The silence in Sona's office was heavy, almost tangible. Hiro sat motionless in the chair, his face revealing nothing of the turmoil within him. Across from him, Sona Shitori—or rather, Sona Sitri—kept her calculated gaze fixed on him, while Rias Gremory leaned against the wall, her crimson hair cascading over her shoulders, a subtle smile playing on her lips.
"Thank you for coming, Hiro," Sona began, her tone measured. "I hope your first days at Kuoh Academy have been pleasant."
Hiro gave a slight nod. "They've been fine."
"I'm glad to hear that," she continued, adjusting her glasses with a precise movement. "However, there seems to be something... unusual about you."
Hiro felt Orochi stir within him, the tattoo on his back pulsing subtly beneath his uniform. He kept his expression neutral, even as the dragon's voice whispered in his mind.
"They know. The red-haired one... she reeks of demon blood. The heir of Gremory."
"Is there?" Hiro replied calmly, giving nothing away.
Rias stepped forward, her smile never wavering. "Let's not waste time with pleasantries. You possess a Sacred Gear, don't you? One that contains a dragon, to be precise."
The directness of her question caught Hiro slightly off guard, but he maintained his composure. Inside his mind, Orochi laughed coldly.
"See how quickly they move? Like vultures circling fresh meat."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hiro answered flatly.
Sona exchanged a glance with Rias before leaning forward, her fingers interlaced. "Hiro, we're not your enemies. We're simply trying to understand who you are. Sacred Gear users are rare and valuable. If you have one, especially a dragon type, you could be in danger without proper guidance."
"Danger from whom?" Hiro asked, his voice carrying a subtle edge.
Rias smiled, her blue-green eyes gleaming. "There are many factions in this world that would be interested in someone like you. Fallen Angels, for instance, have been known to... eliminate potential threats."
"She speaks half-truths," Orochi's voice hissed in his mind. "The demons themselves hunt those with power. Ask her about the Rating Games, about how they collect rare pieces for their collections."
Hiro remained silent, weighing his options. He had no intention of revealing anything about Orochi or the Eightfold Edge. Not yet. Not when he barely understood it himself.
"I appreciate your concern," he finally said, "but I think there's been a misunderstanding."
Rias's smile faltered slightly. She approached, and Hiro felt a subtle pressure in the air, a weight of power that hadn't been there before.
"I don't think there is," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Issei sensed it. Another dragon, here in our school. And you're the only new variable."
Hiro felt his pulse quicken, though his expression remained impassive. He hadn't considered that another dragon wielder could sense Orochi's presence. A tactical error.
"The Red Dragon Emperor," Orochi sneered. "Ddraig. How the mighty have fallen, to be sealed in such a pathetic vessel."
"Even if that were true," Hiro replied evenly, "what would it matter to you?"
Sona stood up, her demeanor serious. "It matters because Kuoh is under the protection of both the Gremory and Sitri clans. Any supernatural presence here falls under our jurisdiction."
"Your jurisdiction?" Hiro repeated, a hint of cold amusement in his tone. "I wasn't aware I needed permission to exist."
Rias's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not what we meant. We're offering protection, guidance. Being a Sacred Gear user can be dangerous, especially for someone who doesn't understand their power."
"They want to recruit you," Orochi whispered. "To make you their servant. Their pawn."
Something cold settled in Hiro's chest. He didn't want this. Any of it. He had spent ten years trying to live a normal life, trying to forget the nightmare of his past. And now, these demons were trying to drag him into their world.
"I think I'll be fine on my own," he said, moving to stand.
Rias stepped closer, her aura pulsing slightly. "I don't think you understand the situation, Hiro. There are dangers—"
"I understand perfectly," Hiro cut her off, his voice still calm but carrying a sharp edge. "You want something from me. Something you think I have. But I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Sona's eyes narrowed, and Rias's smile had completely vanished.
"This isn't a game," Sona said firmly. "This is about your safety and the safety of this school."
Hiro stood up, facing them both. "Then I promise not to cause any trouble. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to do."
He turned to leave, but suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Rias had moved with supernatural speed, her grip firm.
"We're not finished," she said, her voice low.
In that instant, Hiro felt something snap inside him. A surge of power, unfamiliar and wild, coursed through his veins. The tattoo on his back burned hot, and he felt one of the dragon heads—Raijin, the Stormfang—pulse with energy.
"Show them," Orochi's voice urged, filled with dark anticipation. "Show them that you are not prey to be hunted."
Electricity crackled at Hiro's fingertips, tiny arcs of lightning dancing across his skin. The surge was instinctive, uncontrolled—a primal response to perceived threat.
Both Rias and Sona tensed, their own powers flaring in response. The air grew heavy with supernatural energy.
But as quickly as it had come, Hiro forced the power back down, suppressing it with sheer willpower. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not here. Not now.
"Please remove your hand," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
Rias stared at him for a long moment before slowly releasing her grip. "Very well. But this conversation isn't over, Hiro. Sooner or later, you'll understand that you need allies in this world."
Hiro met her gaze steadily. "Maybe. But I choose my own allies."
