Scene 1 -- The city of Veylor never looked brighter.
Three days of restless preparation had led to this moment—the official beginning of the Festival of Light. From the rooftops of the old districts to the glass towers of the merchant square, the city pulsed with life. Lanterns painted by children and priests alike swayed gently above streets, their thin paper stretched across wooden frames, catching firelight that shimmered like stars scattered across an earthly sky.
The air was thick with smells—smoke from grilled skewers brushed with honeyed soy, sweet rice cakes pressed into molds shaped like lotus blossoms, roasted chestnuts cracking open with steam, and tangy lemon tea brewed in copper kettles. Every street was alive with vendors calling out their specialties, their voices layered over the constant rhythm of drums echoing from the festival grounds.
Children laughed as they darted between stalls, clutching toys carved from wood or paper masks painted with dragons, foxes, and demons. Squeals of joy erupted from a swing made of bamboo ropes, where girls in colorful dresses soared high into the air. A carousel built of polished cedar creaked as it spun in slow circles, carrying groups of children who waved tiny flags, their smiles glowing brighter than the lanterns themselves.
Performers painted in crimson and gold masks leapt across a stage, dancing with flowing ribbons as flutes and drums played a rhythm that resonated deep within the chest. Puppeteers tugged at hidden strings to make wooden figures duel, while archery stalls drew crowds eager to test their aim for trinket prizes.
It was a city transformed—one night where people could forget monsters, borders, and politics. A fragile joy, stitched together with food, music, and light.
But beneath it all, the Hunters felt the pulse of unease. The mana in the air was heavier than it should have been. Even if the civilians couldn't feel it, the Hunters knew—shadows were never far behind laughter.
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Scene 2 – The Hunter Association Headquarters
Far from the clamor of the festival, the grand marble hall of the Hunter Association Headquarters stood in solemn contrast. Here, the air carried not the scent of sweets, but the sharp tang of polished stone and old mana-infused wood.
At the head of the chamber stood Chairman Daigo Ren, leaning slightly on his staff of lacquered oak. His hair, streaked with silver, was tied neatly back, his sharp eyes narrowing toward the doors that creaked open.
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Hunters who had been chatting fell silent. Heads turned. Even the mana that hummed faintly in the lamps overhead seemed to thrum in acknowledgment.
The figure that stepped inside was unmistakable.
Her silver hair spilled down her shoulders like threads of frozen moonlight, catching glimmers from the enchanted ceiling lamps. Her violet eyes scanned the chamber with calm detachment, yet in them lay an untouchable grace that seemed almost divine.
She was Yukihana, Rank 6 S-rank hunter—the youngest ever to claim such a position in the history of Veylor. Only nineteen, yet her name was already whispered far beyond the borders of the nation.
Every step she took left the faintest trace of frost, though it melted instantly into shimmering petals of pink. Snow and sakura—two forces in perfect contradiction—mingled around her presence. She was winter and spring, death and rebirth, beauty and steel.
Some called her the most beautiful girl in the universe. But those who had fought beside her knew her beauty was only the surface. Beneath that silver hair and porcelain face was the strength to freeze rivers, bury fortresses, and annihilate entire armies of monsters.
The Chairman's lips curved faintly into a smile.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Oh… so you cut your holiday short, Yukihana? Good. More S-ranks here means the people can breathe easier tonight."
The hunters present exchanged murmurs. Her presence alone shifted morale.
Yukihana bowed slightly.
> Yukihana:
"Chairman, forgive my absence. I couldn't ignore the signs in the air. Something is coming… I felt it even from afar."
Her voice was soft but unwavering, carrying the certainty of instinct that only Hunters of her caliber possessed.
Daigo Ren's expression darkened, though he gave her a nod.
> Chairman Daigo Ren:
"Then your instincts match mine. Stay sharp. The festival may shine bright tonight… but shadows are waiting just beyond it."
For a moment, silence lingered. The faint chill from Yukihana's aura spread through the hall, as though her very presence was reminding them—beauty was fleeting. Danger was eternal.
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Scene 3 – A Conversation of Snow and Blood
The headquarters grew quieter toward the research wing, its polished floors lined with shelves of scrolls, tomes, and crystalline jars filled with specimens from past hunts. Here, beneath the dim glow of enchanted lamps, Dr. Ivar worked as he always did—adjusting instruments, scribbling notes, peering into flasks that shimmered faintly with liquid mana.
When Yukihana's footsteps echoed through the hall, the old doctor turned with a gentle smile. His hair had thinned with age, and faint lines marked his weathered face, but his eyes still carried the steady light of wisdom.
"Ah, Yukihana," he greeted warmly. "You've returned from your… holiday sooner than expected. How was it?"
Yukihana gave a faint smile, though her words carried weight.
"I wasn't on vacation, Doctor. I went to my family estate. There was some… formality work that needed my presence."
The doctor's hand froze briefly over his notes. He knew what she meant. Yukihana was not merely a Hunter. She was the daughter of one of Veylor's noble houses—a family that had served the king's bloodline for generations.
But unlike her ancestors, Yukihana and her brother had rejected that path. They had joined the Hunters, vowing to fight for the people, not for the throne.
Ivar's gaze softened. "Did your brother… speak with you this time?"
A shadow crossed Yukihana's delicate features. She turned her violet eyes away, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No. I don't think he will talk to me in this life."
Her hands curled slightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms. The weight of her brother's hatred was heavier than any monster she had ever faced.
Dr. Ivar stepped closer, resting a warm hand on her shoulder. His voice, though soft, carried the gravity of years.
"Don't worry, child. One day… everything will become fine."
Yukihana's lips trembled faintly, but she forced a small smile.
"Yes, of course. I believe you… because these are the words of my uncle."
Her voice softened further, carrying reverence. Though not related by blood, Dr. Ivar had been her father's closest friend. In her heart, he was family—the only family she could still claim without pain.