The sky bled ash and fire as the rain came down like needles of sorrow. Smoke curled from the rooftops of the Notajime estate, and the clang of steel drowned out the thunder. A child’s breath, shallow and ragged, broke through the chaos. Taiki Notajime — just nine, barefoot, his hands scraped and trembling — stumbled through the dirt path behind the main hall. He was too small to understand the war erupting around him. But old enough to understand death.

His father, Kento Notajime — the last man to wield the legendary Dragon Blades — was still in the courtyard. Still fighting. Still protecting. And still doomed.

“Run, Taiki!” his voice tore through the air like a whip. “You must live!”

Taiki didn’t want to run. He didn’t want to leave. But the fear in his father’s voice pinned him harder than any enemy blade. He hesitated for just a moment — and that moment shattered his world.

A shadow flickered behind his father. No sound. Just movement. A blur of silent death.

Steel gleamed, blood sprayed. And the man who was a legend — a protector, a father — dropped to his knees. His eyes met Taiki’s in that final second. Not with fear. Not with regret. But peace.

Then his head fell forward.

Taiki screamed. He screamed with everything his young lungs could carry. But the scream didn’t save anyone. It didn’t stop the figure who now turned toward him — a ninja in black, face masked, holding a bloodstained blade dripping with legacy.

But before the blade could swing again, another figure burst through the smoke. A taller man. Eyes sharp as frost. A blur of motion.

The ninja’s head rolled before it even hit the ground.

“Too slow,” muttered the new arrival. He turned, his crimson-lined cloak billowing, and locked eyes with Taiki. “You’re coming with me.”

Taiki backed away, stumbling. “Who… who are you?”

“I’m your uncle,” the man replied. “Your father’s brother. And I’ve just saved your life.”

Taiki’s vision blurred. Tears and smoke fused into each other. His knees buckled. The world faded.

That night, the Notajime clan was erased from every scroll in the Hidden Archives. All but one name remained: Taiki.

---

When Taiki awoke, it wasn’t to the scent of death, but of incense and steel. He lay in a temple built like a fortress — hidden within a mountain carved by shadows. His uncle, Raiden Notajime, now sat before him, sharpening a blade without looking up.

“You watched your father die,” Raiden said without flinching. “That will haunt you forever. Use it.”

Taiki didn’t reply. He stared at his blood-stained palms.

“You were weak,” Raiden continued. “But weakness is temporary. Pain is a forge. And I will make you a weapon.”

Thus began the first day of the boy's transformation.

---

Years passed. Not in silence — but in agony, in bruises, in broken bones and sharpened instinct. Raiden trained Taiki with no mercy. Every morning was a battle. Every night, a meditation on survival. The boy was stripped of fear, of hesitation, of innocence. In time, he grew into a specter. His hands moved faster than the wind. His steps made no sound.

But even a weapon needs direction. A reason to kill.

Her name was Amira Katashade.

She was the deadliest assassin of their generation. Equal parts grace and fury, her codename was Ratel — after the animal that feared nothing. She moved like a dancer and struck like lightning. And when she sparred with Taiki for the first time, he lost.

Not just the match — but something deeper.

They became rivals. Then partners. Then something they couldn’t name.

Raiden warned him. “Love is not for us. Assassins don’t get happy endings.”

But hearts aren’t trained like blades.

---

The elders saw what was growing between the two. And it angered them. For Taiki was not meant to love — he was meant to lead. To surpass all. Including Amira. Including Raiden.

So they created something forbidden.

Using Taiki’s blood, they forged a clone. A mirror. A twin.

Taiji Notajime.

He was born of flesh and envy, raised in the shadows of both Taiki and Amira. Taught that he was the perfect successor. The true blade. But his heart was flawed. Where Taiki had grief and fire, Taiji had emptiness. He watched Taiki grow closer to Amira, and it festered.

In time, envy curdled into betrayal.

---

The massacre came on a moonless night.

The hidden fortress was breached. Ninjas — black-cloaked and merciless — descended with precision only one of their own could’ve given them.

Taiji had sold them out.

The walls ran red with the blood of assassins.

Raiden fell. So did dozens of warriors. And in the final confrontation, Taiki — bloodied and burning — watched as Taiji drove a blade through Amira’s back.

“No…” Taiki roared, his twin blades clenched in his fists. The Scourge Sun and Crescent Moon glowed with an ancient fury. The dragon spirits within them awakened.

