The planet Echoryn had not always been a graveyard of cities and ashes.
Long before ruins claimed the horizons and the wind carried the scent of dust and death, Echoryn had been a marvel of progress—so advanced in science and technology that many believed the planet itself was evolving alongside its creations.
Robots worked beside humans.
Virtual reality had almost blurred the line between the real and the virtual worlds.
Traveling long distances through teleportation was common, life-extension technology was thriving, and innovations multiplied faster than anyone could catalog.
But every bright flame casts a shadow.
And the shadows took the shape of war.
For centuries, nations were engulfed in relentless warfare, turmoil echoing across battlefields and stretching the limits of endurance. After an era marked by chaos and strife, this tumultuous backdrop transformed into the foundation for four formidable empires. With each controlling one of the four continents in Echoryn.
Each empire emerged, like a phoenix, from the smoldering remnants of its continent, rising to power with ambitions that would reshape the world.
**The West-north** — *The Draconyx Dominion.*
**The South** — *Keldraven Militarum.*
**The East-north** — *The Empire of the Azure Sun.*
**The Central** — *The Steinian Empire*, the strongest of all.
Despite the world undergoing a dramatic transformation, the violence only escalated. The next thirteen years were marked by relentless, brutal warfare—a harrowing era filled with clashing technologies, searing flames, and unyielding ambition.
Each conflict bore witness to the devastation of lives and landscapes, as the power struggle consumed the very essence of humanity, leaving scars that would linger long after the battles ceased.
And then everything changed.
One day, without warning, the sky dimmed at noon.
Storms formed where the air had been calm.
Winds shifted in unnatural directions, as if the world itself inhaled.
Then came the sound. A large scream.
Then followed a single, deafening explosion—so vast it shook oceans, shattered clouds, and echoed through the bones of every living being.
Moments later, the earth ruptured.
A black, corrosive gas surged upward like a curse unleashed, spreading across continents. Those who inhaled it did not die. Something far worse happened.
They transformed.
The first abominations stumbled out of the smoke, their minds twisted, bodies distorted—creatures humanity would come to name "zombies".
And the world as it was once known—with its science, pride, and empires—fell.
….
Three figures walked across the barren expanse toward a colossal wall that loomed like a mountain carved by human hands. Calling it a "gate" felt almost laughably inadequate. Compared to it, people were insects—mere specks drifting at its base.
David walked at the front, crimson eyes reflecting the titanic structure. Behind him, Thalassa trailed with restless curiosity, while Rea padded beside them, paws silent, tail swaying with lazy confidence.
Minutes later, they stood directly before the gate.
No guard shouted.
No mechanism clanked.
No one asked for identification.
Instead, as if the wall itself recognized them, a rectangular section—just large enough for a transport vehicle—began to slide open with a low, rumbling groan.
Thalassa whistled softly.
"Rea…. this thing is ridiculously huge," she said, tilting her head all the way back to see the top. "I knew the Citadel had walls, but I didn't think they'd be this tall. How do humans even build something like this?"
Rea snorted, flicking an ear.
"Overcompensating," he said. "Humans always like building things bigger than they need."
"It's not just big," Thalassa shot back. "It's *monstrous.* Look at that thickness! You could stack five vehicles inside this wall."
Rea stretched, yawning.
"Practical. They need something like that, with what is out there, any less than this would have been a problem."
Thalassa narrowed her eyes.
"Rea. This is the Great Citadel of the West Minerva. At least from the size alone, it lives up to its name."
"It does, doesn't it?" Rea replied, glancing at the gate as it finished opening. "Fear makes people creative."
Thalassa blinked, glancing at David's back.
"…Is that why they're opening it without checking anything? Just like that?"
Rea chuckled.
"You're wrong on that statement. There was no need for them to check; they already knew, a few hundred meters before we got here."
Thalassa's expression shifted from surprise to understanding; as any attack could occur at any moment, requiring time to prepare.
David didn't respond to either of them. He simply stepped forward, the wind catching the edge of his coat as the shadows of the Citadel swallowed their figures.
…..
Beneath the vast expanse of the night sky, the winds danced unimpeded, carrying whispers of ancient secrets. In the far distance, a solitary figure was suspended in the air like a dark omen.
Cloaked in a flowing black robe that billowed with the gusts, he appeared as a shadowy silhouette, his features shrouded and mysterious, leaving only the faintest suggestion of his presence. The moonlight struggled to penetrate the depths of his garment, enhancing the aura of enigma that surrounded him.
His face was hidden beneath the hood, but his most striking feature was his piercing red eyes. In his right hand, he wielded a large scythe, emanating a dark aura that swirled around it.
The man floated silently, gazing down at someone below—David. As David made his way into Minerva, the figure remained still and silent, seemingly frozen in place.
However, the moment David entered Minerva, the man closed his eyes and spoke: "Finally, the wheel of fate will begin to turn. I hope you don't disappoint me."
In that instant, the figure vanished as though he had never been there, and the winds continued to flow as they always had.