The sky hadn't been blue in seven years.
Instead, it hung like a dirty blanket over the world, grey and heavy, with streaks of crimson lighting that danced without thunder. The air tasted like iron and smoke, and the ground was brittle beneath boots that had long since outlived their original owner.
A lone figure knelt beside a fallen tree, fingers brushing aside ash to reveal a tangle of moss and fungal growth. His name was Kairo, and he was seventeen.
Seventeen, in a world that had stopped keeping time.
He wore a dark jacket, leather sleeves patched with scraps of scavenged material, and his eyes - striking violet with a faint glow - were narrowed as he studied the small plants. They were edible, probably. They hadn't screamed last time.
Behind him, the forest moaned.
The Windbeasts were stirring again.
"Just give me five more seconds," he muttered, scooping the moss into a cloth pouch and tying it tight.
From his belt dangled a relic from a time before the world cracked open - a fox-faced mask of bleached bone, one eye carved out, the other sealed with wax. A symbol of the old war. A reminder of who he used to be.
Kairo stood slowly, slinging his spear - curved and made from a shattered stop sign and bone - across his back. The hairs on his neck bristled.
The air was shifting.
Then came the sound - like paper tearing, deep and wet.
Kairo spun, mask in hand, slipping it over his face in one fluid motion. The world through the fox's eye was sharper, almost painfully bright. Magic, some called it. Others called it a curse. For him, it was survival.
From the mist, a shape emerged. It walked on all fours, but its arms were too long, its shoulders too wide. Its head was crowned with bone-white antlers that pulsed with red veins. No face. Just a mouth stretching too far across its skull.
"A Hollow Stag," Kairo whispered.
He had no business fighting one. Not alone. Not with a dull blade and barely enough food to stand. But retreat meant giving up the moss, the trail, the faint signal he'd picked up from the ancient radio tower two days ago.
More importantly, retreat meant showing fear. And fear fed them.
He clicked his tongue three times in rhythm. The beads woven into his collar pulsed softly - an enchantment inherited from his sister. A prayer. A trap.
The Hollow Stag paused.
Then charged.
Kairo lunged left, rolling through ash and dirt, his mask scraping stone. He came up fast, spear in hand, sweeping it low into the creature's underbelly. Sparks flew - metal against bone. No blood. There never was.
The Stag bucked and screamed, the sound splitting into seven voices. Kairo's vision blurred, his mask pulsing red.
He fell back, breathing hard. "Damn it…"
The fox mask's magic was burning out - too much too fast. He couldn't channel like the Shards, couldn't cast runes or summon armor from song. He had one eye, one weapon, and one shot.
So he made it count.
He bolted forward, feinted a right jab, then leapt, landing on the beast's back. His free hand plunged into the pouch and pulled out a shard of mirrorglass - an old-world relic. He drove it into the creature's spine.
The Hollow Stag screamed again, but this time it was his voice screaming with it. Their minds brushed. He saw cities on fire, children made of smoke, a sun that bled. And through it all, he saw her.
His sister, Yui.
Bound in red silk, chained to the heart of the mountain.
Then, the stag crumbled. Ash to dust. Antlers to mist.
Kairo collapsed beside the tree, coughing until blood painted his sleeve. The mirrorglass pulsed once in his hand, then shattered.
He stared at the sky.
Still no blue.
But maybe…
Maybe he was getting closer.