He wanted confusion.
Then came the smacks. The thuds. Grunts and crashes as, one by one, every student—including Itekan—was floored.
When the smoke cleared, he stood among them.
Tall. Scarred. Worn like old armor.
He wore a black kimono, with at least 15 massive weapons strapped to his back—and more hidden, surely. A wheat stalk poked from his mouth. His hair was tied in a messy bun streaked with gray.
His expression was lazily unimpressed. But behind it lurked years—no, lifetimes—of blood and war.
"I'm your weapons instructor. You'll call me Sensei Pwain."
"You're late!" someone shouted.
"Yeah, about that," Pwain said, yawning. "Had to help a green tik-snake down from a tree in the Red Zones."
More groans.
"Isn't that where green tik-snakes live?" someone asked.
"Yay, you're smart! Moving on—"
"No!" snapped Avery, rising indignantly. "I won't be taught by someone who doesn't respect time!"
Itekan grimaced.
Oh no… you just signed your death sentence.
Pwain raised an eyebrow. "Anyone else feel that way?"
Most raised their hands.
Itekan stepped away from them.
Pwain smiled. "Alright then. If you can make me draw even one weapon from my back—I'll resign as your instructor."
He pulled a blindfold from his kimono.
Short version?
He wrecked them.
Slightly longer version?
None of them even saw it happen. Shadows rose beneath their feet, locking them down. Then, in less than a second, all they saw before blacking out was a blur of darkness.
Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)
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