chapter :2 The Ship of Shadows

"A sword marks a warrior. A ship marks a crew. Both are tests, both are curses, and both will demand everything from those who accept them."

As Ziraka finished, silence fell over the shop.

Dante’s Internal thoughts ,Dante stared at the sword, his heart pounding not with fear, but with a strange, exhilarating purpose. He heard the warning, but it sounded like a challenge. ‘It chooses its master. It needs a hero’s energy.’ He thought of their journey, of Kamazu, of all the bad guys they would have to face. This wasn’t just a cursed weapon; it was a key. It was his destiny.

Akiro’s Internal thoughts, Akiro watched the reckless fire light up Dante’s eyes and felt a cold dread wash over him. He wanted to shout, to grab the sword and throw it in the deepest ocean. Ziraka wasn’t telling a story; he was describing a beautifully crafted deathtrap. And Dante, his best and most idiotic friend, was about to walk right into it.

Dante finally broke the silence, a wide grin spreading across his face. “That’s a good story, old man,” he said, his voice full of confidence. “But I’m gonna buy this sword.”

A heavy silence hung in the shop, broken only by Kamazu’s panicked gasp.

“No, Dante!” he cried out, taking a step forward. “Did you not listen to a word Ziraka said? You will die if that sword’s energy doesn’t accept you!”

Dante didn’t even look at the blade; his confident grin was fixed on the worried faces of his friends. “It’ll be fine,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Akiro placed a calming hand on Kamazu’s shoulder. His voice was quiet and steady, a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

“Kamazu,” he said, his eyes never leaving Dante. “You have to understand something. Dante is different from all of us.”

Ziraka stroked his beard, his gaze sharp and piercing as he studied the boy. “The smart one speaks the truth,” the old shopkeeper rumbled.

“But that is a risk no sane man would take. Tell me, kid… what if you die?”

Dante’s grin finally faded, replaced by an expression of fierce, unshakeable resolve. He looked from the sword to the old man.

“No, old man,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “I won’t die. Not until I achieve my goals.”

Ziraka’s Internal thoughts Ziraka’s breath caught in his throat. That look… that fire in his eyes… The boy reminded him of someone from a long, forgotten past.

A warrior with that same impossible certainty. The name was on the tip of his tongue, a ghost of a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. Who was it?

With no further hesitation, Dante reached out and wrapped his hands around the crimson hilt. The moment his fingers closed around it, he drew the blade from its sheath.

There was no sound of scraping metal, only a faint, ethereal shing that seemed to silence all other noise.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room changed. An immense pressure slammed down on them, heavy and absolute, making it hard to breathe. It was not the dark, cursed energy they had expected.

Instead, a brilliant, golden aura erupted from the blade, surrounding Dante in a whirlwind of light. The aura became dense, coalescing from a blinding storm into threads of pure, liquid gold that flowed from the sword and sank directly into Dante’s body.

Kamazu stumbled back, his jaw agape in terror and awe. Ziraka’s weathered eyes were wide with disbelief, his hands trembling slightly.

Even Akiro, ever the stoic observer, took a sharp, involuntary breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his own sword.

For the first time on their journey, Akiro felt a feeling entirely alien to him: a mix of pure terror at what his friend had become, and overwhelming pride in what he had accomplished.

The light subsided as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Dante standing perfectly still, holding the legendary blade as if he were born to it.

Ziraka was the first to find his voice, stammering slightly. “Hey… kid… do you feel anything different?”

Dante blinked, looking down at his hands and then back at his friends with a look of genuine confusion. “Nope,” he said cheerfully.

A wave of pure astonishment washed over Ziraka’s face, replaced by a booming laugh. “Wow!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with reverence. “The power of the Great Hero has accepted you!”

With the aura gone, they could finally see the sword itself. Named Oromin, its design was one of stark, beautiful contrast.

The inner grip was wrapped in black, while the outer grip was a pure, clean white. The guard was a simple but elegant silver.

The blade itself was forged of a deep, starless black steel, yet along its edge, elegant designs of white waves seemed to shimmer, as if a storm was perpetually breaking against a midnight shore.

Kamazu, still looking awestruck, finally spoke. “A legendary sword… I bet it cost a lot.”

“It cost a lot, ha!” Dante laughed, admiring the blade in his hands.

Ziraka shook his head, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. “No, kid. It costs you nothing. Consider it a gift. You are the only one in a thousand years who could wield that blade. It belongs to you.”

