Eclipse of Eternity with the falling star

The old man's voice drifted over the young children gathered around him in the quiet courtyard, the soft rustling of leaves adding a calm backdrop to his story. His voice, gravelly and aged, held reverence as he spoke of the legendary Liora. "So, that was the story of the great warrior Liora," he finished, his eyes scanning the faces of the children, his voice lingering in the air like an echo.

The children sat cross-legged, their eyes wide with wonder, though one figure stood apart from the group. Kazama, the silver-haired boy, stared at the old man with a skeptical expression. His deep gray eyes, sharp and calculating, never wavered as the others hung on to every word. Kazama's posture remained aloof, his arms crossed, an air of indifference surrounding him. His youth did not diminish the cutting intelligence behind his gaze, nor the skepticism in his voice when he spoke.

"So, you're telling me," Kazama said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he spoke, his voice laced with a distinct sarcasm, "that I'm supposed to believe that our grandmother was the legendary Liora? That we're the descendants of a hero who saved the world from darkness?" He tilted his head slightly, his silver hair shimmering in the soft light of the afternoon. His tone was sharp, as if the very idea of it was something too preposterous to accept.

He paused, letting his words sink into the air before continuing, his gaze unwavering. "I'm pretty sure that story is just something passed down for the family members to feel important—something to make them think they're superior to the common folk." Kazama's voice carried a tinge of bitterness, his skepticism about the nobility and their inherited status clear in his words. "Isn't that what nobles do? Paint themselves as the chosen ones, the descendants of the greatest warriors, while the rest of the world remains beneath them?"

The old man paused, his face weathered with age and experience. He did not react to Kazama's challenge, but his eyes showed a fleeting hint of sadness. "Believe what you will, Kazama. But remember, every legend starts as a story. And sometimes, even the most improbable stories hold a kernel of truth."

Kazama, unfazed by the old man's response, turned and walked away, the other children quickly following suit, their conversations filled with curiosity and awe. They left the old man standing alone in the courtyard, their minds still preoccupied with the tale they had just heard. Kazama's mind, however, wandered elsewhere.

---

The castle loomed ahead of him as Kazama walked through the winding halls of the Glowing Sword family estate. The walls were lined with tapestries that depicted the great feats of Liora, the warrior who had once wielded the legendary sword that could cut through darkness itself. The castle had been built as a monument to her legacy, and yet, to Kazama, it felt hollow, like a place defined by the weight of an ancient history that no longer held meaning for the present.

Kazama's steps echoed in the corridors as he made his way through the vast castle. The light from the high windows bathed the stone walls in a warm glow, casting shadows that danced with the movement of the wind. But even the beauty of the surroundings could not lift the heaviness in Kazama's chest. The family, whose name had been forged in the fire of Liora's sacrifice, seemed to be little more than a hollow shell, their noble status held together by the threads of a forgotten legend.

He passed by a group of children in a narrow hallway, their voices echoing as they laughed. But the laughter soon turned to cruel taunts as a smaller boy, clearly of lesser bloodline, stood trembling, unable to escape their mocking words. The sight made Kazama stop, his gaze cold as he observed the scene before him. The children were bullying the boy, clearly taking pleasure in his discomfort. Kazama's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of the sword at his side, though he made no move to intervene yet.

That's what happens when you're not from the main bloodline, Kazama thought, his mind calculating. He knew the dynamics of the family better than anyone. The Glowing Sword family was vast, and only the direct descendants of Liora held the true power, the title of nobility. The rest were nothing more than lesser branches, often treated with disdain by those who had the "right" blood. Kazama had long come to understand the value placed on power, on strength. Did Liora really have that many children? he wondered. It would make sense, after all—she lived a long life after her retirement, but still... something doesn't sit right. The way the light is wielded here—it feels almost as dark as the shadows we were meant to destroy.

He watched for a moment longer, his gaze growing colder. The boy was struggling to keep his balance under the pressure of the older children's taunts. Kazama felt the stirring of something within him, but he didn't want to admit it. It was a feeling that didn't fit with the cold, calculated mindset he had spent years perfecting. Why should I care? he thought. It's not my problem.

But something shifted within him. Kazama stepped forward, his footsteps silent against the stone floor, his presence undeniable.

"Stop bullying him," Kazama's voice cut through the tension like a blade, his tone smooth and authoritative. The older children, surprised by his sudden appearance, froze. The boy who had been bullied glanced up, his face a mixture of fear and confusion.

The bully, the tallest and most imposing of the group, sneered. "And if we don't?" he challenged, stepping forward as though ready to face Kazama. The tension thickened in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down.

Kazama's gaze remained unflinching. His voice, calm yet filled with an unmistakable weight, drifted toward the bully. "Then I'll start bullying you."

The words were delivered with a level of certainty that caused the bully's defiance to falter. The moment the words left Kazama's mouth, the bully's confidence shattered like glass. Without a word, he turned and fled, his friends following behind, muttering in disbelief.

Kazama turned his attention to the bullied boy, who had yet to move. "Get up," Kazama said firmly, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I didn't help you. I just made them leave. Stand up, or get out of here before someone else decides to make you their target again."

The boy remained still, a look of gratitude mixed with confusion on his face. He wanted to speak, perhaps even thank Kazama, but Kazama had already turned his back and walked away, disappearing down the corridor.

---

Kazama found his way back to his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to calm his thoughts. The castle, with all its grandeur, felt more like a prison than a home. The weight of Liora's legacy pressed down on him, a reminder that he was the heir of a family built on a myth.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze distant. Why did I bother? The question ran through his mind repeatedly. Why did I intervene?

Kazama clenched his fist, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he stared at the floor. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chill in the room, a coldness that he could not explain. His heart skipped a beat as a figure materialized before him—a woman, glowing with ethereal light, her armor shimmering like silver in the dim light. The sword she held gleamed with an unnatural brilliance.

It was Liora. Her presence filled the room, and Kazama felt a shiver run down his spine. The legendary warrior, the hero of Arkanis, stood before him.

She was exactly as the stories had described—radiant, untouchable, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce his very soul. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Kazama stood, rooted in place, unable to look away.

Liora did not speak. Her gaze was unwavering, and the sword in her hand hummed with an energy that seemed to come from another world. Kazama's pulse quickened, and though he could not tear his gaze away from her, he found no words to speak.

The room felt too small, too heavy. The air was thick with the weight of her presence, her silent scrutiny hanging in the air like a question that needed no answer.

To be continued...