But it was too late.

Amira collapsed into his arms, her breath shallow, her skin cold.

With her last breath, she cupped his face. “Don’t become the monster…”

And then her eyes closed.

Something inside Taiki broke. The demon that had long slumbered in him — the Spider — crawled from the pit of his soul. Rage consumed him. He howled into the night.

When dawn broke, the fortress was ash.

And Taiki was gone.

---

He became a ghost. A myth. A rogue assassin hunted by every nation. His name was spoken with fear. Some said he’d lost his mind. Others, that he’d become death itself.

But no one knew the truth.

He was still hunting.

Until one day…

A rumor spread.

A girl — scarred, burned, but alive — had been seen crossing the Shadow Valley.

With silver eyes.

Amira’s eyes.

And so the hunt began again.

Not for vengeance.

But for redemption.

And for love.

---

Smoke drifted lazily above the charred remains of the last safe house in the Whispering Wastes. Ash mixed with blood along the floorboards. And standing in the center of it all, barefoot and cloaked in silence, was Taiki Notajime — codename: Spider.

His eyes scanned the scene. Ten bodies. No signs of a struggle. Precise kills. Clean exits. The work of a professional.

But not just any assassin.

Taiji.

Taiki bent down near the youngest corpse, a courier boy no older than thirteen. His throat was slit without resistance.

“This wasn’t just a hit,” Taiki muttered under his breath. “It was a message.”

He stood slowly, pulling the hood over his face. The shadows welcomed him like an old friend.

He was being hunted again. But this time, not by enemies.

By memories.

---

Elsewhere, in a city buried beneath the sand — the black market town of Tenshara — whispers moved faster than blades. In the corner of a tavern filled with liars and killers, two informants exchanged more than coin.

“They say he’s looking for her,” one said, gulping rice wine. “The girl with the silver eyes.”

“No one survives a blade to the heart,” the other spat. “Even she couldn’t—”

“But what if she did?”

Both men froze as a presence approached.

Taiki.

Neither of them saw his face. Only a glint of steel — and silence.

---

Beneath the city, in the catacombs of the Shrouded Lotus Guild, a woman moved like water between candlelight. Her face hidden behind a silver fox mask. Her right arm scarred, the burns old but unforgotten. She traced a blade with her fingers, whispering a name to herself.

“Taiki…”

Amira Katashade — the girl the world thought dead — was very much alive.

And preparing.

---

Back in Tenshara, Taiki’s search led him to an ancient contact: Goro Jin, a blind archivist who once served the assassins before the massacre.

Goro sat cross-legged in a dusty room of scrolls, humming softly.

“I heard you lost yourself,” he murmured when Taiki entered.

“I did,” Taiki replied, his voice low. “And now I’m trying to find someone else.”

Goro tapped his cane. “You’re not looking for her, Taiki. You’re chasing your past. But beware — ghosts can bite.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

Goro smiled. “You should be. One of them is your twin.”

---

That night, Taiki stood on the rooftop of Tenshara, staring at the moon. The Crescent Moon blade pulsed faintly at his hip.

In the shadows across the rooftop, a figure appeared — twin swords drawn.

Not Taiji.

But someone else.

A test.

The assassin lunged without warning, their movements fluid and practiced. Taiki blocked, deflected, countered. Steel clashed under moonlight, their duel a dance of death.

But Taiki had learned pain. He had mastered silence. And with a final twisting slash, he disarmed his opponent and pressed his blade to their throat.

The mask fell.

It was a girl. No older than eighteen. Pale hair. Crimson tattoo under her eye.

She looked up at him and whispered, “They’re coming for you. And her. Again.”

Taiki’s eyes narrowed. “Who sent you?”

She smirked. “She did.”

Before he could ask more, a blade flew from the dark — slicing her throat in one smooth arc.

She collapsed in his arms.

Taiki turned sharply. A shadow stood at the end of the rooftop, bathed in starlight.

No mask. Just a mirror image.

Taiji.

Their eyes locked — red to red.

“You’re still chasing ghosts,” Taiji said coldly.

“You killed her,” Taiki snarled.

“I set her free,” Taiji replied. “But you… you’re still caged by your weakness.”

“I’m stronger than you.”

“No. You’re just broken differently.”

Before Taiki could respond, Taiji vanished into smoke, his final words echoing behind him:

“She’s not the only ghost walking.”

---

As dawn broke over Tenshara, Taiki stood over the city, alone once more.

