As Denzan's ship cut through the last of the storm's wrath, the island ahead became clearer. Dark cliffs loomed over the water, jagged like broken blades, while dense mist curled around the shoreline, obscuring whatever lay beyond. No birds, no signs of life—only silence.
Paimon shuddered. "I don't like this place…"
Denzan tightened his grip on the wheel. "Then stay on the ship."
Paimon gasped. "Wha—Hey! That's not what I meant!"
The Traveler placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before turning to Renshin. "You're sure about this?"
Renshin studied the island, his expression unreadable. "This place shouldn't exist. And yet, here we are."
Denzan steered the ship toward a natural inlet, dropping anchor in the shallows. As they disembarked onto the damp sand, an uneasy stillness settled over them. The air was heavy, charged—like the moment before a lightning strike.
Denzan rested his palm on his katana's hilt. "Stay sharp."
They advanced inland, following a worn path barely visible through the mist. The ground was littered with rusted weapons—katanas, spears, even muskets—half-buried in the earth as if left behind by forgotten battles.
The Traveler knelt, brushing dust from an old Shogunate emblem etched into a discarded breastplate. "This was from the war."
Renshin nodded. "But look at the state of it. These weapons weren't just abandoned. They were *consumed*."
Denzan frowned, kneeling beside a broken sword. Its edge was corroded, but not by rust. Instead, strange black markings ran along the steel, pulsing faintly. His instincts screamed a warning.
"This isn't natural," he muttered.
Suddenly, the mist stirred. The Traveler was the first to react, stepping forward just as a figure emerged—a lone warrior clad in cracked armor, their eyes empty yet glowing with eerie light. A hushed whisper, carried by the wind, filled the air.
"Turn back."
Then, with unnatural speed, the warrior lunged.
Denzan's blade flashed in an instant, clashing against the phantom's rusted weapon. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, but he held firm. The Traveler moved beside him, their own weapon drawn, while Renshin stepped back, assessing the situation.
"Paimon, stay back!" the Traveler called.
Paimon was already floating far behind. "You don't have to tell me twice!"
The warrior moved erratically, as if struggling against invisible chains, but their attacks were relentless. Denzan gritted his teeth as he parried blow after blow. *Who were they?*
Another whisper slithered through the mist.
"Leave… before it wakes…"
Denzan's eyes narrowed. "Before what wakes?"
But before he could get an answer, the warrior suddenly convulsed, their form flickering like a dying flame. Then, with a final shuddering breath, they collapsed—turning to ash.
Silence.
Denzan exhaled sharply, his pulse still pounding. The Traveler lowered their blade, scanning the mist for any other threats.
Renshin stepped forward, his voice grim. "Something is wrong with this island."
Denzan sheathed his katana. "Yeah. And we're not leaving until we find out what."
With the whispers still lingering in the air, they pressed on, deeper into the unknown.
The deeper they ventured, the heavier the air became. The mist coiled around them like living tendrils, dampening sound, distorting shapes. Denzan kept one hand on his katana, his other resting near his pistol. The Traveler walked in step with him, their sharp gaze scanning for movement.
Renshin paused ahead, kneeling beside a cracked stone pillar half-buried in the dirt. Faint carvings marked its surface—old, worn symbols of Inazuman origin.
"This place has history," he murmured. "But it's been erased."
Denzan frowned. "By who?"
Before Renshin could answer, the mist thickened, and a cold whisper curled through the air.
"You should not be here."
Denzan's muscles tensed. The voice was layered, distant yet close, like a chorus of fading echoes.
The Traveler turned sharply. "Show yourself."
A shape materialized—a figure draped in tattered robes, their face obscured by shadows. They hovered inches above the ground, their presence sending a chill through the group.
"This island is cursed," the figure intoned. "Turn back, before Vaelith wakes up."
Denzan's fingers curled tighter around his hilt. "Vaelith?"
The figure tilted its head. "Vaelith, the Dreaming Abyss.It feeds on memories. On battles fought, on warriors lost. Those who linger become part of it. Do not join them."
Renshin's expression darkened. "You speak as if you are already lost."
The figure's form flickered. "Perhaps I am."
The mist swirled, and suddenly, more shadows emerged—warriors in broken armor, their eyes hollow, their weapons raised.
Denzan sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Figures."
Without another word, the first warrior lunged, rusted blade aiming for his throat. Denzan sidestepped, his katana flashing as he countered. The Traveler moved beside him, slicing through another attacker, their strikes precise.
Renshin remained back, observing. Then, with a sharp breath, he raised his hand. A spark of Electro crackled through his fingers before lashing out, dispersing one of the specters into mist.
Denzan smirked. "So you can fight."
Renshin didn't answer, his focus locked on the flickering shadows. The battle raged, but something felt wrong. The warriors weren't attacking with purpose—they were trapped, as if puppets bound by invisible strings.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight stopped. The remaining figures froze, then staggered back, their forms unraveling like smoke.
The first apparition's voice returned, barely a whisper. "It stirs… Run, before it sees you."
Then, silence.
The mist slowly receded, revealing the path ahead—leading into a yawning cavern at the heart of the island. A cold wind rushed from within, carrying something ancient, something watching.
Denzan exhaled. "Well. Guess we're not turning back now."
The Traveler nodded. "Whatever's inside… we face it together."
With no other choice, they stepped forward—into the darkness below.