The old shopkeeper then turned his sharp gaze to the other two boys. “You there,” he said, pointing a thick finger at Akiro and Kamazu. “You two are the same as him. I can sense it. You can both handle a cursed weapon. There are a few others in this shop… look over there.”

He gestured toward a dark, dusty corner of the shop they hadn’t noticed before. Following his gaze, Akiro and Kamazu spent a few minutes carefully examining the weapons on the rack.

Akiro returned holding not one, but two identical swords, their sheaths a matching set of dark leather. “I will take these two,” he stated, his voice firm.

Ziraka’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow! A dual wielder, are you? That’s a shock.” He squinted at the blades.

“That’s a good choice. Those are the legendary twin swords, Zinito and Shinto, forged by the blacksmith Rezo, himself a renowned dual sword master. They have a powerful curse on them… though I forget the exact details.”

He shuffled behind the counter and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound ledger. “Give me a second. I will refer to it.” He ran a finger down a page filled with spidery script.

“Ah, here it is. It says the swordsman who wields these must always use both. If you use only one of the blades, it will take a heavy toll on your body.

It will take two hours to recover from the strain.” Ziraka looked up, his expression serious. “Are you ready for that, kid?”

Akiro’s Internal thoughts,Akiro looked at the twin blades in his hands. A weapon with a built-in weakness. A tool that demanded perfection and punished mistakes. It was dangerous. It was logical. It was perfect for him.

Akiro met the old man’s gaze without flinching. “Ready when you are.”

He unsheathed both swords in a single, fluid motion. Instantly, a heavy, black aura, like smoke given form, erupted from the steel.

The dark energy swirled around Akiro’s arms, clinging to him for a few moments before sinking into his skin, leaving no trace. He felt a sudden, chilling cold, followed by a surge of focused, lethal energy. He was now bound to his own legend.

Ziraka then turned to Kamazu’s sword. “And that one… Shinimo! Hah, we don’t know much about it, but what the legends say is that its strength differs from person to person. It’s based entirely on the wielder’s willpower.”

Ziraka nodded slowly, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the three boys and their new weapons. “That’s a good sign, man,” he said to Akiro. “But don’t forget about the curse.”

“Wow! You got two swords!” Dante said, now turning his attention to Kamazu. “That leaves you! Kamazu, did you pick your sword?”

“Yes, I have it,” Kamazu replied, holding up the simple black katana, Shinimo.

The three boys stood together, each armed with a legendary blade. Akiro’s twin swords, Zinito and Shinto, were stark black, but upon closer inspection, tiny, intricate triangle patterns could be seen etched into the steel gleaming pink on Zinito and a brilliant gold on Shinto.

Kamazu’s sword, Shinimo, was a deep, matte black, but when it caught the light, a fiery design seemed to burn from within the blade in shades of crimson red.

Ziraka leaned on his counter, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, you three will make a deadly trio.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“About the swords, don’t worry about the money. No one else was capable of wielding them. They’re a gift for your journey.”

He paused, a different look crossing his features. “Sorry,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “But I overheard you talking. I know you’re on a journey to find a new place.

I have a ship down at the docks… I’m getting too old to sail. It has no use to me anymore. So, you should take it.”

Dante’s face lit up at the offer, but then his expression fell slightly. “Thanks for the swords, old man, we owe you. But about sailing… we don’t know how to navigate a ship. That’s why we were walking on land.”

Before anyone else could speak, Kamazu took a hesitant step forward. “Can I speak?”

“Sure, you may,” Dante said with an encouraging smile.

“I know how to navigate a ship,” Kamazu said, his voice gaining confidence with each word.

“As a slave, I was forced to work on a pirate ship. It was there I learned how to sail.”

Akiro looked at Kamazu, a flicker of surprise in his usually stoic eyes. “Well. That’s a shock.”

“Then you’ll be the navigator of our ship!” Dante declared, clapping Kamazu on the back.

“Are you okay with that, Akiro?”

“If you are okay with it,” Akiro replied with a slight nod, “it is fine by me.”

“Old man, we accept your offer!” Dante announced to Ziraka. “We’re gonna set sail on the seas!”

“Then let’s go and see the ship,” Ziraka said, a grin spreading across his face.

He led them out of the shop and down to the docks, taking them to a secluded cove hidden beneath a mountain cave.

There, floating silently on the dark water, was their new vessel. It was a sleek, formidable ship, its hull carved from a dark, almost black wood, and its sails a deep, shadowy grey.

“Here she is,” Ziraka said with a note of pride.