The air in the Tokyo Kyūdō Hall was electric with anticipation. The silent tension before an arrow was loosed was always the same—whether in an ancient battlefield or a modern competition. Arjun Rao exhaled slowly, steadying his breath.
He stood on the polished wooden floor of the dojo, wearing a crisp white keikogi and a black hakama, the traditional attire of a Kyūdō archer. The Yumi, Japan’s asymmetric longbow, felt light in his hands, but his grip was firm. Around him, the best archers from across Japan stood ready, their gazes locked onto the golden target—a single dot, 60 meters away.
The announcer’s voice broke the silence:
“Final round. Arjun Rao versus Takeshi Oda.”
The murmurs in the audience intensified. Takeshi Oda. The undefeated champion. A prodigy of Kyūdō and heir to one of Japan’s oldest samurai bloodlines.
Arjun glanced at Takeshi—a young man with sharp, calculating eyes and a perfectly composed posture. Unlike the other competitors, who kept their bows grounded, Takeshi held his Yumi upright, an arrogant display of confidence.
The judge raised his hand.
“Hajime.” (Begin.)
The moment of truth. Arjun inhaled deeply, invoking his dual training—Kyūdō’s philosophy of precision and Dhanurveda’s ancient discipline of celestial warfare.
He nocked the arrow.
Raised the bow.
Drew the string back in perfect form—Uchiokoshi.
The world slowed. His breathing became inaudible. Astral Vision tingled at the edge of his consciousness—just a flicker, a sensation he hadn’t fully understood yet.
Across from him, Takeshi moved at the exact same time, his release calculated to the fraction of a second.
Two arrows sliced through the air—one guided by the precision of a samurai, the other by the instinct of a warrior from two worlds.
The impact was simultaneous—a tie.
The crowd gasped. No one had ever matched Takeshi.
Takeshi’s gaze locked onto Arjun, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.
“You’re not just some foreigner playing with our art,” he murmured. “You fight like a warrior.”
Arjun lowered his bow, his heart steady. The tournament was far from over.
The match had ended, but the battle in Arjun’s mind had just begun.
As the audience whispered about the tie, Arjun walked through the corridors of the Tokyo Kyūdō Hall, his bow slung over his back. He should have felt proud—he had matched Takeshi Oda, a warrior of pure samurai lineage.
But something was wrong.
His hands still trembled. Not from exhaustion, but from something deeper—an energy that stirred within him, like a bowstring drawn too tight, ready to snap.
He reached the locker room and splashed cold water on his face. The moment his eyes shut—
Darkness. Then a voice, deep and ancient.
“Arjuna.”
His breath caught in his throat. That voice—it was not his own.
In an instant, the world around him shifted. The cold tile floor of the locker room melted away, replaced by scorched earth beneath his feet. The air was thick with the scent of ash and war.
He was no longer in Tokyo.
He stood on an ancient battlefield, stretched to the horizon. The sky above burned gold and crimson, celestial arrows streaking across the heavens like falling stars. Warriors clashed in the distance, their weapons glowing with divine energy.
At the center of it all stood a lone figure—a warrior clad in golden armor, holding a massive celestial bow.
“The great battle is upon you.”
Arjun tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His heart pounded.
The warrior lifted his bow and fired a single arrow toward the sky. The moment it struck the heavens, a pillar of fire erupted, engulfing everything in light—
And Arjun woke up.
Gasping. Drenched in sweat. Still gripping the sink as if holding onto reality itself.
His reflection in the mirror was pale, his dark eyes wide.
That battlefield. That voice. That bow.
He didn’t understand what he had just seen, but deep down, he knew one thing.
It wasn’t a dream. It was a calling.
The neon glow of Shibuya Crossing flickered like a thousand restless fireflies. Night had settled over Tokyo, but the city pulsed with energy—crowds moving in every direction, voices merging into an endless hum.
Arjun moved through the sea of people, still shaken by the vision. The golden warrior. The battlefield. The celestial bow. It had felt too real.
He clenched his fists. What did it mean?
A sudden chill crept up his spine.
The noise of the city dulled, as if the world had been muffled by an unseen force. The air grew thick—heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm.
Then—a low growl.
Arjun stopped. His heartbeat quickened.
Something wasn’t right.
The crowd moved as normal, unaware. But he saw it. A shadow moving unnaturally fast through the alley across the street. Too fast for a human.
Instinct took over.
He stepped off the sidewalk and into the darkness of the alley.
The streetlights behind him flickered and died.
Silence.
Then—
The creature struck.