Without another word, he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him with controlled precision.
As he made his way through the empty corridors of the school, Orochi's laughter echoed in his mind.
"You felt it, didn't you? The power. Just a fraction of what you could wield."
Hiro didn't answer, focusing instead on steadying his breathing, on calming the storm that raged within him.
"They will come for you again," the dragon continued. "Demons always want what they cannot have."
"I don't care," Hiro finally muttered under his breath. "I want nothing to do with them or their world."
"Ah, but you are already part of their world. You have been since that night."
Hiro froze mid-step. "What do you mean?"
A long silence followed before Orochi spoke again, his voice filled with cruel amusement.
"Do you truly believe that fire was an accident? That your family simply... burned?"
A cold dread settled in Hiro's stomach. "What are you talking about?"
"Let me show you. Let me show you what really happened that night."
Before Hiro could protest, his vision blurred. The corridor around him faded away, replaced by fragmented images—memories he had long suppressed, but seen now through different eyes.
The temple, shrouded in darkness. But now he could see figures moving in the shadows, their forms obscured but their auras unmistakable. Wings—black wings—unfurling in the night.
A man's voice, cold and calculating: "Make it look like an accident. No survivors."
The flap of wings as they departed. Then, flames—unnatural flames that consumed wood and flesh with equal hunger.
His father, trying to shield his mother and infant brother. A desperate attempt to reach the door, only to find it sealed by a barrier of light.
The vision shifted, showing a different angle—one that the young Hiro could never have seen. A figure watching from afar, a smile on his lips as the temple burned.
"Another loose end tied up," the figure said, adjusting his coat. "The last of the dragon priests... gone."
Then, darkness.
Hiro found himself on his knees in the empty corridor, his body trembling, cold sweat beading on his forehead. The truth hit him like a physical blow.
"Fallen Angels," he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
"Yes," Orochi confirmed, his voice now serious, devoid of its usual mockery. "Your family was targeted because of me. Because they were the last custodians of my temple, the last who knew of my existence."
"But why? Why kill them?"
"Because they feared what might happen if I found a worthy vessel. And now, here you are."
Hiro struggled to his feet, his mind reeling from the revelation. Everything he had believed about that night... a lie. It wasn't an accident. It was murder. Cold, calculated murder.
And now, the very beings responsible—or at least, their kind—were trying to recruit him? To make him their pawn?
A cold fury began to build within him, different from anything he had felt before. Not the hot rage of a child, but something deeper, more controlled. More dangerous.
"Now you begin to understand," Orochi said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "The demons and the fallen ones... they are all the same. They use, they manipulate, they destroy. And when they're done, they discard what remains."
Hiro walked out of the school building, his steps measured, his mind racing. The setting sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, painting everything in shades of blood and gold.
"What do I do now?" he asked softly, not expecting an answer.
"For now? You learn. You grow stronger. You master my power." Orochi's voice was calm, unusually so. "And when the time comes... you make them pay."
Hiro looked up at the darkening sky, feeling the weight of destiny settle on his shoulders. He had never asked for this—for power, for vengeance, for any of it. But now, it seemed, he had no choice.
The world was not what he had believed it to be. And if he was going to survive in it, he would need to adapt. To become something more than what he was.
"Show me," he finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. "Show me how to use your power."
He felt Orochi stir within him, the eight heads of the dragon tattoo seeming to shift beneath his skin.
"At last," the dragon said, a note of genuine approval in his voice. "We begin."
As Hiro walked away from Kuoh Academy, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, fraught with danger. But for the first time in ten years, he had a purpose.
And somewhere in the depths of his being, one of the eight dragon heads—Kaen, the Flamebane—began to glow with an inner fire, waiting to be unleashed.
Later that evening - Occult Research Club
"He's dangerous," Akeno said softly, setting down her teacup. "I could feel it. Whatever Sacred Gear he possesses, it's powerful."
Rias paced before the ornate window of the club room, her brow furrowed in thought. "Yes, but also untamed. He barely has any control over it."
Kiba, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement. "That brief surge of power... it felt like lightning. But also something else, something ancient."
"Ddraig says it's definitely another dragon," Issei added, looking unusually serious. "But he doesn't know which one. Says it feels... different from any he's encountered before."
Koneko, sitting quietly in the corner, simply said, "He smells of rage. And sorrow."
Rias stopped her pacing, turning to face her peerage. "Sona and I have decided to keep an eye on him for now. If he won't accept our help willingly, we'll have to be more... persuasive."
"You're not thinking of forcing him into your peerage, are you?" Kiba asked, concern evident in his voice.
"No," Rias replied firmly. "But I won't let a potentially dangerous Sacred Gear user wander around Kuoh unmonitored. Especially not with the recent Fallen Angel activity in the area."
Akeno's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think they might be interested in him?"
"I think they'd be fools not to be," Rias said grimly. "A new dragon wielder... that's not something any faction would ignore."
Issei scratched his head, looking confused. "But what would they want with him? I mean, they already tried to kill me because of Boosted Gear, right?"
