Scene 1 – The Chairman's Vigil
The Hunter Association Headquarters was unusually quiet. The clamor of earlier debates had drained away, leaving a vacuum of silence that pressed against the massive chamber walls. Only the faint hum of mana conduits echoed through the sprawling hallways, like a heartbeat hidden deep inside the fortress of steel and stone.
High above, in the Chairman's office, Mr. Daigo Ren stood before a tall window. The glass stretched floor to ceiling, offering a commanding view of the city. His reflection gazed back at him—a stern face marked by deep creases of experience, sharp eyes that missed nothing, and hair brushed neatly back with streaks of silver marking time's passage.
Beyond the glass, the city sprawled like a sea of lanterns. Neon signs blinked across towering skyscrapers, while further out, lantern strings swayed above lively streets preparing for the Festival of Light. Stalls were being built, paper lanterns painted in crimson and gold hung from posts, and fireworks crews stacked crates near rooftops. From this height, the city almost looked like it was holding its breath in anticipation.
Ren's eyes, however, weren't warmed by the sight.
The Festival of Light was meant to be a celebration—a yearly reminder that humanity still stood tall against the abyss. On that night, laughter drowned out fear, and people allowed themselves to believe in peace, even if just for a fleeting moment. Families would gather to release sky lanterns, each flame infused with a fragment of mana, rising like stars into the heavens. Hunters and citizens alike would drink, sing, and pretend that demons didn't exist.
But this year… Ren felt none of that hope.
His jaw tightened. His instincts, honed by decades of bloodshed and betrayal, whispered that something was wrong. He didn't need reports or scout dispatches—his senses alone were enough. And they told him the same truth over and over:
The mana wasn't right.
It clung to the city like humidity before a storm, heavy and charged. The frequencies around the festival grounds had spiked to unnatural levels. The air trembled faintly, as if something was pressing against the very fabric of reality, trying to break through.
Ren clasped his hands behind his back, his reflection cold as marble. His voice was a murmur swallowed by silence.
Ren (thinking): "Mana frequencies this high… on the eve of the Festival? No. This is no coincidence. Someone—or something—is pulling the strings."
His gaze darkened, memories clawing to the surface.
Thirteen years ago. The Festival that should have been humanity's brightest night had turned into its bloodiest. Out of nowhere, a monstrous horde had erupted in the middle of the festivities. Hundreds of civilians were slaughtered before hunters could react. The legendary warrior Arvon had stood at the frontlines, his roar echoing louder than the bells of the festival towers, cutting down monsters in a storm of steel.
But even he hadn't walked away unscathed.
That night, Arvon had lost his left arm and one of his eyes—sacrifices made to push the invaders back into the abyss. Ren still remembered the blood-soaked cobblestones, the screams echoing under the glow of shattered lanterns, and the bitter stench of mana-scorched flesh.
His fist clenched until his knuckles went white.
Ren (thinking): "I will not allow history to repeat itself. Not again. Not while I draw breath. This city will not bleed the way it did that night."
The silence of his office grew heavier, as though even the city outside had stilled to listen. The Chairman's gaze lingered one last time on the horizon, where faint ripples of mana shimmered like heat waves.
He turned away. Preparations needed to be made.
And somewhere in those crowded streets… two hunters he had entrusted with a dangerous mission were walking straight into the storm.
🎇 Scene 2 – Festival Preparations
The city streets pulsed with anticipation, but the festival had not yet begun. Lantern strings dangled half-finished above the roads, their paper shells painted in vivid reds and golds. Merchants hammered wooden stalls together, their voices calling out discounts for charms, masks, and festival food yet to be cooked. Children darted between the workers, practicing with wooden sparklers they weren't supposed to light yet.
It was a city in the middle of becoming festive, not festive yet. The air buzzed with chatter, excitement, and the faint thrum of mana-infused artifacts being tested in preparation for tomorrow's grand display.
And in the middle of this unfinished festival ground, two hunters stood out.
Ryuu strutted like a man walking on stage during opening night. His coat swayed behind him, his grin wide enough to split his face. He raised his arms dramatically, as though the crowd of busy workers and merchants had gathered solely to applaud him.
Ryuu (booming): "Bow, mortals! The legendary Ryuu blesses your humble preparations with his presence! Hero of the people, future Chairman, breaker of hearts—"
He winked at a group of girls painting lanterns. They burst into laughter—though mostly because he'd accidentally stepped in a bucket of paint without noticing.
Beside him, Arzen trudged along like a zombie forced out of bed too early. Hoodie askew, hair sticking up in every direction, his slouched posture made him look like he might fall asleep mid-step.
Arzen (muttering): "…Festival's not even started… why are you louder than fireworks?"
Ryuu gasped dramatically, pointing at him with mock horror.
Ryuu: "LOUD?! This, mattress boy, is charisma! If you paid attention instead of napping through life, you might actually learn something."
Arzen (yawning): "…Learning sounds tiring."
Workers chuckled as the two bickered. To the public, they looked like a comedy duo wandering through the preparations. But those who knew hunters… knew appearances could be deceiving.