Toru had a single goal, sharp as a blade: to recover the axe and kill the King of Trosa, whom he held responsible for his grandmother's death. It was not a desire born of haste, but one that had grown slowly, over years of silence, in heavy nights when her memory appeared before him like a warm and painful shadow.
He had stolen a boat that once belonged to the guards of Alcum Prison. Its wood bore traces of rust and salt, as if the sea itself had tried to swallow it countless times. Before pushing away from the shore, Toru turned back one last time toward the island. The harsh cliffs, the cold walls, and the silence of that place had weighed on his soul for far too long. He felt a bitter relief: he had escaped that inferno, though he knew the true inferno was only beginning.
He pushed the boat out to sea, and the waves received him without haste. Yet there was a problem he could not avoid: Toru was no navigator. He did not know the stars, could not read the wind, nor understand the currents. And so he let himself be carried by the will of the sea, like a leaf torn from a tree and cast into the unknown.
For three days and three nights he drifted without direction. With no provisions, feeding only on scraps forgotten in the boat and on the stubborn hope that he would survive. Thirst dried his throat, and the sun burned his skin, turning time into a confused succession of light and delirium. On the third day, when his body was weak and his thoughts began to unravel, he saw land for the first time.
The joy was short-lived. The currents had been against him. The boat reached the shore of a small port town, strange and silent, and Toru immediately understood that he had not arrived in Trosa. He stepped onto the shore, feeling beneath his feet something entirely unfamiliar. It was not damp earth, nor grass or forest. It was sand. Without shade, without greenery.
Looking around, Toru realized where he was. He had reached Nirva — the Land of the Desert. A place where the wind spoke more than people, and survival was a daily struggle. Fate had carried him farther from home, but perhaps closer to the truth. And his journey, far from ending, was only just beginning.
The King of Nirva was Kuro, lord of the sands and bearer of the Ring of the Protective Divinity — the Scorpion, in its third form. It was said that the ring did not merely protect the land, but also the king's will, amplifying his cruelty and his venomous patience. Under his rule, Nirva had become a place where life was cheap and death was a currency.
The lands of Nirva were known for their bounty hunters. Shadows wearing human faces, people who lived by pursuit and blood. Rumors claimed that the king himself encouraged them, feeding their greed with gold and promises. Anyone who brought weapons infused with divine energy was rewarded accordingly, and whispers of such artifacts spread faster than sandstorms.
When Toru stepped into the city, his body was weakened, and hunger and thirst had turned his steps into trembling shadows. He felt eyes driven into him like needles. They were not watching only his exhausted face, but above all his ring — that foreign circle, too alive for a land like Nirva.
He had nothing with which to pay. No food, no water, not even promises. The city swallowed him slowly, like a beast that knows its prey no longer has the strength to flee.
Two strangers approached him. A man and a woman. They smiled too calmly for a place like this. They spoke gently, telling him they could help, that they had food and water, that he only needed to follow them. Their words were smooth, but something sharp hid within them.
Toru had never been a traveler, nor a knower of the world. But he had learned one essential truth: in places where everything burns, mercy does not exist. He refused.
The man laughed, a wide grin devoid of warmth.
"You're not quite as stupid as you look. But I hope you understand one thing — you will die here."
Their names were Lun and Karin. Bounty hunters. They wielded no sacred weapons, nor divine powers, but experience had hardened their hands and dulled their conscience.
"Karin, if we kill him, the king might take an interest in us," Lun said, with cruel enthusiasm.
"And in the state he's in," the woman replied, tightening her grip on her sword, "I doubt he's capable of much."
The fight erupted without warning. Two simple blades gleamed in the burning light, and Toru felt the world begin to sway. His vision blurred, his breath grew heavy, and every movement felt like an effort against death. But the ring pulsed. Warm. Alive. From his hand, the horn took shape — an extension of his will, sharp and alien.
He was struck, shoved, nearly brought down. His knees weakened, and sand filled his mouth. In the instant Karin raised her sword for the final blow, Toru gathered what little life he had left. With a last effort, he drove the horn forward. Without hesitation. Without sound. The woman's body stopped abruptly, and the world seemed to freeze for a single second.
