It had been five hours since Senko took down the beast, but sleep refused to come. He lay on his back in his small apartment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, arms tucked behind his head, fingers lightly pressing against the back of his skull. The silence was heavy, interrupted only by the slow, uneven rhythm of his breath.
Beside him, leaning against the wall, was the sword—the same mythical blade that had turned the tide of the battle. He turned his head to look at it, the metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight filtering through the cracked window. That fight didn't feel real. The way the monster moved. The way he moved. It was as if someone else had taken control of his body—someone faster, stronger… more certain.
Earlier today, they'd called him something new: "the boy who refused to kneel." Just yesterday, he was the academy's punching bag. The freak. The cursed one with the purple eye. But now? Now, students who wouldn't even look his way were suddenly smiling, nodding, trying to talk to him. Some even called him brave. A few even wanted to be friends.
It should've felt good. It should've felt like everything he ever wanted.
But it didn't.
Outside these academy walls, people still spat at the mention of his name. Still crossed the street to avoid him. And now, his eye—his cursed eye—had been itching and throbbing ever since the fight. It pulsed with something unnatural. Something alive.
Senko's thoughts returned to the sword. What kind of power had it given him? When he touched it, he felt invincible. His body had been light, fast, like wind. He'd predicted the monster's moves before it even made them. That shouldn't be possible.
He sat up slowly, then stood and walked to the mirror. His reflection stared back—messy hair, tired eyes. He raised his hand toward his face, fingers hovering just above his glowing iris.
"What am I, really?" he whispered. "Are these eyes… a gift?"
And deep inside, something stirred.
Senko leaned in closer to the mirror, searching his own reflection as if it held answers he'd never thought to ask before. The purple hue in his eyes seemed brighter than usual—more alive. He blinked, once, then again. No change. It didn't glow exactly, but it carried a kind of intensity, like a smoldering coal waiting to ignite.
He turned away with a frustrated breath and sat down at the edge of his bed. He'd never felt normal, not once in his entire life. The stares, the whispers, the rumors—he'd learned to live with them. At least back then, when no one paid attention, he could disappear. But now, after what happened in training… people were watching. Eyes followed him in the halls. Some filled with awe, others with fear. No one really knew what he was.
The worst part? Neither did he.
Lately, it was more than just stares. It was voices. Not out loud—no one else could hear them—but in the back of his mind, like memories that weren't his. There were flashes too. Visions. He'd see someone walking toward him, and for a moment, it was like he already knew what they were going to say or do. His body would react before his brain had time to think.
It wasn't training. It wasn't instinct. It was something else.
And the eye—whatever was happening in that eye—it was always present when it happened.
He thought about the monster again. That moment when the sword touched his hand—something shifted inside him. He wasn't scared. He wasn't even angry. He was calm. Confident. Too confident. As if the outcome had already been decided.
He didn't want to admit it, but in that moment… he felt powerful. More than powerful. He felt right. And that terrified him.
What if this isn't a gift? he thought. What if I'm being used?
His fingers curled into fists at his sides. What if the strength people were praising wasn't even his? What if it came from something else? Something dark?
All his life, he'd dreamed of being accepted—of becoming Warrior King to prove everyone wrong. But now that people were starting to look at him with something other than disgust, all he could feel was dread.
If they knew what was really happening to him… would they still call him brave?
Or would they call him a monster?
Not even he knows!
Senko escaped and went to the Pond he always went to, to rest his mind. Only the gentle hum of wind and the occasional rustle of leaves broke the silence as Senko made his way toward the pond. He needed to clear his mind, to breathe without walls or voices pressing in.
The pond sat tucked beneath a crescent of old stone arches, long abandoned and half-swallowed by ivy. Moonlight shimmered across the water's surface, casting pale ripples that looked like veins of silver. It was the one place on earth where no one bothered him—where silence didn't feel like judgment.
He sat cross-legged at the water's edge, placing his sword beside him like a trusted companion. The earth was cool beneath him, grounding. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let the stillness sink in. He tried to steady his thoughts, to focus only on his breathing.
Inhale. Exhale.
The pulse in his eyes yes beat once. Hard.
He winced, but didn't open his eyes.
Inhale. Exhale.
Then it pulsed again—sharper, deeper, like something clawing its way up from inside.
Suddenly, the air grew colder.
Then his eye throbbed.
Once. Twice. Each pulse deeper, angrier than the last.
He grit his teeth, trying to breathe through it—Inhale, exhale—but the world around him began to shift. He didn't move. Not physically. But it felt like he was falling inward, pulled by a gravity that had no source.
When his eyes opened again, he was no longer beside the pond.
Ash rained from a burning sky. The ground beneath him was cracked and charred, veins of fire pulsing through the earth. The air was thick, reeking of smoke and death. Screams echoed in the distance, but they didn't come from anything human.
Senko stood in the middle of a battlefield drenched in red.
And his eye—his cursed eye—was glowing violently, flooding the space around him with purple light.
He staggered, disoriented. "What is this place?" he muttered.
A voice answered from the smoke.
"Home."
Senko spun around. A figure emerged from the haze—tall, draped in blackened armor, long hair flowing like shadows. His eyes glowed like twin embers, fixed on Senko with calm intensity.
"You finally opened it," the figure said. "Took longer than I thought."
Senko stepped back. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly. "Names are for the weak. But if you must call me something… call me Itami."
Senko clenched his fists. "Why am I here?"
"Because your blood remembers." Itami's voice was low, ancient. "And that eye… that cursed gift… it sees what lies beneath the veil. You are not like them, boy. You were born in the eternal night the night the stars fled. That's why they look at you that way. The Purple Demon was sealed into your eyes. By the former warrior kings seal"
Senko's breath trembled. "This isn't real. It can't be."
"Tell that to your eye."
Suddenly, Itami was right in front of him, mere inches away.
"You think this power makes you special?" he whispered. "No. It makes you mine."
Senko recoiled, gasping.
And just like that, he was back—back at the pond, on his knees, drenched in sweat. His reflection stared back from the still water. But the eyes in the water glowed faintly purple.
They weren't his.
He stumbled back onto the grass, one hand clutching the dirt, breath ragged. The vision. The battlefield. The man—Itami. His name still echoed in Senko's head like a curse. He hadn't just seen something. He had been there. Felt the heat. Heard the screams. And that voice…
"You are mine."
Senko clenched his jaw. "No," he whispered to himself. "I'm not."
But the doubt was already there, gnawing at the edges of his mind. What if that power—the strength he used to defeat the beast—wasn't really his? What if it belonged to something else? What if it was really the purple demons power? And what if Itami was right?
Was he chosen… or cursed?
He looked down at his trembling hands. These hands saved lives today. The thought rang hollow now. He didn't feel like a savior. He felt like a vessel—like something was crawling beneath his skin, watching through his eyes.
He looked back at the sword beside him. Its blade was quiet now, no glow, no hum. Just cold metal. But in his chest, a storm was building.
He didn't understand what was happening to him. Not fully.
But he couldn't run from it either.
Senko stood slowly, brushing the dirt off his pants, and grabbed the sword. His grip was firm—shaky at first, but it tightened. He turned to the water one last time. The reflection was still. The eyes were his again. For now.
"I don't know what you are," he muttered to the shadows, to the voice that lingered in his head, "but you're not taking me. You hear me? I'll find out the truth."
He sheathed the blade and walked away from the pond, eyes set toward the academy, toward tomorrow.
The night held its breath as he vanished into the dark.
To be continued…