???: "Hmm... Why won't you speak?"
Inner voice: "...What is this? A voice?"
???: "What a cruel twist of fate."
Inner voice again: "Who... who's there?"
He slowly opened his eyes.
He was a thin boy with faint muscles, short in stature, his black hair messy like scorched branches in the wind. His eyes were blue. He looked like a child—but he wasn't.
His body was completely naked, trembling under an unbearable cold.
He found himself standing in the middle of a black void—still, icy, and desolate to the point of nausea.
No walls, no real ground, no sky. Just... nothing.
The place was disturbingly familiar. He didn't come here often, but whenever he did, he felt something inside his soul being slowly torn away.
"Damn it… this stupid nightmare again."
He muttered bitterly, his face tightening with a visible scowl. He had gotten used to this dream... no, this place.
And even though it repeated, it never felt natural to dream the same dream over and over.
He sighed and muttered with irritation:
"Is there actually someone here this time? … Hey, show yourself, you bastard!"
As always, there was no response.
Just heavy, rotting silence—like the void itself was mocking his existence.
"Damn it…"
He almost kicked the darkness beneath him—if only he were sure there was any "ground" at all.
Then the voice returned—mocking, rough, dripping with contempt.
???: "How do you feel now?"
He shivered—not from fear, but from a mix of rage and panic.
"How I feel? What the hell do you care?! Show yourself, you lunatic! Get me out of this damn place... and give me back my clothes! I'm freezing here!"
But again—only silence.
Stubborn, heavy silence...
And then he snapped:
"Heyyy! I'm talking to you!"
Suddenly… he felt something warm and slimy wrap around his right leg.
He froze in place.
He slowly looked down… as if his neck resisted the truth.
It was a hand.
A hand that came from nothing—black as death, disturbingly thin, with long, deformed fingers ending in sharp claws that glowed with a faint, dark purple hue—like a flame forged from madness.
It wasn't painful.
It was disgusting—sickening to the point of suffocation.
Like plunging your hand into a pit of living pus.
His eyes widened, and his voice trembled as he whispered in a mixture of shock and revulsion:
"W-What... what is that thing?!"
He shoved at it in a panic, trying to break free, but the hand clung to him with an impossible grip—as if it had sunk its fangs into his bones.
"Let go of me! You filthy hand!"
He screamed, but it was like yelling into a void—just like always.
Then…
Another hand appeared. It grabbed his left leg.
Then a third… a fourth… a fifth…
And then more.
Countless black hands creeping from the void like nightmares given form.
They latched onto his body from every direction—pinning him, binding him, dragging him downward.
His breath came in choked gasps as his lungs began to burn.
"This is new..."
He thought, as his heartbeat pounded against his skull.
"The hands never appeared before… this dream was always just the cold and the curse."
But tonight was different.
The hands weren't just gripping him with strength—they pressed against him with something that felt like hatred… or hunger.
Their sudden warmth felt like relief at first.
Then… his skin began to burn.
"They're burning me…"
They were hot—too hot. The flesh of his chest began to boil beneath them. But he couldn't move.
"I'm... I'm going to die."
Trapped between pain and fear, his eyes darted everywhere, searching for an escape—but the hands were everywhere, as if the void itself had decided to devour him.
Then the voice returned.
???: "You know, Eizen?... You're a fool."
He froze.
That voice… knew his name?
"Who are you?!"
He didn't dare say it out loud—terror choked him.
???: "What did you do all this for, Eizen?"
Suddenly…
The whispers began.
A name, repeated—seeping through the invisible walls of his mind—piercing his skull like a tainted needle.
"Eizen… Eizen… Eizen…"
Voices—childlike, feminine, masculine—a chaotic blend without identity.
Just a cold, distorted echo.
He screamed—or tried to.
One of the hands reached his face and clamped over his mouth.
His voice was cut off.
His breath stolen.
His scream—muffled and hopeless.
"What is this torment... Enough!"
He screamed it inside himself—but no one came to save him from that hell.
Then…
Another hand rose—slowly, as if it had a will of its own…
And it rested on his eyes.
And in the next instant—
Light.
Blinding. Crushing.
As if entire worlds had exploded into his eyes all at once.
***
Suddenly, the pain vanished.
As if something had been forcibly torn out of his body, the searing heat faded, and the darkness withdrew from around him.
He felt a warm light creeping into his skin… damp grass touching his back… and a gentle breeze brushing his face.
The whispers were gone.
The voice was gone.
Only one voice remained… feminine, soft, carrying the tone of a flustered teenager:
"Eizen!... Eizen! ...Zeno! Wake up! We're late! Lester's gonna be mad!"
"…Zeno."
That name… damn it.
The cursed nickname he hated deep down, though it clung to him like a shadow.
Eizen slowly opened his eyes, only to find a face very close to his.
A girl with long red hair swaying in the breeze, and bright crimson eyes bursting with life. She wore simple adventurer's clothes, looked around fifteen, but her energy far surpassed her age.
She was staring at him from a dangerously close distance.
He was lying on his back, on damp grass, near the ashes of a fire that had just gone out — the last warmth from the night before.
