Takeda's Journey

The plains of the Land of Rain were a field of death. Hundreds of soldiers, their armor dulled by mud and blood, clashed beneath a leaden sky. Rain fell in sheets, hammering shields, drowning the cries of the dying. Lightning split the clouds, illuminating in chaotic flashes faces twisted by fear and rage.

Takeda, thirteen years old, was a speck of dust in this storm. His short blade, notched and battered, trembled in his numb hand. Around him, the raiders of the Land of Wind charged, their axes and spears gleaming with a sinister light. He dodged a swing, pivoted, and slit a warrior's throat in one fluid motion. Fast. Always fast.

Lightning coursed through his veins, a raw elemental affinity that sharpened his reflexes, allowing him to dance between enemy blades. No mystery, no complex magic. Just instinct: survive.

But this battle was only one front among many. The Land of Rain was fighting on multiple fronts, its forces scattered, its resources depleted. Here, on the plains, they held their ground, but at what cost?

---

At the heart of the chaos, the brothers Kaito and Kioshi led the charge.

Kaito, the elder, stomped the ground with his heel. The earth obeyed, cracking into jagged spikes that impaled enemies. With a sweeping gesture, he sculpted a stone wolf, a howling creature that pounced on a group of raiders, tearing them to shreds. His face was a mask of cold focus, every movement calculated, relentless.

Kioshi, his younger brother, danced among flames. His fingers traced circles in the air, and spheres of fire burst into existence, spinning before crashing down in explosive bursts. The raiders faltered, blinded by smoke and heat. But the enemy commander, a colossus clad in black steel, stood firm. His spear sliced through the air with a sinister whistle, each strike unleashing razor-sharp gusts of wind.

"You think earth and fire are enough?" he sneered, swatting aside a wave of flames. "The Wind erases all."

Kioshi growled, a new fireball growing between his palms. Kaito, however, smiled. A trap. The ground beneath the commander liquefied, swallowing him up to his waist. The stone wolf lunged for the kill…

---

Then the world exploded.

A monolithic roar erupted from the bowels of the earth. The ground tore like parchment, a gaping chasm swallowing soldiers, weapons, and hope. And from the abyss, it emerged.

The Earth Dragon was not a creature. It was a judgment. Its body, a living mountain of basalt and obsidian, glistened in the rain. Its wings, veils of darkness, cast shadows that seemed to devour light. Its eyes, twin crimson suns, burned with eternal wrath.

The battlefield froze.

Kaito cursed under his breath. Kioshi stumbled back, his flames snuffed out in an instant. Even the enemy commander, so arrogant, paled. The dragon slowly turned its head, scanning the ants at its feet.

Then it roared.

The shockwave hurled dozens of men backward. Takeda's ears rang, blood trickling from his nose. Around him, soldiers screamed, all of them, friend and foe alike, dropping their weapons and pride. "Run!" a man shrieked, his voice breaking. "Run, it's the end!"

The Land of Wind broke ranks first. Their horses, mad with terror, trampled their own troops. The warriors of the Land of Rain followed, throwing down shields and swords. Kaito and Kioshi, though fearless, retreated toward the hills, rallying their men.

Takeda didn't think.

Lightning crackled under his skin. His muscles reacted before his mind could. He ran, truly ran, faster than a galloping horse. The landscape blurred, the cries muffled. To his left, a group of soldiers was reduced to ash by the dragon's breath—a river of black fire that incinerated mud, steel, and flesh.

"Don't stop!" someone bellowed. Too late. Men froze, paralyzed by the supernatural pressure radiating from the beast. The dragon crushed them with a swipe of its paw, turning them to pulp.

Takeda gritted his teeth, weaving through the fiery projectiles. The heat singed his hair. Faster. FASTER.

---

The dragon, frustrated, reared back. Its howl shook distant mountains. With a beat of its wings, it ascended into the sky, unleashing a storm of ash and debris. Its eyes scanned the fleeing soldiers, picking targets at random. A breath of fire turned a grove into a torch. Another obliterated a boulder where soldiers had tried to hide.

Takeda dove into a ravine, sliding through the mud, narrowly avoiding a rock. Behind him, the fire roared again, but farther away. It's moving on. It's playing.

When he dared to look up, the dragon hovered above the plain, an untamed titan. The two armies were now scattered ants, fleeing toward forests, mountains, anywhere. Kaito and Kioshi were gone. The enemy commander too.

Takeda breathed.

His heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest. The lightning had faded, leaving him trembling and drained. He was alone. As always.

But in the returning silence, a truth settled: the dragon hadn't been hurt. Not even scratched. It had awakened, toyed with them like a cat with mice, and grown bored. For how long?

Somewhere, in the darkness of the chasm, a rumble lingered. Like laughter.

Takeda gripped his blade, still warm with human blood. The battle was over.

But the war had just begun.