The Han River glistened like black glass under the winter moonlight, reflecting the cascade of lights from Seoul's skyline. Crowds packed the banks, their voices a living hum of excitement as the final seconds of the year ticked away. Vendors shouted over the cold air, offering hot tteokbokki and roasted chestnuts to shivering couples huddled under shared blankets.
Sohara Renji stood at the railing, his breath a pale ghost in the frigid night, staring at the slow drift of ice along the river's edge. Around him, laughter and chatter swelled as the countdown began.
Ten.
Beside him, a group of university friends passed a soju bottle, cheeks flushed red. Someone jostled his shoulder.
"Renji, come on, drink with us!"
He forced a smile but shook his head. "I'm good."
Nine.
Truthfully, he didn't feel like celebrating. The last semester had been a blur of exams, part-time work, and calls from his mother worrying about him. New Year's Eve wasn't exactly the kind of night you could fix anything.
Eight.
A gust of wind carried the scent of roasted squid from a nearby stall, making his stomach grumble.
Seven.
His phone buzzed in his pocket a message from his childhood friend, Mina. "Happy New Year in advance! Don't be a loner all night."
Six.
Renji smirked faintly at the text, thumbs poised to reply.
Five.
The crowd's voices grew louder, a tidal wave of anticipation.
Four.
The fireworks crew adjusted their positions across the river, sparks ready to ignite.
Three.
Somewhere behind him, a child cried, muffled by the hum of voices.
Two.
Renji blinked, eyes drifting upward to the stars
One.
The sky split.
It didn't shatter like glass. It tore, like a seam in black fabric ripping apart, jagged and raw. From the wound spilled light so dark it was almost a colorless void, threaded with veins of burning red. The crowd froze. Fireworks halted mid-launch, their contrails dangling like threads in the air.
Then came the sound not thunder, not an explosion, but something deeper, like the roar of a collapsing mountain. The ground lurched beneath their feet. People screamed, clutching railings and each other.
Renji's grip on the metal rail turned slick with sweat. The tear in the sky grew wider, pulsing like the heartbeat of something alive. His chest tightened. Something was pulling at him, a pressure in the air that wrapped invisible fingers around his body.
He staggered back but his heels met empty air. The world twisted. The lights of Seoul bled into shadow. The roar became a rushing river in his ears.
And then, silence.
When his eyes opened, the cold was sharper, the air heavier.
Above him stretched two moons one silver, one red casting an eerie light over a forest unlike anything on Earth. The trees were black, their leaves a deep crimson, swaying despite the stillness in the air. The ground beneath him was a web of roots and pale moss that seemed to pulse faintly with light.
Renji's breath caught in his throat. "Where?"
A sound sliced through the stillness a low, guttural growl.
He turned his head slowly. Not far away, crouched on a twisted branch, was something that might have once been a wolf. Its body was long and lean, covered in bristling black fur that shimmered like oil. Its eyes glowed yellow, locked onto him with predatory hunger. And when it opened its mouth, rows of jagged teeth glistened in the moonlight.
Renji's mind screamed at him to move, but his body stayed frozen. The wolf-thing leapt.
Instinct threw him sideways. Claws tore the ground where he'd been a moment ago, ripping up moss and dirt. He scrambled backward, hands grasping for a weapon, any weapon but found nothing. The creature stalked toward him, head low, saliva hissing as it dripped onto the moss.
Renji's heart pounded so hard it hurt. He looked over his shoulder — the forest was endless, the shadows alive with faint movement. Running might only draw more predators.
The wolf lunged again.
This time, he didn't dodge. He stepped forward, driving his fist upward in a desperate swing. His knuckles cracked against its jaw, but the pain was instant, white-hot. The blow barely turned the creature's head.
It snarled, snapping its teeth inches from his face.
Renji stumbled back, tripped over a root, and fell hard. The thing closed in.
Then, from somewhere in the shadows, a voice barked sharp, commanding in a language Renji didn't recognize
"Drav'thar! Ghev losh varak!"
A spear of black metal flashed through the air and struck the creature in the side, pinning it to the ground. It thrashed once, twice, then stilled.
Renji's eyes darted to the source. Out of the trees stepped a figure clad in dark crimson armor, a long cape trailing behind. The man's face was hidden behind a helmet carved to resemble a snarling beast, and when he spoke again, it was in that same alien tongue.
"Vresh tal, orik ven."
Renji opened his mouth, but no words came.
The armored man studied him for a moment, then extended a hand not to help him up, but to touch the air in front of him. The space rippled, like heat over asphalt, and a faint sigil burned into existence.
The man turned away, calling something into the shadows. More figures emerged soldiers, all in matching armor, carrying weapons that glowed faintly under the moons. They surrounded Renji, their eyes cold and assessing.
He didn't understand their words, but the tone was unmistakable: they were deciding whether or not to kill him.