"Finally, you're awake!"
She said with a smile, then quickly added:
"Come on, let's go back before—"
But before she could finish, Eizen shoved her face away with force.
She fell onto her butt, clutching her cheek and wincing in pain.
"Ow! Wh-Why?!"
Eizen yawned and stretched his arms, then replied in a cold tone:
"How many times do I have to say this? Serena, don't get that close to me."
Despite the pain, Serena smirked — that mischievous smile he knew all too well… the one that always came before a verbal disaster.
"And if I don't get close to you… how else are we supposed to have kids after we get married, Zeno?"
She said it with absurd confidence — as if it were already a done deal.
She said that sort of thing a lot, just to mess with him — and because she knew it annoyed him.
Eizen sighed silently, then thought sarcastically:
"What's wrong with her?... Still, at least she's confident I'll marry her. Too confident, actually."
But the sarcasm quickly faded, and something else crept into his thoughts...
"That dream…"
His expression darkened a little as he glanced at the scorched ashes.
"It was different this time… the voice, the hands… that filthy feeling crawling inside me… like I was choking from the inside out… Tch… doesn't matter."
He turned his face away from her, as if trying to bury the nightmare behind a wall of denial.
But his heart... hadn't forgotten.
***
They slung their gear over their shoulders and began walking toward the city of Ellen, located east of the royal capital, Victoria.
The road they took was rural, infused with the scent of damp earth and the fresh growth of spring grass.
On either side of the path, farmers worked diligently—watering fields, turning soil, and singing ancient seasonal chants whose echoes danced between the trees.
Some used primitive tools and manual irrigation, while others—those with a talent for water magic—used their modest skills to speed up the watering process.
Tiny water spheres floated from their fingertips, swimming through the air before gently raining down on the planted crops.
As for Eizen and Serena, they were returning from a mission to hunt fourth-class Nagrasil serpents.
But things hadn't gone smoothly…
They had encountered third-class serpents—a surprise no one had expected.
(Monsters are ranked into six categories, from Class E (sixth) — the weakest — to Class S (first), the most dangerous.)
Eizen walked quietly behind her, eyes fixed on the distant walls of Ellen, watching the city's details become clearer through the soft mist.
Serena, on the other hand, was skipping ahead with her usual childlike energy, her backpack swinging behind her, and her eyes sparkling as if she hadn't just come out of a bloody battle.
Suddenly, she spun around and started walking backward, arms stretched out for balance like a tightrope dancer.
"It was a tiring mission, but as always, you were amazing—father of my future children."
She said with a mischievous grin, watching his face turn red like a burning coal.
Eizen: "Yeah, so amazing I didn't even get a share of the loot."
Serena: "Heey, don't be so dramatic! You were the one who killed the third-class serpent, don't forget that!"
Eizen: "Right… thanks for the reminder."
Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her ear firmly, yanking it as she yelped and tried to wriggle free.
"Why didn't you tell me there was a third-class monster in the area?!"
He said in a low but angry tone—the way he usually spoke when genuinely mad.
"Ow! Ow! Okay, okay! S-Stop! You're gonna tear it off!"
She screamed, smacking his hand to escape.
Then she began tossing out excuses one after another while rubbing her now-swollen ear:
"I thought it was only a fourth-class! … Maybe a fifth at worst!"
"You weren't listening—I hinted at it!"
"Besides... wasn't it fun? It was a good test of your strength!"
"See? I saved you from a boring mission! You should thank me!"
Eizen stared at her for a moment… then sighed, as if his soul was exhausted from her usual nonsense.
"You're a walking disaster."
"And you love this disaster."
She winked at him playfully, then dashed ahead, laughing like a child.
"What's wrong with her…"
He turned his face away from her.
Then looked once more toward the horizon of the city...
***
In the Kingdom of Castalia, monster hunting wasn't just a profession…
It was a crime.
The kingdom's laws were strict—brutal, even—when it came to handling "monster remnants": scales, fangs, hides, horns, even blood.
Anything that could be harvested from monsters was considered royal property. No one was allowed to touch it, let alone sell it.
The reason? Simple: rarity.
Monster components—especially those from higher-class creatures—held immense magical value.
Because of their rarity and dangerous power, the royal family decreed that only those with a special royal permit were allowed to trade in them.
A document of extreme rarity, granted only to nobles—or to those with deep ties to the royal court.
But obtaining this permit wasn't just an administrative procedure.
It was closer to a political baptism—requiring absolute loyalty, and submission to a labyrinth of laws designed to ensure that wealth… never left noble hands.
Between this royal greed, noble monopoly, and the harsh reality that most monster hunters were dirt-poor and barely surviving...
Underground guilds began to emerge—secret networks dealing in monster parts, moving them through hidden channels, and selling them on the black market for prices higher than a knight's salary.
People had many names for them…
But the kingdom had just one:
The Diggers.
A name dripping with disdain—
as if they were digging through filth, or exhuming corpses from a cursed grave.
In the upper districts, people spat on the ground at the mere mention of their name.
But in the alleys… they were heroes of the shadows.
