The sky burned red, as if stained by endless bloodshed, and the ground was littered with the fossils of beasts. Some were so massive they rivaled small mountains, their bones rising like broken towers. Others were no larger than a dwarf, scattered and half-buried beneath ash and soil. Yet one thing was unmistakably clear—there was not a single human, elf, or dwarf anywhere in sight.
Except one.
A lone human sat among the remains. He was a young man with rough, dull blue hair, eating roasted meat in the heart of the dead forest. The trees around him were blackened and lifeless, their twisted branches clawing at the crimson sky. No birds sang. No wind carried comfort. There was only silence, broken occasionally by the crackle of fire and the distant echo of something unseen.
He was lonely.
Too lonely.
There was only him, the beasts—living or dead—and the heavy scent of decay that clung to the air like a curse ,this was the scent of death .
When the last bite was gone, the young man rose to his feet. Without looking back, he extinguished the fire and stepped deeper into the forest, his figure slowly vanishing into the shadows where death itself seemed to breathe.
Under the bright sunlight of the day, two guards stood before a massive mansion. The structure was built in a refined blend of white and blue stone, with elegant cream-colored designs carved into its towering pillars. Even at a single glance, one could tell that this was a residence of immense prestige—a home belonging to a family whose name carried weight and authority.
The guards stood like rigid pillars themselves, as though they had endured countless earthquakes and typhoons yet remained unshaken. Their posture was flawless, disciplined to the point of intimidation. Engraved at the center of the mansion's grand entrance was the crest of a giant lion, its gaze fierce and commanding. The same emblem was proudly displayed upon the guards' chests, gleaming under the sunlight.
This was no ordinary household.
Suddenly, the guards noticed the silhouette of a young man approaching from the road. His face was gaunt, his clothes ragged and uncivilized, giving him the appearance of a beggar. He was of small stature, yet something about him felt… out of place.
They found themselves staring, lost in a strange daze. That path was usually walked by nobles riding in premium carriages, not by a lone human on foot. As the man drew closer, their thoughts grew heavier, as though their minds were being pulled toward him against their will.
The young man continued forward without a shred of concern, approaching the mansion as if it were no more than an ordinary house. The guards remained frozen, unable to understand why they could think of nothing except the man's presence.
At the last moment, one of the guards snapped out of it. Just as the stranger was about to cross the threshold, the guard stepped forward and lowered his spear, blocking the path. A heartbeat later, the second guard followed suit, weapons raised.
"Who are you?" one of them demanded.
The man did not answer. For a long moment, he simply stood there. Then, without a word, he began to move forward.
The guards tried to stop him—but their bodies would not respond. They did not understand why, only that every muscle had frozen in place, as if an unseen force held them firmly. The young man passed between them, and they could do nothing.
Anyone who crossed his path felt the same strange sensation. It was not fear, nor was it anything ordinary. It was something indescribable—something that compelled them to remain still. As he walked through the main hall, servants and guards alike stood frozen, unable to move. Those who followed him could only do so from a distance, their bodies refusing to draw any closer.
After some time, he found himself standing before a massive door crafted of gold and silver, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. He paused, then slowly pushed it open.
Inside, a young woman sat at a desk, sorting through stacks of paperwork. She had bright blue hair and flawless, delicate skin. She looked up sharply.
"Who are y—"
The words caught in her throat.
At that moment, the young man felt something wet slide down his face. He had thought his eyes had long since dried out, incapable of tears—but he was wrong.
The person standing before him was, without a doubt, Mary.
His little sister.
And perhaps the young woman realized it at the same time.
They stared at one another, frozen in place, tears silently falling, neither able to move nor speak. Then, without warning, the young man's strength gave out.
His vision darkened—
And he collapsed, losing consciousness.