But something had shifted.

She was alive.

And Taiji knew.

The war wasn’t over.

It had just begun again.

---

The moon hung blood-red over the ruined cliffs of the Obsidian Spires — an ancient battlefield turned forbidden land. Legends claimed this was where the first assassins were born… and where the Dragon Blades chose their rightful wielder.

Tonight, the wind carried whispers. The kind only warriors understood.

Taiki knelt in the center of a circle of carved stones. His twin blades — Scourge Sun and Crescent Moon — rested across his knees, their edges humming softly.

He was waiting.

The memory of Taiji’s voice still clawed at his mind.

“She’s not the only ghost walking.”

---

Miles below, in the echoing caverns of Shurei Hollow, Amira moved with silent determination. Her wounds had healed, but the scar over her chest — the place where Taiji’s blade pierced her heart — remained as a constant reminder of her rebirth.

She wasn’t just alive.

She was becoming something new.

The masters of Shurei Hollow had trained her in forgotten arts, long banned by the assassin guilds. Her soul was now bound to Ratel, the ancestral spirit of tenacity and vengeance. And tonight, she would break the seals.

“I must see him,” she whispered.

But first… the test.

---

Meanwhile, Taiki was not alone at the Spires. From the surrounding cliffs, warriors began to emerge — one by one. Clad in ritual black and bearing crescent insignias on their masks, they were the Wolves of Hojiro, ancient guardians of the blades.

Taiki rose slowly as they circled him.

“You are not one of us,” their leader growled.

“I don’t need to be,” Taiki replied. “The blades chose me.”

“They accept no impostor.”

“They accept no weakling.”

He drew his weapons.

And the storm began.

---

The Wolves attacked in unison, their movements flawless — but Taiki was faster. Every strike he made echoed with rage held in restraint. Every parry carved a line through the past. The Scourge Sun ignited in his grip, while the Crescent Moon curved through air like a ghost’s whisper.

Five fell.

Ten more came.

Still he fought.

Still he stood.

But as he drove his blades into the final warrior, collapsing onto the blood-slick stone, a presence surged from within him.

The Spider.

His demon soul emerged in a torrent of shadow, its eight limbs flickering behind him like phantom extensions. His eyes turned pitch black. The air vibrated with unnatural tension.

But he didn’t lose control.

Not this time.

“I see now…” he muttered, breathing heavy. “These blades were never forged to kill. They were forged to guide.”

And somewhere, far from the battlefield…

Amira’s eyes snapped open.

“He’s coming.”

---

Elsewhere, deep within the Iron Marshes, Taiji stood atop the skeletal remains of a fallen temple, speaking with a hooded figure cloaked in violet silk.

“You're sure the seal is breaking?” the figure asked, voice raspy.

“She lived,” Taiji replied, voice low. “The mistake we made was underestimating her spirit.”

“And your brother?”

“Still lost in his weakness.”

The figure paused.

“No. He’s becoming something dangerous. Finish it.”

“I will.”

“But if she finds him first… our empire collapses.”

Taiji didn’t reply.

He turned toward the distant sky, where a red moon watched in silence.

---

As night bled into morning, Taiki found himself standing before an ancient gate deep within the forest — the entrance to Kagutsuchi’s Hollow, where flame-born assassins once made pacts with elemental spirits.

It was here he hoped to find answers.

And her.

Suddenly, the forest shifted.

Leaves fell in reverse.

Sound disappeared.

And in that void, Amira stepped from the mist.

Eyes silver.

Breath cold.

Alive.

They stared at each other for a long time.

He stepped forward.

She didn’t move.

His hand reached out.

Her lips trembled.

“T-Taiki?”

He froze.

Her voice cracked.

She was real.

“Amira…”

But before either could touch — arrows rained down from the canopy.

The Shadow Serpents, sent by the twin emperor Hoeth himself, had found them.

Taiki grabbed Amira and rolled, blades out, slicing arrows midair. She drew her dagger, back to back with him.

They fought like echoes of the past — in sync, fluid, deadly.

But this time… they fought for each other.

---

As the final assassin fell, silence returned.

Amira leaned against a tree, breath shallow.

“You were supposed to move on,” she whispered.

“I did,” he replied. “Then I remembered what I was fighting for.”

Their eyes met again.

She placed her hand on his chest.

“Your heart still beats like it did the day I died.”

“And now it beats for revenge.”

---