Warriors of Symphonia: The Shaman’s Gate to Planet Oban
The weight of the amulet in my palm was cold, a dead weight that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat that wasn't my own. Fifty years have passed since Resha Valentine reached through the threads of fate and pulled me from obscurity, changing my destiny with a single, celestial touch.
Back then, the world was a jagged landscape of fear. A corrupted militia kingdom held the globe in a vice grip, their "reign of terror" silencing any voice that dared to whisper of freedom. Only Symphonia stood—a lone bastion of light against a tide of absolute shadow.
The Meeting at the Threshold
Resha stood before us, her presence both terrifying and serene. She looked at the three men I had gathered, her eyes piercing through the grime of battle.
"You have come seeking help," she said, her voice like grinding silk. "But I must know who stands in my sanctum. Are you the shaman Yusuke Urameshi? Are you Haru Glory, wielder of the Decaforce? And you... Rick, the Staroban racer who outruns time itself?"
She turned her gaze toward me, and for a moment, the air grew thin.
"In all my reign," she mused, "nothing seemed more natural than choosing a protector like Shinobu Sensui. He was a prodigy, much like young Kuwabara—children who could sense the unseen, souls that acted as magnets for the apparitions of the dark. But Sensui broke under the weight of what he saw. I need to know if you are made of sterner stuff."
The Price of Truth
She held out the artifact—the Amulet of Symphonia. It glowed with a sickly, violet hue, humming with the trapped screams of a thousand forgotten wars.
"This is a most dangerous request," Resha warned, her aura flaring. "There is ancient, unwashed evil bound within this stone. Many seek the power to topple kingdoms, but few can endure the clarity it brings."
She stepped closer, the shadows of the room lengthening as if bowing to her.
"Knowledge is not a gift, it is a debt. Are you truly willing to pay the price? To see the world not as you wish it to be, but as it truly is—corrupt, bleeding, and desperate for a savior who might not survive the saving?"
The Choice
Yusuke cracked his knuckles, a spark of Spirit Gun energy flickering at his fingertip. Haru gripped the hilt of his sword, and Rick adjusted his goggles, his eyes fixed on the horizon. We weren't just fighting a militia anymore; we were stepping into a cosmic game where the rules were written in blood and stardust.
"We didn't come here for a history lesson, Resha," I said, closing my fingers over the amulet. "We came to finish what started fifty years ago."
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