The Hollow That Remembered (記憶を宿した窪地 / Kioku o Yadoshita Kudo)

The gate of Sylva’s Hollow tore open like a scar in the skin of the world. Roots peeled back with a wet, splintering crack, exhaling the smell of damp soil and roasted barley. Lanterns hung from braided vines, their flames flickering and trembling as if the fire itself feared what lay beyond the light.

Hajime stepped through first. Moss swallowed his boots whole, the ground sucking at his heels as if it remembered the weight of graves. A boy, mid-swing with a stick sword, froze, mouth agape, his eyes reflecting the stranger's amber hair like trapped sunlight. An old man let his pipe slip, and embers scattered like panicked fireflies, dying on the damp earth.

Rei followed. Uriel’s Flame rode on his back, its edge catching the lantern light. Izumi came last, a lotus flourishing behind her ear, petals falling like beautiful memories.

Mira saw Izumi first. “You've grown, girl,” she rasped, fingers tracing Izumi’s cheek as though mapping a long-lost battlefield. Izumi’s grin splintered at the edges. “Is the bread still burnt?” 

“Only the tasty bits,” Mira replied, crushing her into a hug that reeked of smoke and thyme, the scent of survival baked into every crease. “Come and eat. It is my treat.”

The table was a single heartwood slab, its knife scars deep as old grudges, etched by generations who had laughed and bled here. The stew steamed thick, with bruise-colored carrots, ghost-pale turnips, thyme, and bread crusts.

Hajime demolished his bowl as if it had insulted his mother. Rei ate with measured precision, his chopsticks as exact as a surgeon’s scalpel. Izumi ate like a child once more.

Jiro hoisted his cup, his voice gravelly. “To Izumi, the kid who turned despair into prosperity.” Cups crashed together like thunder in a bottle. The song of the Verdant Veil rose, rough and low. Kenta, one arm exuding pure fire, silently slid Hajime another bowl. Hajime took it, and his nod communicated everything.

Rei’s chopsticks halted. Blue-white Seiki licked his fingers like frostfire. Hajime’s gold-silver answered, crawling under his skin like live current, his veins glowing faintly through his flesh. Izumi rose slowly. The white lotus hit the table and powdered into nothing.

“They're here,” Rei said.

Beyond the lantern glow, five figures emerged from nothing, their shadows dissipating.

Iovah stood at the center, bare feet planted like roots in defiance. Scars mapped his chest like a constellation, each line a testament to the times the world had swung and missed, evidence of endurance no deity had granted. Job’s Will thumped slowly, heavy, creating an Endurance Aura that dragged the air down around him.

Megumi stepped forward, her hair hacked short, practical as a soldier’s vow. Defiant Light twisted with moonlight between her fingers, illusions born solely from human will. She eyed Rei like a bomb with a loose pin, wariness etched in the set of her jaw.

Shinji cracked his neck, crack, crack, crack, like vertebrae popping under pressure. Instinctive Surge buzzed beneath his rune-scarred arms, the Willforging Rituals glowing dull red beneath his skin. He flashed the stranger a wolfish grin, his teeth bared in feral invitation. “It's him. The one we've been looking for since he awakened.”

Hikari drifted back. Eyes blown wide, pupils eating the irises like voids swallowing stars. A whisper left her lips when, suddenly, a nearby lantern shattered, glass raining like screams.

Takumi, at the rear, glanced at Rei and lingered with real caution. Then locked on the stranger.

Rei’s smile cut glass, sharp enough to draw blood from the air. “Let's not do anything stupid.”

Hajime stood. Gold-silver flared, light spilling from his skin like molten dawn. “Who the hell are you?”

Iovah dipped his chin, voice gravel over steel. “We're the Forsakers. A nomadic group that believes humans control their own destiny.”

Megumi advanced one step. “We don’t kneel to trees, angels, demons, or the bullshit they peddle.”

Shinji rolled his shoulders, muscles coiling like springs. “Just do us a favor and hand the guy over. We don't want to hurt him. We need his help to stop the five factions.”

Takumi flicked a thread, and a shard of moonlight snapped like glass where it passed. "So, what's it going to be?" 

Rei's hand settled on the hilt of his sword, which purred hungrily with blue-white Seiki humming low. "To be honest, I don’t care about the five factions either. But I draw the line at kidnapping a friend."

Iovah's eyes darted to Rei, a flash of real wariness cutting through the tension like a blade in the dark. "Hajime, come with us and fulfill the prophecy."

Hajime spoke with an intense tone. "I’m nobody's chosen. I'm taking my own path."

Shinji’s grin spread wider, manic as a storm. "Perfect. I was hoping for a fight anyway."

Izumi stepped in between, her Seiki flaring green. Roots twitched under the moss like coiled adders ready to strike. "If you want him, you’d better pray your resolve is up for the task."

Iovah raised a palm, and the Forsakers froze, tension humming like a drawn bowstring. "We aren't here to fight, but that being said, we can't afford to fail our mission."

Rei shrugged, casual as death. "Too bad for you."

In anger, Shinji powered up first. An instinctive surge roared to life, rune scars blazing crimson like veins of lava. 

Megumi's illusions shattered around the trio, her eyes hollow like burned-out stars. 

Hikari conjured a sonic knife, twisting in the wind. 

Takumi's threads spread out, glowing faint orange from his Seiki. 

Iovah's endurance aura thickened, the air turning to sludge, every breath becoming a struggle. 

Rei’s sword cleared its sheath in a blur of blue-white fire, the blade singing a hymn of judgment. "Touch him, and I’ll burn your little rebellion to ash."

Izumi’s roots erupted, forming a living wall of thorns between the Forsakers and the table, each spike dripping with Eidarus venom. Her avatar began to rise, bark splitting with the sound of breaking bones, thorns lengthening like fingers reaching for throats. "Over my dead body."

Images of Eisenwald flashed behind her eyes, a lens of smoke, screams, and a village lost.

Hajime stepped forward, a gold-silver light condensing into a single point at his chest, bright enough to burn retinas. Adam’s voice layered over his, calm, ancient, and stern. “I don’t want to hurt you. Leave while you still can. This is silly. We’re not your enemies.”

Mira’s voice cracked like a whip through the tension. “Kenta! Akari! To the cellar! Now!”

Jiro snatched a blade from under the table, old iron, nicked but still eager, the kind that had tasted blood in prior wars. “Everyone to the root tunnels! Move!”

The villagers scattered. Mothers dragged their children, feet pounding the grass like frantic heartbeats. Old men grabbed pitchforks, their tools turned into weapons in trembling hands. Kenta swung one arm and snatched a cleaver from the butcher’s block, sprinting toward the rear and positioning himself between the fleeing villagers and the edge of town.

The root tunnels sealed with a thunderous boom as Mira triggered the emergency wards, the sound echoing like a final heartbeat.

In an instant, the clearing became a maelstrom of light and defiance, the calm before the storm, as the Forsakers closed in.