Renji's pulse hammered in his ears. His instincts screamed to move, to run, but his body was lead drained from the fight, from the darkness that had burned through him moments ago.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his blade tilting just enough for Renji to see the faint shimmer of runes etched into the steel. They pulsed in rhythm with the soldier's breathing, almost alive. The man said something sharp and guttural. A few of the others laughed low, mocking.
The armored man who had summoned the sigil spoke again, this time in a slower, more deliberate cadence. His voice carried authority, and though Renji couldn't understand the words, he knew their meaning.
A verdict.
Hands like iron clamped down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Cold metal shackles snapped around his wrists, and the moment they locked, he felt it—his strength, the strange power from before, smothered like a candle snuffed out. His limbs felt weaker. His shadows, gone.
They hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward the still-shimmering sigil. The air around it throbbed with a sickly energy, pulling at him like an undertow. He tried to resist, but the soldiers' grips were unyielding.
The moment his body passed through, the world changed.
He staggered onto polished obsidian streets, black as midnight and slick with a strange, reflective sheen. Towers of dark stone rose around him, their spires clawing at a blood-red sky. The air here was heavier, thicker—every breath felt like inhaling smoke.
And everywhere, eyes.
Armored patrols stalked the streets, their faces hidden behind helmets marked with the same sigil he had seen. Peasants in tattered clothes shuffled to the sides, bowing low whenever soldiers passed. Those who didn't move fast enough earned a backhand or a boot.
Renji's captors marched him through this oppressive city, past market stalls that sold things he couldn't name blades that dripped with black fire, cages holding creatures that hissed and clawed.
At the heart of it all loomed the citadel.
The Crimson Throne.
Its gates were carved with scenes of battle armies clashing, monsters kneeling, cities burning. At the very top, a single crowned figure stood above a pile of corpses.
Inside, the light dimmed further. The corridors were lined with more soldiers, all watching him with that same cold detachment. As they passed, Renji caught fragments of conversation his name, perhaps, or something close.
Finally, they reached a vast chamber. The floor was polished so perfectly he could see his reflection gaunt, bloodied, and chained. At the far end sat a figure draped in crimson and gold, lounging on a throne made of blackened bone.
The ruler's eyes locked onto him predatory, curious, as though appraising a weapon still in its sheath.
Renji was shoved forward, his knees hitting cold marble. The vast hall around him seemed carved from shadow itself, lit only by braziers of black flame that gave no warmth. At the far end, upon a dais of obsidian steps, sat the Crimson Throne.
And on it, a woman.
She lounged as though the throne had been made to fit her perfectly, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, the other holding a goblet of dark liquid. Her eyes were a deep, liquid crimson, their gaze pinning Renji as if she were dissecting him without touching him.
The soldiers stepped back but did not leave.
The woman's lips curved into something between amusement and curiosity.
"Strange... You are not one of mine. And yet... you carry something familiar." The woman said
Her words were a river of sounds Renji couldn't follow until she lifted her free hand.
She spoke a single incantation, and a thin, serpentine coil of shadow slipped from her fingertips, darting into his forehead like a whisper in the dark.
Renji gasped, clutching his head. For a moment, there was only the sound of his own pulse, then the words began to make sense.
"There. Now you understand me."
He glared up at her, rubbing the side of his head. "What did you do to me?"
"A courtesy. I dislike repeating myself." She leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting. "Tell me, outsider... where did you learn to twist the shadows to your will?"
Renji blinked. "I... don't know what you mean."
Her smile deepened not kind, not gentle, but predatory.
"Oh, you will. In time and you will either kneel or be broken."
Renji's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes locked on hers. "I don't kneel to strangers."
The woman's laughter was low, a rich sound that echoed off the high walls.
"Defiant already. Good. The meek die quickly in my kingdom."
She stood, and the hall seemed to bend around her presence. The train of her crimson and black gown slid across the marble like a trail of spilled blood.
"You are in the capital of the Crimson Throne. Every soul here has a place in the hierarchy predator or prey. I decide which you will be."
Renji felt the weight of her words settle on him, heavier than the chains around his wrists.
"Your strength is wasted in the mines. I have wars to fight, borders to hold, enemies to crush. Perhaps if you survive the pits, I will find use for you."
"The pits?" Renji asked.
"A crucible. Where the unworthy are erased and the rare few are reborn stronger." She leaned in, close enough that he could see the faint shimmer of sorcery in her eyes. "Survive, outsider, and I might make you my weapon. Fail and you'll feed the minds of my people."
The chains at his wrists were yanked by the guards, pulling him to his feet.
"Take him. Let the blood pits decide if he's worth more than a corpse."
As they dragged him away, Renji's mind burned with a single thought not survival, but the image of himself standing where she sat, the hall bowing to his command.
The pit stank of rust, sweat, and something heavier old blood soaked into sand that had drunk too much of it. Chains were unshackled from his wrists, clattering to the ground.
The crowd above jeered and howled, their voices blending into a single, pulsing roar. Renji's eyes swept the arena. Across from him stood a towering brute, twice his size, bare-chested but for leather straps and jagged plates of bone. The man's weapon a massive cleaver-like blade rested easily on one shoulder, as if it weighed nothing.