Lun screamed and charged at him. Trembling, Toru clawed up sand and hurled it into the man's eyes. A small, desperate gesture — but enough. In the confusion of that moment, the horn traced a short, cutting arc. Everything ended in a heavy silence.
Left kneeling, Toru could barely breathe. Then he felt the impact. A dull, deep pain. An arrow had pierced his back. He hadn't felt it until the moment his body acknowledged the mistake. His vision narrowed, the edges of the world darkened, and a cold heat flooded his veins. Poison.
The sand received his body without judgment. The last thing he felt was the pulse of the ring — faint, distant — before darkness swallowed him completely.
When he awoke, Toru first felt the cold of stone beneath his body. Then the smell — burnt incense, scorching sand, and old blood. With great effort, he lifted his gaze and saw him. Before him, seated upon a throne carved of bone and gold, stood the King of Nirva.
Kuro.
His gaze was calm, arrogant, savoring every second of silence. He was not the kind of man who needed to raise his voice to command respect — his presence alone was enough. His eyes were warm, almost gentle, but Toru knew what he was seeing. A charlatan. A man who lived only for his own interests. That smile made him think of Yota. The same false kindness. The same rot hidden beneath.
"Oh… child. You're awake," Kuro said softly, as if speaking to a wounded animal. "Who are you, exactly?"
Toru tried to answer, but only a dry, broken sound escaped his throat.
"W… w… water…"
The king raised a hand slightly.
"Guards, offer our guest some water."
Under other circumstances, Toru would have refused. His pride would have been stronger than his thirst. But now he was at the edge of his strength. He felt life slipping from his body, thread by thread. He drank the water greedily, almost painfully, and when he finally caught his breath, he looked back at the king.
"Who the hell are you?"
In an instant, the guards' spears moved closer to his throat.
"Fool! Watch your mouth! That is the king!"
Kuro smiled and raised his hand again, stopping them.
"It's fine. Allow me to repeat myself," he said calmly. "Who are you, child?"
Then, from beneath the shadow of his robe, something moved. A long scorpion tail slowly emerged, jointed, gleaming with menace. The air in the chamber shifted. Toru remained frozen, eyes wide.
"You are not the only one who bears a ring here," the king added, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
Toru swallowed hard and began to speak. He told them about Trosa. About his death sentence, set to be carried out six months from now. About Alcum. About his escape. Each word fell heavily, but the truth cost him nothing anymore.
"Interesting," Kuro murmured. "You are an… interesting character."
He spoke with a deceptive tone, his mind already working. How much would he receive for handing him over? How had he escaped Alcum? Who else knew he was still alive?
"Tell me, child… Yota. Does that name mean anything to you?"
Toru's gaze darkened.
"Yes. A piece of trash. I killed him in less than a second."
For the first time, the king laughed. A short, genuine laugh.
"I like you," he said.
Then he asked what Toru was doing in the desert. Toru answered plainly. He had never intended to reach Nirva. All he wanted was his axe — the murder weapon of the Stag God — and the death of Mori, the King of Trosa.
Kuro fell silent for a moment. Then he spoke.
"I propose a deal. We will take you to Trosa, but—"
"I don't work for anyone," Toru interrupted, his voice weak but firm.
The king did not take offense. On the contrary.
"When you reach Trosa, you may do as you please. Until then, I will place two soldiers of my kingdom under your supervision. They are supposedly only beginning to learn the secrets of divine energy."
(For the reader: Taris was the commander of the royal forces, bearer of the Ring of the Horned Viper God. Lamin was the kingdom's most skilled bounty hunter, working from the shadows for the king, wielder of the sword that had slain the Desert God — the Lizard. Toru had no idea of their true power.)
Toru understood only that they were strong, capable warriors. Not apprentices, as the king claimed — but the full truth remained hidden from him.
"I accept," he said at last. "But only if they do not stand in my way."
The king rose from his throne.
"Then we have an agreement."
He stepped closer and handed Toru a traditional desert robe.
"Change your clothes. In Trosa, you must not be recognized."
Then, smiling broadly, he added:
"We wouldn't want them to recognize you… would we, little Stag?"
The satisfaction in Kuro's voice was unmistakable.
The game had begun.