The silver Knight

"What are you doing?" Zane asked, his voice low and steady, the cigar rolling lazily from one side of his mouth to the other.

Giro stumbled, his feet betraying him as he collided with Zane. "Ahhhhhhh!!" He crashed to the ground, struggling to catch his breath. "W-what… what… are you… doing… Zane?"

Zane raised the book he was holding, the last page clearly visible. "I just checked this book," he said, his tone flat, almost detached. "I found that it's incomplete. So, I'm here to get the rest of it."

Giro blinked, processing the words slowly. "Oh! Ok, ok! I just became very angry… and wanted revenge… and decided to kill all those soldiers… and then I saw that the book was missing too…" Giro slowly rose, trying to find balance. "I never thought you were behind this."

Zane's gaze sharpened, his mouth a small line of disdain. "You know where the rest of this book is," he said, his eyes cold. "Stop blabbering and start lying properly. You killed them? Heh! you don't know anything about the remaining part of the book?!."

Giro scratched his head awkwardly, his eyes shifting. "Sorry, brother. But I can't tell you."

Zane's expression darkened, and he didn't bother to respond. Instead, with a single, fluid motion, he pushed Giro's chest and walked away.

Giro, still recovering from the shove, chuckled bitterly. "What kind of fool would hide the scroll in a place so obvious?" he muttered to himself. "I already hid it somewhere you would never find."

Zane, believing the lie, didn't think to search further. He turned to leave, his voice echoing through the air. "I'll destroy everything! Veyrune will one day be enveloped in darkness! All fools like those soldiers will then understand what real power is!"

His words hung in the air, sharp and biting, as his single, uncovered eye glinted with a fire Giro hadn't seen in him before.

"Not as long as I live!" Giro's voice was firm, his heart steeling itself for what was to come.

It was the beginning of everything between them.

Later, as the story unfolded before Rai, Raze, and Kaizen, they listened in awe as Giro spoke of his past.

"The family I said I was running from," Giro began, his voice steady but full of old pain, "is none other than Zane."

Raze clenched his fists, his voice low but filled with fierce determination. "Lets go!."

"I don't want my brother to be consumed by darkness," Giro said, his voice low but resolute.

"Do you think it's possible to stop him?" Kaizen asked, the faintest trace of doubt in his tone.

"I'll give it a try," Giro replied, more to himself than to Kaizen.

They moved cautiously through the forest, Giro leading the way to the spot where he had last seen Zane. The same place, the same uneasy air. This time, though, there was a small, fragile relief: he wasn't alone.

Giro pushed aside the tangled leaves, his eyes locking onto the old, abandoned house. The structure seemed to have sunk further into decay, vines creeping over its crumbling walls like veins carrying the lifeblood of the wilderness. The stage was still there, the centerpiece of that haunting memory. But it wasn't as he had left it.

The green moss and algae that had claimed the stage were more prominent now, glinting faintly in the dim light. The concrete tiles were almost invisible beneath nature's reclamation, and—what was this?—the stage itself was shattered, broken cleanly into two jagged pieces.

And yet, even in ruin, it wasn't empty.

There, standing at the heart of the fractured stage, was a man. Broad, hulking, more beast than human, his presence radiated raw power. He held a black scroll, its edges curling faintly, a dark promise etched in its folds. Giro froze.

"Damn it," he whispered under his breath. The last time, it had been Zane standing there. Now, it was someone else—a teammate, a companion, or perhaps something worse.

The man stood like a specter conjured by the forest itself. Rugged, unkempt, his hair wild and thick, his sleeveless white shirt stained and torn. His skin bore the harsh tones of someone shaped by sun and dirt, his very presence a testament to life lived among beasts.

Rai narrowed his eyes, searching his memory. Yes, this was the one. The brute who had walked beside Zane before, his aura unmistakable. Veil level 480. A formidable presence then, and more so now, standing as the bearer of the scroll that held the final stage of the Dark Veil.

Giro clenched his fists. He had thought this place would hold only ghosts of the past. He hadn't been prepared for the living ones.

"Looks like Zane sent his men to retrieve the scroll," Rai muttered, glancing over his shoulder.

Behind him, Kaizen was locked in a desperate struggle to keep Raze from bolting forward. His palm clamped tightly over Raze's mouth, his forearm pressing hard against his neck, and his legs intertwined with Raze's, pinning him in place. Every muscle in Kaizen's body was straining, his movements calculated yet ferocious.

