The wind howled through the dense forest as they moved, the boy clinging to the man's back. The coarse air burned his lungs, making each breath a struggle. Darkness pressed against them, thick and suffocating, until they broke through the canopy.
The world opened before them.
A blood-red sky stretched endlessly, the black sun hanging above like a dying ember. Jagged mountains loomed in the distance, their spires piercing the heavens like broken fangs. The sight was twisted, unnatural—yet, in some horrific way, it held a kind of beauty.
After minutes of relentless movement, they reached a clearing.
In the distance stood a tower.
It was no ordinary structure. Made of writhing, organic material, its surface pulsed like living flesh. Tendrils slithered along its form, and faint, otherworldly whispers slithered into the boy's mind.
The man barely spared it a glance.
"That's a Whispering Tower."
His voice was steady, unaffected.
"It lures creatures by slipping into their minds, forcing them to enter. If you hear anything… don't listen."
The boy swallowed hard and nodded.
They moved along the clearing's edge, careful not to step too close. Then—
The world shifted.
It happened in an instant.
One moment, they were in the forest, the tower looming behind them. The next, they stood on an ashen beach.
The transition was seamless. Unnatural.
The sky remained the same—red and ominous. The sun, still a blackened sphere. But the trees and the tower were gone. Before them stretched a vast ocean, its waters a deep, blood-like crimson. The waves crashed against the grey shore, sending up sprays of red mist.
The boy's voice wavered.
"W-what just happened?"
The man exhaled, unfazed.
"A spatial fold. This place is unstable. Invisible rifts appear at random—step into one, and you end up… somewhere else."
The boy's gaze flickered to the horizon.
"And… is this place safe?"
The man ran his fingers through the ash-like sand, letting it slip through his hand.
"Mostly. The creatures that wander this beach aren't too strong."
For the first time since arriving in this nightmare, the boy felt something close to relief.
But relief was a fleeting thing in The Red Horizon.
They stayed on the beach for what felt like an eternity.
One and a half a year passed.
Here, the man taught him—truly taught him.
The boy learned to wield the sword, not just as a weapon, but as an extension of his will. He learned to channel aura into anything—to turn even a simple stick into a blade capable of cutting through flesh, stone, and beyond.
Days were spent training, sparring, pushing the limits of his body and mind.
Nights were spent in their makeshift shelter—two souls clinging to survival in a world that wished them dead.
The swordsman, with his ever-growing beard, shaved with the edge of his sword in silence.
The boy, his hands calloused from endless training, carved a stick, shaping it into the form of a true weapon.
Neither spoke much. Words were a luxury in this place.
But something had changed.
The boy was no longer a helpless child.
They gathered what little food they had, packed fire starters, and left the beach behind.
The boy, now stronger, still could not match the swordsman's speed—but he refused to be carried. He walked on his own.
They traveled for days, the forest stretching endlessly before them. And then, at last, they arrived at something strange.
A skeleton.
It was massive, nestled within the absurdly tall trees, its form stretching like a forgotten relic of some ancient god. The bones were withered and worn, yet still held a semblance of humanoid shape—twisted, alien, yet familiar.
The boy and the swordsman approached, curiosity glinting in their eyes. It was the first time either of them had seen it.
Then—
A sound.
A deep, guttural rumble, vibrating through the very air.
It came from the skull.
And before the boy could react, a hand shot through the air.
Thin, unnaturally stretched, its fingers closed around his throat.
The force ripped him from the ground. He gasped, struggling as he was dragged through the foliage, the world blurring past him. The arm—endless, grotesque—seemed to stretch forever.
His fingers tightened around his sword.
No hesitation.
With a single, precise strike, he severed the arm.
The severed limb fell lifelessly to the ground.
And from the depths of the forest, a wail erupted.
A sound of agony.
A sound of rage.
The swordsman caught up in an instant, his boots skidding against the damp earth. Together, they faced it.
A massive, writhing web stretched between the trees—not of silk, but of flesh.
It was a grotesque tangle of dislocated body parts, their movements unnatural, slithering like serpents. Hands twitched, fingers clawing at the air. Mouths, sewn shut, bulged grotesquely within the shifting mass. Some limbs bore fragments of faces, their eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.
It moved.
The pulsing, slithering network of limbs surged toward them.
They were surrounded.
For the first time, the swordsman's voice held a hint of uncertainty.
"Assume the combat stance I taught you. This thing… it attacks by swarming."
The boy took his stance, trying to steady his breath, but fear gnawed at his core.
Then—
The attack came.
Hands, claws, and twisted limbs lashed at them from all sides, propelled with a morbid force—almost as if the creature itself was desperate.
The two of them struck back.
Each slash severed limbs from the mass, and with every cut, the creature screamed.
The forest echoed with agony.
Among the screeching, something else resonated. A voice—broken, fragmented, slipping through the chaos.
"Why… why… WHY?!!"
The onslaught grew more intense.
The limbs moved frantically, faster, more erratic.
A sudden blur—
The boy felt it before he saw it.
A claw pierced his shoulder.
Pain exploded through him, white-hot and merciless. He barely had time to cry out before he was yanked into the air.
He thrashed against the pull, the sharp flesh dragging him up a tree—higher, higher. His vision blurred, blood soaking his side.
With one final, desperate swing, he severed the claw.
His body plummeted.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. His vision swam. Distantly, he saw the swordsman move.
And then—
The world ignited.
A deep orange light burst from the swordsman's form, flickering like embers caught in the wind. The very air shimmered around him. The earth beneath his feet burned.
His blade rose.
The boy, barely conscious, could not see what he struck—only that when the sword came down,
Everything stopped.
Flesh turned to ash.
The sky rained with carbonized remnants, blackened bits of limbs falling like dying embers.
And then—
Silence.
The orange light faded.
The swordsman dropped to one knee.
His entire body bled. Not from wounds—from his skin itself. His blood seeped from every pore, staining the ground beneath him. His breath came in ragged gasps.
The boy, still sprawled on the earth, watched him in shock.
That technique—
That power.
It would later be known as The Embers of Infinity.