The carriage rocked forward with a deep, weary groan.
Rumble… rumble…
Outside, the wheels crushed dirt and stone beneath them. Inside, the air felt far heavier than the road itself.
Shin-Hi kept her child close to her chest. One trembling hand brushed over the newborn's tiny back, as if she feared the slightest movement might break him.
Beside her, Shin-Zenshu stared ahead in silence.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
But the hand resting near his sword had not relaxed even once.
The attack had not been a simple ambush.
No.
It had been too precise.
Too close.
Too deliberate.
The secret path they had chosen was meant to keep them hidden until the very last moment. No announcement. No messenger. No witness. Not even the palace had been told the full route.
And yet…
Enemies had found them.
Shin-Hi's voice came out in a whisper, soft and shaken.
"They were waiting for us."
Shin-Zenshu did not answer at once.
His eyes shifted to the child in her arms.
For a moment, the newborn's sleeping face seemed almost fragile enough to disappear into the darkness around them.
Then he spoke.
"Not waiting," he said quietly.
Shin-Hi looked at him.
He lifted his gaze.
"Tracking."
Her breath caught.
The carriage jolted over a rough patch of road.
Thud.
Shin-Zenshu's jaw tightened.
"No one knew our route," he said. "No one should have known."
Shin-Hi lowered her eyes, holding the child even more carefully.
"You think someone followed us?"
"I think someone knew enough to strike at the worst possible moment."
His voice dropped.
"And that means this was not random."
A cold silence settled between them.
Outside, the forest had already been left behind.
The capital gates stood ahead now, towering and severe, and the sight of them was enough to change the mood of the whole road.
Rows of Shin-Jin stood in formation.
Their armor glinted under the pale light.
Blades at their hips.
Stern eyes.
Unmoving backs.
The city had never looked so locked down.
The moment the carriage entered the capital, people began to stop and stare.
Murmurs spread through the streets like a living thing.
"What happened?"
"Why is the security like this?"
"Look at all those soldiers…"
"Something must have happened on the road."
A woman pulled her child closer.
A merchant leaned out from his stall, then quickly regretted it when he saw how many guards were watching the road.
Another voice, nervous and hushed, rose from a small cluster of bystanders.
"I heard the convoy was attacked."
A sharp inhale answered him.
"On the secret route?"
"Keep your voice down."
"I am serious," the first man insisted. "Why else would Shin-Jin be standing at every corner?"
A second man glanced toward the carriage as it passed.
"Because the people inside are not ordinary."
The words spread fast.
Not ordinary.
Not when the whole city could feel the pressure hanging in the air.
Not when the roads had been sealed.
Not when the soldiers looked like they were waiting for another war to begin at any second.
Inside the carriage, Shin-Zenshu heard every word.
So did Shin-Hi.
Her fingers trembled against the child's blanket.
Shin-Zenshu's expression hardened.
The capital had already begun to whisper.
And whispers were dangerous.
One man in the crowd spoke a little too loudly, and the guard near him shot him a warning glance.
He lowered his voice immediately.
"Those two are the last heirs of the Shizukami and Kaimetsuza."
The people nearby went quiet.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
The man swallowed and continued.
"They spent centuries tearing at each other's throats. Their clans fought over land, pride, blood, and survival."
A woman beside him frowned.
"I thought that war had ended."
"It has," he said. "At least on the surface."
Another man gave a grim laugh.
"Surface does not erase history."
No one argued with that.
The streets were full of people who knew enough to fear old bloodlines, even if they did not understand them fully.
The first man looked toward the royal carriage as it moved deeper into the city.
"Shizukami and Kaimetsuza may be at peace now," he said, "but if you think their old enemies have simply vanished, you are a fool."
A third voice cut in, lower and sharper than the rest.
"Who would dare attack them, though?"
For a moment, the answer seemed impossible.
Who would be crazy enough?
Who would have the courage?
Who would still carry so much hatred?
Then someone answered, almost in a murmur.
"Someone who suffered because of those wars."
