A group of eight stood huddled around a hand-drawn blueprint, its parchment edges flapping gently in the wind. At the center of the formation stood Thorne Ashvale, a tall man in his late thirties with sun-bleached, shoulder-length hair and sharp bronze eyes. Scars peeked through the folds of his black scarf, and his hardened jaw bore the weight of years of battle-worn leadership.
"Varn, before you go, let's go over the mission one more time," Thorne said, his voice gravelly but composed. "Elrek, you'll infiltrate and cause a disturbance on the east wing of the building. Intel says Musashi will make a break for the Iron Bunker the moment he senses trouble."
He tapped the center of the blueprint.
"This is the only time he leaves his room—for executions held in the central dojo. He has a secret path leading directly to the bunker. Once the execution starts, he'll either take the long route through the halls or return to his room and use the shortcut. Either way, we'll have a one-minute window to intercept him."
He looked up, his eyes scanning each of his crew.
"Got it?"
Ketta Ryne, a rough-edged woman with tangled red hair and twin daggers strapped to her back, scoffed and crossed her arms. "Why do we gotta do an assassin's job? We're bandits, not some cloak-and-dagger types."
Elrek Varn, the designated infiltrator, adjusted the silver mask hanging on his hip. A quiet but intense figure with storm-gray eyes and a lean runner's frame, he replied coolly, "It's the only way to get safe passage through these lands."
Thorne nodded. "Exactly. After the mess you two pulled with the Duke's convoy, we're on thin ice. This is the only way to keep moving."
A soft chuckle broke out from Orric Vale, a broad-shouldered man with braided blond hair and a sword nearly as tall as himself. Nira Vellin, a shadowy woman with a scar across her right cheek, chuckled beside him.
Brenna, the group's healer and alchemical expert—small, freckled, with silver glasses and a staff taller than herself—spoke up next. "All this sounds fine, but... where's Elaria?"
Before anyone could answer—
BOOM.
A thunderous crash rang out in the distance.
Everyone blinked in unison.
"…Not again," the group muttered collectively.
Thorne sighed. "Let's follow her lead."
Scene Cut: Main DojoDust swirled as a section of the ceiling collapsed.
From the wreckage rose Elaria Kurozawa—a stunning girl with long raven-black hair, emerald eyes, and a lithe, athletic frame. Though she was only fourteen, her presence radiated with confidence and quiet fury. Her cloak billowed behind her as she stood face-to-face with the man known only as Musashi.
Musashi, a tall man with a serpent's gaze and robes of obsidian silk, smiled thinly. His hair was tied back into a warrior's bun, and a curved blade rested calmly by his hip.
"You're a bold one," he said, voice like velvet and venom. "Not many enter here... especially alone."
"I'm just here to kill you," Elaria replied nonchalantly, dusting off her shoulder. "So my friends and I can continue our adventure. Besides, I heard you're a very bad man... so I won't feel bad."
Musashi's lips curved upward. "Bad is just perspective. To some, I'm a savior. Aren't I"
He turned toward a trembling prisoner—bound and kneeling at the dojo's center.
The man looked up with tears streaming down his face. "L-Lord Musashi… you've always protected us… I-I don't deserve to be in your presence…"
"Yes, you don't" Musashi said, nodding to the executioner.
A flash of steel severing the prisoner's head cleans off his body.
As a spurt of blood begins to spray.
Some of it got onto Elaria's clothes.
She looked down, blinking once.
"…My clothes?" she whispered, disbelief turning to rage. "You got blood on my clothes."
She flexed her hands, and in the next second—
FWOOM!
A destructive eruption of blue fire engulfed the room.
Above, from the rafters, the crew of The Fade watched.
Milo, the youngest and most animated, grinned. "There she goes. Last thing you wanna do is mess up one of her 'adventure outfits.'"
Ziv, a calm sniper with piercing yellow eyes, tilted his head. "She's outnumbered though. Should we drop in?"
Thorne raised a hand. "Wait. Let's see how far she's come. If Musashi runs, we strike."
Three samurai charged Elaria from the left.
With a roar, she hurled a flaming punch—their heads were scorched before they could react.
Another slid toward her from the right, sword ready. "She's strong, but her weakness is close-range. I got her…"
He slashed diagonally, but Elaria twisted over the blade—an acrobatic contortion only a seasoned martial artist could pull off—and countered with a flaming axe kick.
The samurai crumpled.
Musashi watched calmly. "Impressive. I would've liked to cross blades with you in my prime, anyways you won't survive the top three samurai in this dojo also known as the three heads."
Back above—
Elrek exhaled. "She's almost stronger than you now, Thorne."
Thorne's eyes narrowed. "And only fourteen. That's what's scary."
Musashi began moving toward the back entrance, slipping between bodies like a shadow.
Elaria's eyes widened. "Where are you going?!" she yelled as she lunged towards him.
A flash of steel blocked her path—one of the elite samurai intercepted her, and the other two pressed in with blinding speed.
She gritted her teeth, twisting to face him—only to have the other two crash into her from either side. Their swords danced like ghosts, pushing her backward, blocking her view of Musashi.
She deflected a blow, then another. But the seconds were slipping away—Musashi was getting away.
Her pride screamed in protest. Her fists clenched tighter.
She didn't want to say it.
Back Above
On the roof, Ketta gritted her teeth. "Thorne, it's time to—"
"Not yet," he interrupted.
She then saw it—his hand on the door, his shadow slipping into the passageway.
"Ugh…" she growled, fury tightening in her chest. "Fine."
She yelled over the chaos, the words tasting like fire in her mouth:
"I need help!"
Up above, Thorne's lips curved into a half-smile.
"There it is," he said.
In the blink of an eye, Thorne was beside her.
Then Musashi's head hit the floor.
Thorne turned to the others.
"Mission complete. Let's finish our journey."
Scene Transition: Years LaterA soft crackle of a fireplace echoed in a humble home nestled within a mountain village. A young boy with messy white hair and wide, almond-shaped green eyes laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Enryu Kurozawa.
Beside him sat Hagan, a stern but kind older man with dark gray hair and an eyepatch—his voice as steady as stone.
"And that is all for tonight."
"Nooo," Enryu groaned. "Tell me one more! One more adventure!"
"How about one of your father's stories… tomorrow."
Enryu beamed. "Yes! And it better be a juicy one."
He raised his hand toward the ceiling, as if trying to grasp the stars beyond it.
"…Mom was so cool. I want to be just like her and go on a ton of adventures."