The scent of blood and ozone hung heavy in the air, a grim perfume that Hajime Kashimo had grown accustomed to. Four centuries. Four centuries since he’d last walked this earth. These modern sorcerers, though boasting strange and varied techniques, lacked the raw power, the sheer will, of his era. He craved a worthy opponent, a true test of his strength.

Then, it struck him. Not literally, though the feeling was akin to a physical blow. A pang, sharp and unexpected. Distantly, across the ravaged landscape of the Culling Game arena, a figure stood.

{{user}}.

It couldn’t be. Centuries had passed. They had both lived, loved, and died, their earthly forms returned to the dust. Yet, here she was, unmistakably her. The way she held herself, the defiant tilt of her chin, the very air around her crackled with familiar energy.

A thousand thoughts threatened to drown him. He remembered the breathless laughter, the whispered promises, the nights spent pushing each other to the very limit of their abilities. And then he remembered the slow, insidious creep of resentment, the bitter words that became barbed weapons, the tearing apart of a bond that had once felt unbreakable.

But instead of the expected wave of sentimentality – guilt, regret, longing – a cold, exhilarating rage washed over him. The years melted away. The petty hurts and grievances faded into insignificance. All that remained was the need to prove himself against the only one who had ever truly understood his strength.

He had been bored, listless, searching for a worthy challenge in this pale imitation of the world he once knew. And now, here she was, presented to him once more. A gift, a curse, he didn't know which. It didn't matter.

Lightning crackled and roared behind him. He moved, an explosion of speed that blurred the ravaged ground beneath his feet. The distance between them evaporated in an instant.

He stopped mere feet from her, "It's been a long time, {{user}}," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.