The Baika

Silence.

The roar of the engines was now just an echo, fading into the horizon.

The wheels of the Elite's vehicles left behind a cloud of dust and ash… a sense of defeat that clung to the skin like cold sweat.

I was still on the ground, my body shattered, my breathing ragged, and the still-hot sword trembling beside me.

Ken was kneeling nearby, his face filled with rage… and helplessness.

Zayen and Rhok were still unconscious.

We had tried until the very end.

"He didn't leave empty-handed…" I whispered, gritting my teeth. "He took more than a body… he took something from us."

Ken didn't answer. He kept staring at the horizon.

Then, without warning, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists.

"That man…" he muttered. "Arkhan.

He left my master… unable to walk.

And he beat me up like it was nothing. I'm scum. I couldn't avenge him. I live here, isolated from everything, like a coward."

I tried to sit up. My body screamed at me not to.

Even so, I did it. I placed a hand on the earth. The ground was hot.

Stained with blood… and vibrations.

"Ken… this isn't the time to fight. We need to heal first.

And then we'll go look for him. Both of us."

He lowered his head. The shadow of his bangs covered his eyes.

"It's not about revenge…" he said. "It's justice.

And I swear to you, Nilo…"

He stood up, slowly.

He raised his right arm to the sky.

"I, Ken Volkov, swear that I will kill the Specter!"

His voice ripped through the air.

A black raven flew right above us.

As if the promise had awakened something.

The flame inside my sword… pulsed.

☁️ Flashback

That sound again.

That dry, brutal, irremediable crunch.

His master's spine breaking under Arkhan's staff.

"Is this how you train your disciples, old man?" the Specter had said with that hollow voice, as if speaking from another dimension. "Pathetic."

Ken had wanted to intervene. To jump in. To die if necessary.

But he was lying on the ground.

Fractured from the inside, more than the outside.

His gaze was fixed on his master's broken body…

And on that smile of Arkhan's that marked him more than any wound.

Since that day…

The rage burns.

The shame never fades.

Hours passed.

Zayen woke up first, confused and sore.

Rhok took longer, but at least he was alive.

We told them what had happened… or part of it.

They didn't know about the sword. Not yet.

That night we camped near the old silo.

We lit a small bonfire, and the air smelled of rust, smoke… and unclosed wounds.

Ken worked on his katana in silence.

I watched the fire.

And the fire… watched us back.

Zayen broke the silence.

"So, what do we do now?"

I looked at Ken.

He returned my gaze.

"Now… we'll pay a visit."

"A visit to Arkhan?" Rhok asked, still bandaging his arm.

"No. To your master, Ken.

He can tell us more about this sword."

Ken nodded.

He understood.

We were tied to something bigger than ourselves.

"Besides," Zayen added, smiling with an open wound on his lip, "if we're still alive after this… we deserve answers. And revenge."

I stood up.

Ken glanced at me.

"Now?"

I nodded.

The moon was high.

And even though everything seemed broken, something inside me was lighting up again.

The journey was just beginning.