The heavy, metallic clang of the town bells echoed through the hollow halls of the museum, a frantic warning that reinforcements were closing in. But Kaito didn't move. His boots were planted in the shattered glass and splintered wood of the display cases, his breath coming in ragged, steaming gasps. Behind him, the three Sentinels he had incapacitated groaned in the shadows, but Kaito's world had shrunk to the size of the canvas standing before him.
The velvet curtain, once a shroud of secrecy, lay defeated on the floor.
"Kaito, we have to go! Now!" Mara's voice was sharp with panic as she gripped his arm, trying to pull him toward the exit.
"Look at it, Mara," Kaito whispered, his voice cracking. "Just... look."
The oil painting was a masterpiece of a forgotten age. It depicted a royal family standing on a balcony overlooking a city of white stone and blue spires—a city that didn't look like Oakhaven or anything Kaito had seen. In the center stood a man of immense presence, clad in silver-and-gold plate armor. His face was stern yet kind, and his eyes—a piercing, electric blue—were identical to Kaito's own.
Beside the King stood a woman of ethereal beauty, her hand resting gently on the shoulder of a young boy who couldn't have been more than seven years old. The boy was holding a training wooden sword, a small, confident smirk on his face. Behind them, partially in the shadows, was a young girl with silver hair, laughing at something the boy had said.
Kaito's gaze drifted to the bottom corner of the frame. There, etched in gold leaf, was the family crest: a soaring phoenix entwined with a serpent.
It was the exact same symbol on the Silver Token in Kaito's pocket.
The Token suddenly surged with a searing heat, vibrating against Kaito's thigh. A flash of a memory—real and raw—hit him like a physical blow. He saw the King's face, not on canvas, but covered in blood. He heard the girl's scream as the ground beneath them turned into a swirling black hole. He felt the cold iron of a blade piercing his back.
"The betrayal..." Kaito hissed, his left eye flickering into that terrifying vertical slit. The black streaks on his neck began to glow with a dark radiance. "It wasn't a war. It was an execution."
"Kaito! They're at the door!" Mara screamed as the main entrance to the hall was kicked open.
A dozen more Inquisitors, led by a commander in pure white robes, flooded the room. Their spears were raised, crackling with blinding holy electricity.
"The Void-spawn is here!" the commander roared. "Seize him! Do not let the heretic escape with the Royal Records!"
Kaito turned his head slowly. The sorrow in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, murderous clarity. He didn't just feel the power now; he understood it. The Black Streaks weren't a curse—they were his inheritance, the weapon his family had used to guard the throne before they were stabbed in the back.
"Mara, get behind me," Kaito said, his voice dropping to a low, guttural growl that vibrated the very floorboards.
He reached out his hand toward the air. Instead of drawing his physical sword, he pulled a blade made of pure, solidified shadow from the void itself. The air in the museum turned freezing, and the blue candles extinguished one by one.
"You want the weapon?" Kaito asked, his silhouette expanding until he looked twice his size in the darkness. "Come and take it."