Giro felt a strange déjà vu wash over him, a flash of memory that blurred with the present. His mind leapt ahead, imagining the brute coming straight for him, just like Zane had before. Instinctively, his gaze flicked sideways, considering escape, an exit from the forest before it was too late.

But something stopped him.

The man's actions were... different. Giro's eyes snapped back to the figure, now moving with calm purpose. Instead of heading toward them, the man was walking in the opposite direction.

Giro frowned. That way? It made no sense. That part of the forest was blocked by an old fence—a boundary even Zane and Giro had never crossed. It was a forbidden line, laid down by the master himself.

The figure didn't hesitate. He strode forward, his movements unhurried but deliberate, as though the fence meant nothing to him.

Giro squinted, his breath catching as he watched. The man reached the fence, placed one massive hand on its rusted edge, and vaulted over in a single fluid motion.

On the other side, the dense green stretched out like a shadowy void, swallowing him whole. He walked straight into it, his broad back disappearing into the forest as if it were merely an extension of himself.

It was unnatural. The way he moved, the ease with which he crossed that threshold. Giro's stomach churned. Whatever lay on the other side, it was no place for ordinary men.

"Damn it, guys! No time to explain—he's entered the deadly forest!" Giro hissed, keeping his voice low but urgent.

"He's got the scroll on him," Rai said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "And he's taking it with him!"

Behind them, Kaizen winced as he glanced at his swollen fingers, Raze's teeth marks still fresh and red. Raze, wild-eyed and impatient, barked out, "Why are we just standing here? Let's go and stop him!"

Kaizen released his grip on Raze, his mind racing. There wasn't much choice—no, there was no choice. If they wanted the scroll, they had to go after the man and take it back. He exhaled heavily. "Hmph! Fine. Let's go!" he said, rising to his feet.

"I've got a feeling he'll circle back this way," Giro muttered, glancing toward the forest's impenetrable shadows. "Our master always said crossing the forest in that direction was impossible."

"Then I'll wait here with Kaizen," Rai offered, stepping back slightly. "It's pointless to try and hold Raze back. You two go in."

That was all Raze needed to hear. In the blink of an eye, he was off, sprinting ahead with Giro hot on his heels.

Kaizen stood still for a moment, tension etched across his face. "Will they be alright? The guy with the scroll could kill them."

Rai smirked, just a flicker of confidence. "Those two? They're the ultimate tag team in their own way. Trust them." He turned, moving toward the ruined stage. "So, this is why the stage is broken... Giro hid the scroll under it."

"And Zane found it," Kaizen finished grimly. His eyes widened as they both turned toward the broken structure. Something felt wrong—too wrong.

"Move!" Kaizen shouted, lunging forward. In a flash, his hand grabbed the back of Rai's shirt, pulling him away just as the stage groaned ominously.

Rai hit the ground, his hands scraping against the dirt as he tried to steady himself. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, looking up at Kaizen.

Kaizen didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the fractured remains of the stage, his instincts screaming that they were standing on the edge of something far worse than they'd anticipated.

"Curse," Kaizen muttered, his voice grim and low.

He stood slowly, brushing the dust from his pants with deliberate movements, then walked back toward the stage. His eyes narrowed as he focused on a single mark etched into the ground—a symbol, otherworldly and ancient. It wasn't a character from any language Kaizen or Rai had ever seen, but its presence carried weight, like a shadow stretching long in the fading light.

Kaizen shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the ground. Beneath, his torso bore the unmistakable signs of battle—a half-healed slash across his gut, the wound jagged and angry against his skin.

"What curse? And why are you stripping?" Rai asked, his tone teetering between curiosity and alarm. He glanced at the stage, then back at Kaizen. "Wait—should I strip too?!"

"No," Kaizen said flatly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Rai hesitated, his gaze shifting to the deep gash on Kaizen's abdomen. "Your gut—it's not healed yet," he said, frowning. "That cut—caused by Number 3, wasn't it?" His voice softened slightly. "Does it still hurt?"

Kaizen didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained locked on the strange symbol, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself against an unseen force. Whatever this curse was, it was something he understood instinctively—something he was preparing to confront, no matter the cost.