The ruler's voice cut through the noise, smooth but sharp, like silk hiding a knife. She sat upon a high seat above the pit, her crimson gown pooling like spilled wine around her. Eyes the color of a dying ember followed him.
"Impress me," she said, her voice carrying unnaturally well.
The gong sounded.
The brute moved first fast, impossibly fast for his size. Renji barely dodged the first swing, the cleaver biting deep into the sand where he'd stood. He rolled away, breath coming hard. No weapon. No armor. Just his instincts.
The next blow came low, aiming to take his legs. Renji leapt back but stumbled, the brute's follow-up punch slamming into his side. Pain exploded in his ribs. He hit the ground, choking, tasting iron.
The crowd roared louder.
The brute lifted his cleaver high, ready to end it. Something inside Renji snapped not in fear, but in defiance. The shadows around the pit deepened, stretching unnaturally toward him, curling like smoke.
His hand moved without thought, reaching into that darkness. Something answered.
A blade formed in his grip black steel, edges humming with a faint violet glow. The air grew colder, the torches flickering. Gasps rose from the crowd.
Renji swung. The impact clashed with the brute's cleaver, sparks and shadow bursting where they met. The brute staggered, more from surprise than force.
They traded blows steel against steel, each strike ringing with desperation. Renji moved faster now, his feet light, his senses sharp. The shadows followed his strikes, tendrils lashing out to trip, to pull, to distract.
Still, the brute's raw power was overwhelming. A mistimed parry sent Renji's sword flying, the brute's cleaver grazing his shoulder.
Blood ran hot down his arm.
The brute grinned, stepping in for the kill
Renji's free hand clenched, and a spear of pure darkness erupted from the ground between them, catching the brute in the chest. The crowd went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into chaos.
The brute staggered, coughing blood, before collapsing into the sand.
Renji stood, chest heaving, shadows curling off him like steam from cooling steel. His eyes met the ruler's.
She leaned forward, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Yes..." she murmured. "You'll do."
Renji's chest heaved as he stood in the middle of the arena, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. His sword dripped crimson, but the crowd was eerily quiet, as if they hadn't quite decided whether to cheer or fear what they had just witnessed.
Somewhere in the stands, the ruler the woman whose gaze had never left him slowly rose from her seat. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes... her eyes burned with a strange light.
Moments later, guards escorted Renji through a long, dim corridor lit only by braziers. The echo of their boots followed them until they reached massive obsidian doors inlaid with gold filigree. One of the guards pushed them open, revealing a vast chamber.
A single moonbeam fell across the room, illuminating the woman now seated on a raised throne of blackened steel. Her armor had been shed for a flowing crimson robe, and her long hair, black as midnight, cascaded over her shoulders.
"You fought well," she said, her voice low yet resonant. "Better than I expected from an outsider dragged in chains."
Renji didn't answer immediately. His body still thrummed with the aftershock of the fight, his shadow magic new and unfamiliar curling faintly around his fingers.
The ruler studied him, then gestured toward the empty space before her throne. "Come closer."
He obeyed, though his every instinct told him to remain guarded.
"My name is Queen Selvara Veythar," she said. "Ruler of the Crimson Throne. Protector of the last unbroken kingdom in this continent."
Renji's eyes narrowed slightly. "Protector or conqueror?"
A faint smile ghosted her lips, though there was no mockery in it. "If I were a conqueror, you would not be standing here. The nations beyond my borders are tearing themselves apart. They see us as prey, a land to claim, people to enslave, resources to strip bare. I have seen their armies. I have walked the fields they leave behind."
Her gaze hardened, the fire in her voice growing. "I fight not for greed, but because if I do nothing, my people will die screaming. I have built walls and bled for them so that children here can sleep without the sound of marching boots in the night."
Something in her tone struck Renji a quiet, desperate truth beneath the steel.
"You think I am just another tyrant," she continued, leaning forward slightly. "But I am the only thing standing between my people and annihilation. That is why I need warriors not pawns. I need soldiers who can stand when the world burns."
Renji looked down at his hands. The magic he had unlocked in the arena still whispered to him, shadows coiling and flickering at his fingertips. He remembered the fear in his opponents' eyes, the way the crowd fell silent, and the strange feeling of belonging not to this realm, but to the fight itself.
"And if I refuse?" he asked quietly.
Selvara's gaze didn't waver. "Then I will return you to the pits. You will fight until you die or until the darkness within you consumes you but if you choose to stand beside me, I will give you purpose. I will give you command. I will make sure your strength is not wasted in blood-soaked sand."
Renji exhaled slowly. There was no deception in her eyes only an unyielding will and perhaps a shadow of the same loneliness he felt.
Finally, he nodded. "Then I'll fight. Not for your throne but for what you're trying to protect."
For the first time, Selvara's expression softened. She rose from the throne, stepping down until she stood before him. The moonlight caught the edges of her robe as she extended her hand.
"Then rise, Renji," she said. "And let the Crimson Throne remember the day its future general first took his oath."