The others fell silent.
The truth of it sat between them like a blade.
Old conflicts did not disappear.
They only waited.
Waited until they could return.
Waited until the right bloodline walked too close to danger.
Waited until the world gave them another chance to strike.
Shin-Hi's eyes lowered.
She looked at the child again.
That tiny face.
That fragile breath.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Shin-Zenshu's gaze remained forward, but inside, his thoughts were moving faster and faster.
The child was safe.
For now.
But the attack had left a question burning at the back of his mind.
Who had done this?
And why?
A sudden voice from the crowd broke through the tension.
"Look."
Several heads turned upward.
The Barrier stretched across the sky like a divine wound made of light and law.
And there it was.
A crack.
Thin at first.
Barely there.
But real.
A whisper of fear passed through the crowd like a chill.
"The Barrier…"
"It moved."
"No…"
"It cracked."
The sound was tiny compared to the noise of the city, but it struck deeper than thunder.
The scholars standing nearby went pale.
One of them pressed a hand to his chest, as if trying to steady his own heartbeat.
"The Prophecy said this would happen," he whispered.
Another man turned sharply.
"What do you mean?"
The scholar swallowed.
"The world outside has not healed completely. Not yet. But the balance is changing."
His voice became weaker with every word.
"The old age is ending."
The bystanders stared.
He lifted his hand and pointed toward the sky.
"When power begins to awaken again, everything will shift. Those who were ignored will be feared. Those who were weak will rise. And those who carry dangerous blood will become targets."
His gaze dropped to the carriage.
"Especially the last heirs of the clans."
A murmur rose again.
"Shizukami…"
"Kaimetsuza…"
"People will not trust them."
"They will fear them."
"Then they will try to destroy them."
Shin-Zenshu heard that too.
His eyes darkened.
The capital was not only watching.
It was judging.
And then, from somewhere in the crowd, another voice came out, shakier than the rest.
"That pressure we felt earlier…"
The speaker swallowed hard.
"It was not normal Shin-Noa."
Every person nearby turned toward him.
He looked almost afraid to continue, but the words forced themselves out anyway.
"It felt like something impossible."
The whisper spread.
Something impossible.
Something that had shaken the world for a brief moment and then vanished.
Another man's eyes widened.
"The Saviour…"
The word landed like a stone thrown into still water.
Everyone went quiet.
"The one from the prophecy," someone said.
A woman shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"No human could have released that much Shin-Noa."
A second voice answered, filled with awe and fear at once.
"And yet we all felt it."
The scholar stared toward the crack in the Barrier.
His lips parted slightly.
"The Prophecy said the Saviour would be born with power so immense that the vessel could not endure it."
A breath caught in the crowd.
"He was supposed to die the moment he was born."
No one spoke.
The city itself seemed to listen.
The scholar's voice trembled.
"That power was meant to wash over the world. To purify the poisoned land. To awaken the sleeping Shin-Noa inside the Kū-Sha."
His eyes lifted slowly.
"And if the Barrier is cracking now…"
The sentence did not finish at first.
Then, very softly, someone else said it.
"Then the Saviour has already done his part."
A silence followed.
Heavy.
Respectful.
Afraid.
"His sacrifice…" another voice whispered.
The crowd seemed to hold its breath.
"Then he is gone," someone said.
The words were almost reverent.
Almost relieved.
But inside the carriage, Shin-Zenshu looked down at the child in Shin-Hi's arms.
No.
Not gone.
Not yet.
The newborn remained silent.
Too silent.
And hidden near his heart, beneath the cloth and the skin, the secret of his birth remained buried where no outsider could see it.
Shin-Hi's hand shook as she held him closer.
Shin-Zenshu's voice came out low and firm, meant only for her.
"From this moment on, his true birth must never be spoken aloud."
She looked at him.
His expression had turned cold.
Protective.
Absolute.
"The world is already changing," he said. "If they learn the truth too early, they will come for him."
His gaze hardened.
"And I will not let that happen."