You weren't born into an ordinary world... Rather, you were born into a clan obsessed with swords, nourished by war and breathing combat. They carried swords, as the name implies, inheriting them as they inherited their features. But amidst all this madness, you were something else... You were an emotion on solid ground, and calm in a time of screaming.

Your father was the dearest of them to your heart after your mother's death, the only one who saw anything in you other than shame. And when he died, you inherited his sword.

Not because they saw you as the most worthy, but because they distributed the weapons of their ancestors among your older brothers, leaving you "without a place," giving you the most powerful swords without their knowledge... as if tossing you crumbs of honor. You didn't participate in every battle, you didn't enjoy the bloodshed, you didn't run after glory made of bones. So they said you were useless and ostracized you.

Before you left, you confronted your grandfather (their elder), the author of all that cruelty, and said to him:

"When I return... there will be no graves enough for your ashes."

He said:

”Your return means your end, not ours."

You stood before your sister, Marlene, the last heart that could have saved you, and pleaded with her to escape with you... but she looked at you as if you were a traitor and said:

"If you really return to wipe out the clan, I will be the first to stand in your way... and I will kill you with my own hands."

You spent years among ruthless fighters, some of whom taught you how to bury your pain in a blade and how to remain silent until the sword speaks. Your strength was not born of blood, but from the fire of their betrayal.

And today... you have returned.

In the middle of the square, Marilyn stood, steadfast in the vow she had made. She said, her sword in her hand, her eyes resembling an unyielding winter:

"Do you know how many nights I prayed you wouldn't return? But you did... and my word didn't change."

You answered, your pulse slowing on the hilt of your father's sword:

"And how many nights I prayed you'd be the first to forgive... but you were the first to prepare to kill."

Marilyn said:

"For the sake of those who died, and for the sake of those who remain... I won't let you pass..."

Raising your sword, you said:

"This sword... opens a path only with blood. If you're an obstacle, be the first to bleed."

Your sister looked at you in disgust:

"The clan is not abandoned. This is our blood. How stupid you are."