Somewhere far away, in a distant kingdom in a far-off land, towering above all others, lies the Kingdom of Sliverdain—resting upon the peak of Mount Sliverdain like a crown upon the world itself.
A kingdom of silver.
A kingdom of sorrow.
Its endless roads gleam like mirrors beneath a dim sky, its towering structures carved from radiant metal that reflects a beauty the people no longer see. At its heart, a colossal fountain pours streams of liquid silver down its vast tiers, its once-joyful song now echoing hollow through empty streets.
The kingdom stretches farther than the eye can comprehend—vast enough to rival entire continents.
Yet, for all its size…
It feels suffocatingly small.
Because grief fills every corner.
Birds sing—but softly, cautiously—as if afraid to disturb the mourning that grips the land. The streets are barren. Doors remain shut. The hands that once crafted, painted, and played now tremble around weapons.
War has taken everything.
And still… it demands more.
At the far edge of the kingdom stands the castle of the Scarlet Ruler.
Its platinum walls, once radiant, are now smothered in creeping dark moss. The air is thick, heavy with unease. Knights stand guard at every possible entrance—doors, windows, corridors, even shadows—watching, waiting.
Not for enemies.
But for their own king.
A ruler broken by grief.
A man who has forgotten everything.
His queen lies in a silent coma, her life sustained by fragile means. His children—his own blood—are nothing more than strangers in his fractured mind.
If he sees them…
He will not hesitate.
One child fights a war in his place.
One remains sealed away by the very curse that shattered the kingdom.
And one—
Stands alone.
High above the silver city, Princess Renna Scarlet gazes into the distance.
Her red eyes reflect a world undone.
The mountains beyond the kingdom, once lush and alive, are now reduced to ash—devoured by flames of war. Smoke coils into the sky like ghosts that refuse to rest.
Her silver hair dances in the cold wind, her black robes wrapping around her like a shadow.
Below her, the city no longer lives.
It endures.
"The Kingdom of Sliverdain…" she whispers, her voice steady but heavy. "Once a land of riches and happiness… now a throne built on war and blood."
The wind answers her in hollow howls.
"No matter how high you climb… there is only one place left after reaching the top…"
Her eyes narrow slightly.
"The cold, dark bottom."
She turns, pulling her hood over her face.
"The Crimson Hero will be our light through that darkness."
From the shadows behind her, a figure steps forward.
Cinderwretch.
Clad in black robes over crimson-and-black armor, his presence is quiet but unyielding—like a blade that has tasted war too many times. His red hair is slicked back, hidden beneath his hood as he lowers his head.
"As you wish, Princess Renna Scarlet."
But far from the silver kingdom…
Beyond the ashen mountains…
Deep within a frozen forest where snow blankets the earth and silence once ruled—
Something has already begun.
The wind shifts.
Carrying with it the faint scent of burning.
Of sorrow.
Of something… unnatural.
Moments ago, the snow was still.
Now it is torn apart.
Scattered like ash in a storm.
And at the center of it all—
Stands Zephyr.
His blade still hums faintly with heat, remnants of battle dripping like molten scars along its edge. His breath is heavy, visible in the cold air. Around him, the ground is littered with what remains of creatures that should not exist.
Ember Hollows.
Beings not meant to think.
Not meant to feel.
Yet one of them…
Did.
Zephyr's hand tightens slightly.
The memory lingers.
A child.
A plea.
"Mercy…"
His eyes lower.
For a brief moment, the chaos fades—and all that remains is the weight in his chest.
Masamune stands beside him, silent now, his earlier confidence replaced with something darker. His golden eyes flicker toward his brother.
"She was cursed," Zephyr mutters, his voice low, almost lost to the wind. "By him that monster ."
The wind howls again.
Stronger this time.
As if answering.
Far away, atop Mount Sliverdain—
A kingdom crumbles under the weight of a curse.
And here…
In the frozen wilderness—
The first thread of that curse has been cut.
But not broken.
Zephyr slowly lifts his head, his blue eyes sharpening.
"He is not done yet…" he says quietly, his voice no longer uncertain, "they're not done."
Masamune exhales, rolling his shoulder slightly as he grips his blade.
"Good," he replies coldly. "Because neither are we."
Behind them, Senna stirs faintly beneath the tree, unaware that the path ahead has already begun to shift.
The fall of Sliverdain…
Deep within the forest, a campfire crackled softly, its warm glow flickering against the endless white of freshly fallen snow. The flames swayed lazily, casting shifting shadows that stretched and twisted across the ancient trees. Sparks drifted upward, vanishing into the cold night air, swallowed by branches that loomed like silent watchers beneath a cloud-veiled sky.
The forest felt… still.
Too still.
As if it were listening.
Senna stirred.
A faint groan escaped her lips as consciousness slowly returned, her body weighed down by a dull, lingering exhaustion. Her long purple hair spilled over the rough surface of a fallen log, strands catching the firelight like dimmed amethyst. Draped over her was a familiar white coat—warm… steady… reassuring.
"…Zephyr's coat…?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
For a brief moment, she simply lay there, holding onto that warmth.
