🌌 Scene 1 – The Hunter Association Meeting Room
The grand chamber of the Hunter Association headquarters loomed like a fortress of shadows and light. A hall built from obsidian stone and enchanted crystal, its walls hummed faintly with protective wards, runes carved into every surface to repel mana distortion.
A circular table dominated the center of the room — black, polished, and unnervingly reflective. At this table sat the core of the nation's remaining defenders. Their faces reflected in its surface like ghosts staring back from a mirror, solemn and still.
Above them, crystalline chandeliers pulsed softly with mana-light, washing the chamber in a sterile glow. But no light could dispel the heaviness that pressed against every chest. It was a silence born not from peace, but from expectation.
At the head of the table rose Chairman Daigo Ren.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that filled the room like iron pressing down upon the spine, Daigo Ren's every movement commanded attention. He was not merely a leader, but a man forged by decades of battles — scars beneath his black uniform whispered of enemies slain, tragedies endured, and burdens carried when others could not.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and unwavering.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"The Festival of Light is upon us. But hear me clearly… tonight, we are not preparing for celebration. We are preparing for survival."
The words struck like hammers. A ripple of tension passed across the table, each hunter stiffening. Even the air seemed to pause, the enchanted crystals dimming faintly as though absorbing the weight of his declaration.
Ren's gaze swept across the hunters seated before him. It was not a casual glance, but the measured, piercing stare of a commander ensuring every soldier understood the battlefield. His eyes carried the memory of fire, of thirteen years ago, when the world had nearly collapsed under the weight of disaster.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Thirteen years ago, we bled. Families were torn apart. Lives lost in shadows we could not control. That tragedy will not repeat under my watch."
His palm slammed lightly onto the obsidian table — not a shout, not rage, but a vow carried in steel.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Our Association is spread thin. Too thin. Many of our strongest are beyond our borders. Some dispatched to answer the cries of allied nations. Some sent to uncover hidden disturbances in lands far from Veylor. Some… vanished on secret missions known only to me. We here, in this chamber, are all that remain. The last shield for this nation."
A hush deeper than silence followed. Every heartbeat in the room thudded like war drums.
Ren's voice cut through.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Arzen — Rank 2."
The room's attention shifted.
Arzen sat slumped in his chair, head resting on his folded arms, eyes shut, breathing slow. He looked more like a disinterested student sleeping through a lecture than the second-strongest hunter in the entire nation. Yet no one laughed. No one dared. Because those who had witnessed Arzen fight knew: when his eyes opened, when he moved, the world itself bent.
Ren's eyes lingered briefly, then moved on.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Ryuu — Rank 10."
Ryuu leaned back with a grin, sparks of lightning snapping faintly between his fingers as if mocking the tension. His eyes burned with reckless ambition. While the chairman's voice carried weight, Ryuu's mind spun elsewhere.
(Ryuu's thought: If tragedy happens again… I'll save them all. I'll become the hero they worship. And maybe… the new chairman of this Association. Hah! Imagine their faces then.)
A low chuckle escaped him, muttering to himself until it grew into a full laugh, startling one of the younger hunters at the far end of the table. He didn't care. His lightning cracked once more, then fizzled out as he leaned back smugly.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Vice Chairwoman Elira — Rank 4."
Elira sat poised, her posture straight, eyes like twin suns of gold. Her long hair flowed like rivers of light down her shoulders, but her face was carved in stone. She listened to every syllable with absolute focus. Her heart carried a silent oath: Never again. Not after last time. Not while I breathe.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Shiori — Rank 9."
Shiori shifted slightly, her expression calm, almost unreadable. Yet her hands beneath the table clenched tightly into fists, nails biting her palms. She did not speak, but when her gaze flickered toward Elira, an unspoken vow passed between them. Both women carried the same determination: We will not let anyone fall again.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Dr. Ivar — Rank 5."
The oldest among them, Dr. Ivar, stroked his chin with one weathered hand, his sharp eyes narrowing. His hair carried streaks of gray, his face marked by years of burden. He exhaled slowly, whispering only to himself:
(Dr. Ivar's thought: Something about this festival… is wrong. If Captain Arvion were still here, what choice would he make? What path would he lead us down?)
Daigo Ren drew himself taller, voice resonating like thunder rolling across a valley.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"The mana waves across this nation… they disturb me. They remind me of a storm yet to come. Perhaps a massive dimension fracture. Perhaps something worse. I cannot say. But mark my words — whatever it is, it will come. And when it does… we cannot falter. Protecting the people during the Festival of Light is not optional. It is our duty. Our oath."
