The city exploded with life. Crowded streets, people in a hurry, others drowning their sorrows in cafes and bars, mourning memories they couldn't forget. Every corner seemed to breathe, pulsing with stories and secrets that intertwined without ever truly meeting.
Atop a glowing skyscraper, a figure with long blue hair sat on the edge, watching the chaos below. His shadow danced in the light, following the rhythm of his strands moving with the wind. He murmured, almost to himself:
"It's finally happening… I can't wait for the beginning of this new era."
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, a young man with black hair, deep dark circles, and a weary gaze drank coffee alone. On the table before him sat a rusty silver crown he had found at a garage sale. There was something about it that drew him in almost supernaturally, as if the piece were whispering his name.
"Tch... this weird crown... I spent my whole month's allowance on this junk," he grumbled, fiddling with the crown. "What is this? And this paper that fell out with it? I'm sure it wasn't here before..."
He opened the small slip of paper and read, his eyes widening:
"What do you desire: fame, wealth, or power?
Whatever it may be, I can grant it to you...
Simply win our little game.
If you are interested, perform the ritual written on this paper."
The air around him seemed to freeze for an instant, as if the world itself had held its breath. The boy looked at the crown again, and a spark of curiosity—or perhaps destiny—glimmered in his eyes.
"A little game, huh?" he muttered, a small smirk playing on his lips. "How interesting..."
At the same time, in a white mansion—incredibly beautiful and pristine, yet strangely lacking in human warmth—another figure watched the city. A twenty-two-year-old woman with short black hair like raven feathers stood before one of the huge, oppressive windows. Her eyes scanned the urban landscape, but her mind wandered to distant thoughts.
The room she was in was cold and empty; every detail, from the polished floor to the flawless walls, seemed to amplify the feeling of loneliness. A small iron cicada, rusted and forgotten by time, rested on the desk. Beside it lay a letter identical to the one the black-haired youth had found, folded as if waiting for her.
The woman tilted her head, studying the paper in silence. A shiver ran down her spine, and for a moment, the outside world felt too far away, as if time had stopped just for her.
"So... I've ended up getting involved in something dangerous," she whispered, her voice low and steady. "Will I finally find what I'm looking for?"
In a university classroom downtown, where students' voices danced through the halls, a young man with a cold expression looked around. His hazel eyes stood out, giving a unique touch to his already striking appearance. In his pocket, he carried a letter that would spark nostalgia in two people scattered across that vast city. Beside the letter lay a rusted iron ring; even in silence, the youth radiated resolute determination.
In a chic boutique, a young woman with long black hair and a gentle face analyzed a strange stone a customer had handed her, along with a letter. The small stone bore a peculiar Yin and Yang design. Assuming it was just another customer trying to get her attention, she tucked the object into her pocket to examine it later.
In the depths of the underworld, as rotten as one could imagine, a man dressed in black radiated authority and danger. His blind face bore a scar that told ancient stories as he stood before the corpse of a child. Upon the body lay a small red snake, accompanied by a letter. Though the man showed no emotion, the world itself seemed to mock him, creating an atmosphere of melancholy drizzle.
In a cheerful studio, broadcasting the ephemeral stories of ordinary people, a beautiful young woman with silky, adorned brown hair smiled as she looked at a letter. In her hand, a beautiful pendant with a black heart completed the scene, reflecting her extravagant and enchanting beauty.
On the majestic stage of a piano concert, a pianist with clear eyes concentrated on the piece she loved most. Beside her lay a small letter and a fragment of a statue—its origin unknown, but appearing to carry ancient and significant memories. The music floated through the air, as refined as her own presence, conveying wealth and emotion in every note.
At dusk that same day, in a basement, the beautiful young woman with shoulder-length black hair stood before the rusted iron cicada and intoned the ritual:
"O being from another world, who possesses a will capable of bending the world to your ambition, I summon thee to fulfill the ambition you so desire, in exchange for acknowledging me as your Master... O Heroic Spirit."
The silver cicada began to tremble, releasing a blinding light as if staring into the sun itself. When the luminosity faded, the girl's gaze locked onto a young man with black hair reaching down to his waist. His eyes, black as the abyss, seemed to swallow the light. His face was extremely beautiful, his skin clear as jade, bearing no resemblance to the Heroic Spirit she had once imagined.
His clothes resembled ancient Chinese attire seen only in historical dramas, giving the impression that he did not belong in that place. His completely expressionless face looked coldly at her. The girl felt a shiver run down her spine; her senses sharpened, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop.
Then, the youth smiled. A dazzling smile that made all the previous coldness seem like a mere trick of her mind.