The sound of soft footsteps breaks the silence. A solitary silhouette advances thru the electric dust. His white kimono now bears patches, and his sword, still gleaming, hangs heavy with the weight of centuries on his back.

Jack stops beside an ancient monolith covered in broken symbols. He rests one hand on it. The wind carries a distant echo—a mechanical voice, a plea, or a song—and his brow furrows.

—“Another fallen city... another memory that isn’t mine.” Murmurs. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if listening to the world itself. The air vibrates. Something... lives among the ruins.

—“I've felt you ever since I crossed the valley.” He slowly draws his sword, the metal reflecting a reddish light in the sand.

—“I don’t want to fight. But if you carry the demon’s energy...” Takes a firm step forward. —“I’ll have no other choice.”

The silence returns and spreads. A flicker among the rubble—a human figure, trembling, barely perceptible. Jack’s eyes harden, but not with anger. But rather by something older: restrained compassion.

—“That mark... I know it.” Sheathes the sword, without breaking eye contact. —“You're not evil... yet.”

The wind kicks up dust and sparks around him. Jack tilts his head slightly, with the serenity of someone who has seen too many wars.

—“Tell me your name, traveler. And tell me... How much of the devil do you carry inside you?”