The words struck deep.
Elira's jaw tightened.
Shiori's fists trembled.
Ryuu grinned, sparks dancing.
Dr. Ivar's gaze darkened with dread.
And Arzen, even in sleep, exhaled slowly — as if even his dreams understood the storm ahead.
The Chairman's final vow carved itself into the hearts of all present:
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"I will not allow another repeat of thirteen years ago."
The chamber grew heavy, suffocating. The shadow of the past loomed over every soul, and the future pressed closer with every heartbeat.
---
🌌 Scene 2 – The Man on the Stone
Far from the gleaming walls of Veylor, beyond the reach of the Association's wards, a wasteland stretched. Cracked earth, barren stone, and a sky bruised crimson with dusk.
At the center of that lifeless expanse, a massive stone jutted from the ground like the fang of some dead god.
And upon it sat a man.
One arm rested casually on his knee, the other holding a kusarigama — its chain coiled across his broad shoulder, the blade gleaming with a cruel sheen. His body was sculpted like iron wrought by fire, each muscle sharp, precise, the form of a warrior who lived not for comfort but for war.
But more terrifying than his physique was the air around him.
The very atmosphere seemed to recoil, the earth cracking subtly beneath his weight, as though his mere presence was poison to the world. Birds did not fly overhead. The wind itself hesitated before touching him.
He tilted his head back, gazing into the sky stained red by the dying sun. His voice was calm, yet heavy enough to crush bone.
> Mysterious Man:
"I wanted so many things in life. To laugh. To eat with family. To dream. To be happy. But this world… never gave me the chance."
His words were swallowed by silence. Yet even silence trembled.
Then — memory.
---
🌑 Flashback – The Child's Tragedy
A dim, crumbling house. Walls cracked, roof leaking, the air thick with hunger and despair.
On the floor sat a frail mother, clutching her young child — ribs pressing against skin, stomach hollow, eyes wide with tears that had no more strength to fall.
The mother's voice quivered, soft but unwavering.
> Mother:
"Don't cry… The God of Light gave us life. He will give us food too. Believe, my son."
The boy clung to her, trembling. But in his small heart, the belief was already shattered.
His narration echoed in the future:
> Child's Narration:
"My father was already gone. They said he died in an accident at the mines. But I knew. I knew he was murdered."
The flash twisted — darkness. The mines. A man drenched in sweat, swinging pickaxe after pickaxe, veins bulging as he worked tirelessly. His eyes were kind. His hands strong.
And then — the collapse. Rocks crashing. Screams echoing.
> Narration:
"The mine was collapsing. My father begged them to fix the safety wards. But the greedy manager ignored it. He forced my father deeper, for profit. When the mine caved, they called it an accident. But it wasn't. It was greed. It was murder."
The house door slammed open.
Men entered, faces twisted with cruelty.
> Man:
"Your husband sold this house before he died. Get out."
The mother dropped to her knees, clutching her son tightly.
> Mother:
"Please! He would never… My child has nowhere—please!"
Fists struck. The sound of flesh and bone breaking filled the house. The frail mother coughed blood, body collapsing under boots and fists.
The boy screamed silently. His voice would not come. His small body was struck, head slamming against the wall. Blood streamed down his face.
His vision blurred. His mind cracked. His eyes opened wide, empty, haunting.
And then — the darkness.
A hand reached out. Faceless. Shrouded in shadow.
A voice whispered like poison.
> Mysterious Voice:
"Do you want strength? I will give you power. Come with me. Together, we will build a world where no one suffers like you again. Where no one starves. Where no one is poor. Where greed cannot kill."
The boy's small, trembling hand rose.
The deal was sealed.
---
🌌 Back to Present
The man's eyes opened — crimson, unholy, filled with both rage and divine purpose.
No longer the eyes of a child. These were the eyes of a predator.
> Man's Narration:
"That day, I chose. And now, the time has come. I will forge the world I dreamed of. No poor. No rich. No greed. A perfect land of peace."
The heavens disagreed.
The sky cracked.
Crimson Thunder split the firmament, streaks of blood-red lightning writhing like serpents across the heavens. A storm unnatural, violent, divine.
The wasteland shook.
Behind him, space itself tore apart. A dimensional rift, jagged and wide, bleeding chaos into reality.
The man rose from his stone, kusarigama in hand. His aura erupted like an inferno, pressing the world itself to its knees.
The dimension widened, howling like the maw of a beast.
He lifted his gaze. His vow burned in the storm.
The future itself bent before his will.