The palace's eastern courtyard had been transformed.
Lanterns hung from wooden posts, casting soft yellow halos upon a polished stone ring carved with ancient runes. The seven stood in a perfect circle, each a master of a deadly craft.
Shisui knelt in the center, still as a candle flame.
Masaki Morinaka observed from a high seat under a crimson canopy, his expression unreadable.
"Rise," boomed the first voice—a woman in flowing robes with fox-like eyes and a whip made of silk. Lady Kasumi, Mistress of Genjutsu.
Shisui obeyed.
One by one, each master stepped forward.
Gorou the Iron Stag: a giant of a man with bronze-plated fists, taught unarmed combat.
Hinari the Howl: a lithe kunoichi with a crow's cry and mastery over stealth and survival.
Eiko the Silent Sage: the sealer, her voice barely more than a breath.
Daiken: a white-haired beast-tamer with a lazy smile and two spirit wolves.
Master Zui: a strict philosopher of Shinobi theory and history.
And finally... Kurou of the Hollow Grove: the strangest of all. A man clad in moss-colored robes and wooden sandals. His aura was wild—untamed, like lightning chained in a bottle.
"You will train with each of us," Lady Kasumi said. "But today, your soul decides your guide."
Kurou stepped forward, crouched, and held out his hand.
"Your body holds neither the right bloodline nor shinobi roots... and yet, I see a rootless tree that seeks to flower under divine light."
Shisui blinked.
"Your Arch Energy sleeps."
The courtyard fell silent.
Masaki's fingers tensed. Even he had never tapped into Arch Energy. It was a myth, a lost art. Certainly not something a human boy should possess.
"I will awaken it," Kurou said.