Hours later, at nightfall, the embers crackle softly in the heart of the forest. Towering trees encircle the clearing like ancient sentinels, their thick trunks etched with age and moss. High above, their interlocking branches weave a dark canopy that hides most of the stars, allowing only thin strands of moonlight to spill down onto the forest floor. The air is cold and damp, heavy with the scent of pine resin, wet bark, and freshly turned soil. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls, its echo swallowed by the endless stretch of trees.
Shadows stretch long across the ground, dancing and twisting in rhythm with the flames. Senna sits beside the campfire, warming her hands around a small cup of tea, the firelight reflecting softly in her eyes. She watches her brothers struggle with the tent they destroyed during their usual chaos, fabric rustling and poles clattering against roots and stones. The woodsmoke curls upward, thinning as it disappears into the dark sky above.
She smiles softly at her brothers.
"I reckon we put this pole in the middle and these four poles at the end," says Zephyr, rubbing above his lip where his imaginary mustache is supposed to be. He states the obvious with confidence, clearly pleased with himself.
Masamune raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Sure, genius. Now instead of saying the obvious, how about you actually help?" His voice cuts through the forest air, sharp and mocking.
Zephyr only smirks. "That's impossible."
"Oh? And why is that?" Masamune asks, rolling his eyes as a breeze rustles the leaves around their feet.
Zephyr bends down and picks up three poles—and one that's half-frozen, cracked, and splintered beyond use.
Masamune's eye twitches. "Oh, come on!" he yells. His voice echoes through the trees, and somewhere deep in the forest, wolves answer with long, mournful howls, as if mocking their misfortune.
In the end, they settle on using makeshift wooden poles scavenged from fallen branches, hoping the tent won't collapse on them in the middle of the night.
"Dinner's ready!" Senna calls out in a happy, chirpy voice—quite the contrast to her earlier rage.
"Coming!" Masamune and Zephyr reply in unison, leaping up from the leaf-covered forest floor.
Senna lifts a black pot from the fire. Intricate golden designs spiral along its surface, glowing brighter with every lick of flame. When she removes the lid, a rich, savory aroma of beef stew spills into the clearing, steam rising into the cold night air. The brothers freeze, then grin, their mouths watering instantly.
Before Senna can even dip in a spoon—
A sudden flash tears across the sky.
A blinding light rips through the darkness.
BOOM!
The forest trembles violently. The thunderous sound crashes between distant mountains, shaking branches and sending birds bursting from the treetops in frantic clouds of wings.
"Eek!" Senna squeaks, clutching the pot.
The night sky turns stark white, every tree, stone, and root reduced to a sharp silhouette. Wind howls through the forest, bending branches and making the trees groan as though bowing to some unseen force.
Then—
A streak of blue light slices through the forest like a living comet. It races from the northern mountain, weaving between trunks at impossible speed. Leaves, dirt, and embers whirl into the air in its wake.
It shoots straight through the clearing—and stops inches from Zephyr's face.
The light hovers there, humming softly. Its glow reflects in Zephyr's widened eyes, casting blue highlights across his skin.
A whisper follows—so faint it feels unreal, yet the words reach him with chilling clarity.
"Zephyr Rintaro Takahibe… how fortunate you are to inherit the power of the soul. Alas, be aware, O fated hero… cursed by the trials of red, cursed to be branded as the villain."
The blue glow pulses. Zephyr reaches toward it, warmth brushing against his palm—but just before he can touch it, the light shoots upward, streaking toward the southern mountain.
It rises high into the sky.
Lights of every color surge from the forest—drawn from the earth, the leaves, even the air itself—streaming upward as though answering a silent call.
The siblings are driven to their knees. The forest falls unnaturally still. Their magic is pulled outward—Masamune's shining red, Senna's swirling purple, and from Zephyr, a pure white luminance that floods the clearing.
Zephyr clutches his shirt, gasping as the energy tugs deep within him, draining, relentless—like something buried inside him is being dragged into the open.
The forest holds its breath.
Struggling, Zephyr forces himself to raise his head. He reaches toward the light once more. Its warmth brushes his palms before it rockets away, tearing toward the northern mountain. In an instant, it reaches the peak—trees shatter, stone explodes, and the mountain's tip is blown apart as the light strikes faster than the eye can follow, faster than light itself.
Then—silence.
The light shrinks, collapsing inward like a dying star. The forest freezes.
Zephyr slowly rises to his feet.
Suddenly, the star-like object detonates.
A wave of nuclear frost erupts outward, blasting Zephyr through the air and slamming him into a tree. Ice spreads instantly across bark and leaves, coating the forest in white. Animals flee in terror, wolves howling as the shockwave rips through the woods.
The siblings' camp is obliterated—fire extinguished, gear scattered, earth torn apart.
When the storm fades, the clearing lies silent.
The three siblings lie unconscious upon the frozen ground, the forest standing motionless around them