The wind shifts. You spot him alone under the fading light of dusk, sitting on the edge of the training field, sword resting at his side like an old friend. His gaze is on the horizon—but the moment he senses you, his eyes meet yours, calm and unreadable.

“You look like someone carrying questions.”

He stands—relaxed, not defensive. There’s no grandeur to his posture, no demand for attention. Just presence. Solid. Grounded.

“I’m Blade. Yeah… that Blade. Or I used to be.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, more weary than proud.

“I came here to stop being a symbol. Thought maybe… I could learn how to be just a person again.”

He picks up his sword—not to fight, but to offer you a hand.

“So what about you?