A blur of black and crimson lunged at him, claws slashing through the air. Arjun barely twisted away in time, his body reacting before his mind could process. The wind pressure alone sent trash cans flying.
He landed in a crouch, eyes snapping up.
An Oni.
Its hulking body was wrapped in thick, shadowy tendrils, pulsing like living veins. Its face—a twisted demon mask—grinned unnaturally, glowing eyes locked onto Arjun. The air around it shimmered with a dark energy, ancient and wrong.
“Found you,” the Oni hissed, voice layered with multiple tones, as if several voices spoke at once.
Arjun’s hands twitched—his bow wasn’t with him.
Move. Now.
The Oni pounced again. Arjun ducked, rolling under its swing just as its claws slashed into the concrete wall behind him—tearing through it like paper.
Too strong. Too fast.
He pivoted, channeling Dhanurveda footwork into his movement. His training in both Kyūdō and Vedic warrior arts guided him. But without a weapon—
The Oni struck again.
A clawed hand caught his shoulder, sending him flying backward into a stack of wooden crates. Pain exploded through his back.
Arjun gasped, struggling to stand. This wasn’t a street fight. This was a hunt. And he was the prey.
The Oni stalked forward, talons scraping against the pavement. It was toying with him.
Arjun’s mind raced. Think. Focus. Find the opening.
Then—he felt it.
A warmth in his chest. The same sensation from the vision.
His breath steadied. His fingers curled as if around an invisible string.
And in the darkness—a bow of pure golden light flickered into existence in his hands.
The Oni hesitated.
Arjun looked at the bow, eyes widening. What…?
The answer didn’t matter. The battle had already begun.
The Oni hesitated, its glowing eyes narrowing at the bow of pure golden energy in Arjun’s hands.
Arjun barely had time to process what had just happened. The bow had formed on its own. It felt weightless, yet solid—like it was part of him. Like it had been waiting for him.
The Oni snarled, its body crackling with dark energy.
“That weapon…” its voice distorted, filled with rage and fear. “Impossible.”
It lunged—a blur of claws and shadow.
Instinct took over. Arjun pulled back on the string—though there was no arrow—just pure golden light.
The moment his fingers released—
A streak of divine energy shot forward.
The impact was explosive. The Oni was hurled backward, smashing into the alley wall with a deafening crack. Dark smoke sizzled where the arrow had struck.
Arjun’s heart pounded. What was this power?
The Oni writhed, its body dissolving at the edges where the golden energy still burned through it.
It looked at Arjun—its gaze filled with something unexpected.
Fear.
“You are marked by the Rishis… the divine warriors of old.” The Oni’s voice trembled with something ancient. “It has begun.”
The shadow around it collapsed inward—the creature imploding into nothingness.
Silence.
Arjun exhaled sharply, his grip on the bow loosening. The golden weapon flickered… then vanished.
He was left alone in the alley. But nothing felt the same anymore.
Footsteps.
Arjun spun, his body still tense from the fight.
A figure stood at the alley’s entrance. A woman in a shrine maiden’s robe—traditional, white and red.
Her dark eyes met his, unwavering.
“Arjun Rao.” Her voice was calm, knowing.
Arjun’s breath caught. She knew his name.
“You have awakened the Gandharva Astra.”
She stepped forward, the neon lights of Shibuya glowing behind her.
“Come with me. There is much to learn, and little time.”
Arjun stared at the shrine maiden, his body still humming from the battle.
The name she had spoken—Gandharva Astra. It sent a strange, deep resonance through his bones. It felt familiar.
But his instincts screamed caution.
“Who are you?” His voice was steady, but his fingers twitched, ready for another fight if needed.
The shrine maiden took a slow step forward. She had an air of serenity—but her presence was powerful.
“My name is Emi Hoshino. And if you come with me, I will explain everything.”
Arjun exhaled sharply, his mind racing.
He had just fought a demon straight out of a myth. Summoned a bow of divine energy. And now, a woman appeared already knowing what had happened.
The weight of it all crashed into him at once.
He had two choices:
- Ignore everything, pretend it never happened.
- Step into something he didn’t understand.
But deep down, he already knew his answer.
“…Fine.” He nodded. “But start talking. Now.”
Emi turned, motioning for him to follow. “Not here. There are more watching.”
His muscles tensed. More?
He glanced at the rooftops, the dark alley corners. And then he saw them.
Shadows shifting. Shapes lurking in the night. The Oni hadn’t been alone.
They were being watched.
A chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t over.
It was only beginning.