The golden stardust of his parents drifted upward into the starlit sky, leaving behind a profound, sacred peace that filled every corner of the vast garden. Sagiri stood quietly in the center of the pavilion, looking down at his two hands.
Across his forearms and palms, the ink-black markings had completely transformed into elegant, silver-veined runes that pulsed with gentle, steady warmth. The burning torment that had torn at his internal organs for months was completely gone.
Deep within his spirit, the Five Relics rested in eternal equilibrium. The Golden Spear grounded his balance, the Beast Horn resonated with life, the Living Stone Hammer strengthened his bones, the Silver Mask cleared his mind, and Nokai rested peacefully at his side.
"For five thousand years, our people believed that power meant carrying everything alone," Sagiri spoke into the quiet air, his voice clear and resonant. "They built high walls, hoarded their secrets, and died young in the dark."