Those caught red-handed? Publicly flogged.
Caught selling? Tongue cut out.
And Eizen… was one of them.
Not just any Digger—he was skilled, precise, professional.
Despite his young age, his reputation had started to spread among traders and outlaws alike:
A hunter who left no trace… and only killed when absolutely necessary.
And even though he always mocked the title...
Deep inside, he knew the truth:
"Monsters aren't more dangerous than humans…
But the only difference is—monsters don't pretend to be virtuous."
***
Eizen and Serena reached the outskirts of the southern gate of Ellen — the thriving city nestled along the banks of the Zelmar River.
The gate connected to an ancient stone bridge—wide and sturdy—over which trade wagons rolled constantly, their wooden creaks and iron clanks forming a weary sort of rhythm.
Caravans of travelers, spice merchants, farmers' carts, and mercenary knights… all crowded before the entrance.
On either side of the gate stood several members of the Royal Guard, backs straight, eyes alert.
They thoroughly inspected those entering, checking documents and stopping anyone who looked suspicious—or resembled someone on a wanted poster.
"Something feels off today…"
Eizen muttered under his breath, his half-lidded eyes watching the bridge, trained instinct sensing the tension in the air.
Serena looked at him while chewing a piece of fruit:
"That's because tomorrow is Light Day, you idiot, Zeno."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he casually raised his hand and smacked the top of her head—not hard, but just enough to make her yelp.
"Ow! I was joking, for heaven's sake!"
She rubbed her head and stepped back, shooting him a look that mixed both scolding and laughter.
Eizen said nothing.
Just gave a small nod and kept walking toward the bridge.
As they drew closer to the city gates, Eizen drifted into thought, trying—and failing—to suppress a familiar sense of irritation.
"Tomorrow is Light Day…"
"People celebrate it every year like they're clinging to some hollow hope."
Light Day was held to commemorate the death of the last "Vessel" of the Dark King, seventeen years ago—shortly after Eizen was born.
A day claimed to mark the end of an eternal threat and the return of light to the world… or so they say.
A cart loaded with vegetables passed by him. It tilted slightly, and a potato rolled off.
It fell to the cobblestone, then got crushed under another wheel—turning into a sticky mess.
Eizen stared at it, for reasons he didn't fully understand.
"Every year, a royal family member visits the cities and gives those same ornate speeches…"
"Decorated words, dull rituals, and cold smiles that never touch the heart."
"Zeno! Stop standing there like a statue and get over here!"
Serena called from ahead, turning to him with an exaggerated sigh. She was already two steps ahead.
He didn't respond.
Just moved his feet and caught up with her, shoulder to shoulder, still lost in thought:
"But... if I'm being honest with myself, there is one thing I actually like about this holiday."
"The music."
He smiled faintly.
"The pieces composed for the festival... there's something noble in them. Something that reminds you that, despite how filthy the world is, there's still some beauty left in it."
As they reached the end of the bridge, where the Royal Guards stood by Ellen's gate, Eizen suddenly froze.
He stopped in place… as if lightning had struck his mind.
"Damn it…!"
He whispered, eyes widening.
"Shit! How did I forget?!"
He didn't waste a second.
He reached out, placing a hand on Serena's shoulder to stop her immediately.
"Serena!"
He said in a low, urgent tone.
"Hm? What is it?"
She turned to him, puzzled—until she saw how unusually tense his face was.
He leaned in and whispered quickly:
"We need to enter from somewhere else… If the guards stop us, we're screwed."
She blinked, looking confused.
"Huh? But we didn't carry any monster loot this time, so why—"
He didn't let her finish.
Suddenly… he picked her up.
—Exactly like a princess.
One hand under her knees, the other behind her back.
Her eyebrows shot up in shock, and she shrieked:
"Heeeey! What do you think you're doing, you smug little gremlin?! Put me down right now, you idiot Zeno!!"
"Shut up."
Eizen said calmly, as he dashed with incredible speed to the left side of the bridge, slipping between carts with unbelievable agility.
He ran alongside a low stone wall that overlooked the riverbank.
Then he jumped over it.
"Zenoooo!! I'm wearing a skiiiiirt!!"
Serena screamed, arms flailing to cover herself as the wind played havoc with her long hair.
He landed among the trees, then shot through a narrow dirt path—a small trail known to very few.
He climbed moss-covered rocks, scrambled up a sandy slope, then vaulted over a narrow water channel without pausing for a second.
Every movement was precise, as if his body knew the route better than his mind.
His agility was shocking, his strength—intriguing.
"Put me down! This isn't funny! People are staring!!"
Some passersby near the river had indeed spotted them, now watching the scene in stunned silence.
After a few minutes of this acrobatic escape, Eizen stopped behind a crumbling wall near the entrance to the old artisan district—a narrow alley ending in a wooden back door that led into one of the city's inner lanes.
He gently set her down.
She was not gentle in return.
"Ugh… I would hit you right now if I wasn't so tired."
"Save your rage for later… we're going to need it."
He said, brushing the dust off his cloak, then turned toward the alley's opening—where the inner streets of Ellen finally came into view.