Rias nodded slowly. "Exactly. And if his Sacred Gear is comparable to yours, Issei, they might view him as either a threat to eliminate or a potential asset to control."
"So what's the plan?" Kiba asked.
"For now, we watch and wait," Rias decided. "Issei, since you're in his class, I want you to try to befriend him. Find out more about him, about his Sacred Gear if possible."
Issei nodded, though he looked slightly uncomfortable with the task. "I'll try, but he's not exactly the friendly type."
"Just do your best," Rias said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The more we know, the better we can protect both him and Kuoh."
As the meeting concluded, Rias gazed out the window at the moon rising over the academy grounds. Something told her that Hiro was more than just another Sacred Gear user. There was a darkness in him, a pain that ran deep. And in her experience, pain like that could lead down dangerous paths.
She only hoped they could reach him before it was too late.
Hiro's apartment
The small apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional distant sound of traffic. Hiro sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, his shirt discarded beside him, revealing the intricate dragon tattoo that covered his back and arms.
"Focus," Orochi commanded. "Feel the energy within you. It flows like water, but it can strike like lightning."
Hiro closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation Orochi described. He could feel it—a current of power running through his veins, centered around the tattoo but spreading throughout his body.
"I feel it," he murmured. "But it's... slippery. Hard to grasp."
"That is because you are trying to control it through human means," Orochi explained, his voice uncharacteristically patient. "This is not human power. It is dragon power. Ancient, primal, beyond your comprehension."
"Then how am I supposed to use it?" Hiro asked, frustration edging into his voice.
"You must become worthy of it," Orochi replied. "Your body is weak, human. Your mind is clouded with doubt and fear. To wield my power effectively, you must strengthen both."
Hiro exhaled slowly, trying to clear his mind. "Show me how."
"First, you must understand the nature of the Eightfold Edge. Each of my eight heads represents a different aspect of power, a different weapon at your disposal. Tonight, we will focus on just one: Raijin, the Stormfang."
Hiro felt a tingling sensation run down his right arm, and looking down, he saw that one of the dragon heads on his tattoo was glowing with a faint blue light.
"Extend your arm and focus on that feeling. Imagine the power taking shape, becoming solid in your grasp."
Hiro did as instructed, stretching out his right arm and concentrating on the energy flowing through it. For several long moments, nothing happened.
Then, suddenly, there was a crackling sound and a flash of blue light. A katana materialized in his hand—its blade a deep, electric blue, its hilt wrapped in black leather with gold lightning patterns etched into it. The weapon hummed with power, tiny arcs of electricity dancing along its edge.
"I... I did it," Hiro whispered, staring at the blade in awe.
"This is Raijin," Orochi said, a note of pride in his voice. "The Blade of Divine Lightning. It can cut through almost any defense and channel lightning at your command."
Hiro stood, testing the weight of the katana. It felt perfect in his hand, as if it had been crafted specifically for him. He made a few experimental swings, marveling at how naturally it moved with him.
"Do not grow too confident," Orochi warned. "You have manifested the blade, but you are far from mastering it. And even with this power, you are still vulnerable. A novice with a legendary sword is still just a novice."
As if to emphasize his point, the katana suddenly flickered and disappeared, leaving Hiro's hand empty.
"Your body is not yet conditioned to channel my power for long periods," Orochi explained. "With training, you will be able to maintain the manifestation and eventually access the blade's true abilities."
Hiro flexed his fingers, feeling a residual tingling. "How long will that take?"
"That depends on you," Orochi replied. "On your dedication, your resolve. But make no mistake, human: the path ahead is arduous. The demons and fallen ones have had millennia to perfect their powers. You have days, perhaps weeks, before they make their move."
Hiro's expression hardened. "Then we'd better make those days count."
He moved to the center of the room, took a deep breath, and extended his arm again, focusing on the sensation of Raijin's power.
This time, the katana manifested more quickly, though the effort left Hiro slightly breathless.
"Again," Orochi commanded. "Until you can call upon it as easily as breathing."
And so, through the night, Hiro trained—summoning and dismissing the blade, learning to hold the manifestation for longer periods, feeling the unique energy of Raijin flow through him.
By the time dawn broke, he was exhausted, drenched in sweat, his muscles aching from the strain of channeling supernatural power. But he had made progress. The blade now came to his call with less effort, stayed longer, felt more natural in his grasp.
It was a beginning. A small step on a long and dangerous path.
As he finally collapsed into bed, too tired even to shower, Hiro's last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of the vision Orochi had shown him—of flames consuming his family, of shadowy figures with black wings watching from afar.
And in that moment, just before consciousness slipped away, he made a silent vow: he would master this power, this curse, this gift. And then, he would find those responsible for destroying his family. Those who had robbed him of a normal life.
And he would make them pay.
In the darkness of his mind, Orochi smiled, all eight heads of the ancient dragon pleased with the turn of events. The human was proving more interesting than expected. More promising.
Perhaps, just perhaps, this vessel would be the one to finally unleash his full potential.
To bring chaos to the three factions that had for too long dominated this world.
To change everything.