Then the ache hit.
She winced, pushing herself up onto one elbow, her fingers pressing against her temple as a sharp throb pulsed through her head.
"What happened…?" she whispered. "How long was I out…?"
Her thoughts felt scattered—like pieces that didn't quite fit together yet.
Slowly, her gaze drifted across the clearing.
And settled—
On them.
Across the fire, seated on opposite logs, were her brothers.
Zephyr sat still—too still.
The firelight flickered across his black long-sleeved shirt, climbing up to his face where his hair, dark fading into white, fell just enough to shadow his eyes. Those sky-blue eyes, usually bright with teasing energy, now seemed distant… unfocused… as if he were looking at something far beyond the forest.
Not the fire.
Not the night.
Something else.
Something heavier.
Something he couldn't quite let go of.
Masamune sat nearby, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed—but only on the surface. His hand rested against his chin, his golden eyes reflecting the flames as they danced.
But there was a pause in him.
A quiet tension.
The usual sharp confidence in his gaze had dimmed, replaced with something more… restrained. Thoughtful. Calculating.
The battle lingered.
The Hollow lingered.
That moment lingered.
"Argh… my head…" Senna groaned, clutching her forehead.
The sound snapped the silence.
Both brothers turned instantly.
And just like that—
The weight shifted.
Their expressions softened, seriousness melting into something far more familiar.
Relief.
"You're awake," Masamune said, his voice lighter—genuine this time, the edge gone.
Senna gave a small smile.
A fragile one.
But real.
For a moment… things felt normal again.
Then—
Masamune slowly raised his hand.
And pointed.
To the empty pot.
To the neatly arranged seasonings laid out beside the fire.
His smirk crept back, slow and deliberate.
Dangerous.
Zephyr glanced at it.
Then at Senna.
And—without hesitation—his lips curved into a matching smirk.
Senna's smile froze.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Then her eyes narrowed—sharp, deadly, fully awake now.
"…You two are unbelievable."
The warmth vanished instantly.
With exaggerated defeat, she dropped back onto the log, one arm flung over her face.
"You guys are both annoying… and evil."
But beneath the annoyance—
There was comfort.
Because they were still the same.
Because they were still here.
A few hours later, the forest had grown quieter still.
Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky, settling over the ground in soft silence, layering the world in pale stillness. The fire had burned low, its flames reduced to glowing embers that pulsed faintly, casting a dim, steady warmth.
The air felt calm.
But beneath it—
Something lingered.
Unspoken.
The three siblings sat around the fire.
Zephyr had told her everything.
Every detail.
The battle.
The Hollows.
The girl.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Not empty.
Not peaceful.
But full.
"So… that's what happened," Senna said quietly.
Her voice had softened—gentler now, stripped of its earlier teasing edge. Her eyes remained fixed on the embers, watching them glow and fade, as if searching for something within them.
Slowly, she reached out.
Her hand rested lightly on Zephyr's shoulder.
Grounding.
Steady.
"Not every time you can be a hero, Zephyr," she said softly. "Don't let this hold you back."
Zephyr didn't respond immediately.
His gaze stayed lowered, fixed on the snow beneath his boots. The faint reflection of firelight flickered across the surface, but he didn't seem to see it.
"I know…" he said at last, his voice quieter than before.
"…Not everyone can be saved."
His hands clenched tightly in his lap.
Not in anger.
Not fully.
But in something deeper.
Frustration.
Regret.
Helplessness.
The memory of her—
Her voice.
Her fear.
Her smile.
It hadn't left him.
Masamune exhaled slowly.
Then pushed himself to his feet.
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped forward, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the weight of the moment. When he spoke again, his voice had changed—steady, sharp, focused.
Grounded.
"Those monsters…" he began. "They weren't normal."
He paused, glancing toward the darkness beyond the firelight.
The forest stretched endlessly outward.
Silent.
Watching.
"Too intelligent," he continued. "Too coordinated."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Which means their camp can't be far from here."
A brief pause.
"And if that's true…"
His grip tightened slightly at his side.
"Then the one behind all of this… is close."
He turned back to Zephyr.
And there it was again—
That familiar smirk.
Not careless this time.
But deliberate.
Challenging.
"You heard him beg for mercy," Masamune said quietly. "And you still chose to reach out."
A beat.
"Well?"
His voice lifted slightly.
"Are you up for the hunt, brother?"
Silence.
Just for a moment.
Zephyr's shoulders shifted.
The weight didn't disappear.
But it changed.
His frown slowly twisted—
Into something sharper.
Something steadier.
A smirk.
He stood.
Slowly.
The white coat settled over his shoulders, catching lightly in the cold wind as it passed through the clearing. His black-and-white hair swayed softly, revealing eyes that no longer looked distant.
But focused.
Bright.
Resolved.
"…Yeah."
His voice was firm now.
No hesitation.
"No more running from it."
He stepped forward, snow crunching beneath his boots as he looked out into the darkness of the forest.
"Now that sounds like a plan."
His gaze sharpened.
His grip steadied.
His resolve locked in.
"Let's hunt."