Chapter 1: The Boy Who Fell From the Sky
The sky split open without warning.
It was early morning in Kurohara, a village forgotten by maps and untouched by empire. Mist hung low over the rice fields, and the villagers moved slowly, their lives dictated by rhythm, not urgency. Children chased chickens through muddy alleys. Elders sat beneath the shrine's eaves, sipping bitter tea and trading stories that no one believed.
Then the sky tore.
A streak of light, silent and sharp, cut through the clouds. It wasn't lightning. It wasn't fire. It was something else — something ancient. The villagers froze. Tools dropped. Conversations died. Even the wind seemed to pause.
From the heavens, a figure descended.
He didn't fall. He floated, wrapped in white cloth, glowing faintly. His body was small, no older than six, and his eyes — silver, unblinking — scanned the crowd as if searching for something he had forgotten. In his arms, he held a fruit. It pulsed with a soft blue light, shaped like a curled flame, its skin etched with symbols no one recognized. Beside it, tucked into the folds of his cloth, was a leather-bound book.
The villagers didn't speak. They didn't move. They simply watched as the boy touched the ground, gently, like a feather landing on stone.
Then the chief stepped forward.
Razen was tall, his robes heavy with gold thread and old blood. His face was carved by years of secrets, and his eyes — dark, calculating — narrowed as he approached the boy. He knelt, touched the fruit, then the book. His fingers trembled.
"Bring him to the shrine," he said. "And tell no one what you saw."
The villagers obeyed.
Faith didn't speak for three days.
He sat in the shrine, surrounded by candles and silence, staring at the fruit. Razen watched him from the shadows, whispering to the elders, rewriting the story before it could be told. The boy had come from the sky, yes — but he was no gift. He was a test. A weapon. A prophecy.
On the fourth day, Faith spoke.
"Is this mine?"
Razen stepped into the light.
"It is," he said. "But it is dangerous. You must not eat it until you are ready."
Faith nodded.
He didn't ask what "ready" meant.
Years passed.
Faith grew like wildfire. He was faster than the other children, stronger, sharper. His silver eyes never dulled, and the fruit — now sealed in a glass chamber — remained untouched. Razen told him it was sacred. That it would awaken when the time was right.
Faith didn't question it. He loved the village. He loved the people. He loved Razen like a father.
But the book whispered.
Late at night, Faith would sneak into the shrine and read its pages. It spoke of power, of justice, of defeating evil to grow stronger. It described how the Setto Setto Fruit could absorb abilities from villains — those who committed heinous acts. It warned against using it for greed, for conquest.
Faith believed every word.
But Razen didn't.
Razen had read the book the night Faith arrived. He had seen the truth. And he had rewritten it.
He replaced the pages with lies — claiming that all Heavenly Fruit users were corrupt, that their powers must be stolen, that Faith was chosen to purge the world of their existence. He told the villagers the fruit was a curse. That Faith must be trained to destroy its influence. But in secret, he molded the boy into a weapon.
Every sparring session, every lesson, every story was designed to shape Faith into a hunter. A killer. A soul thief.
And Faith, innocent and eager, followed.
On Faith's sixteenth birthday, the sky split again.
This time, it wasn't a gift. It was a threat.
Golden ships descended from the clouds, their hulls etched with the sigils of the South Heavenly Empire. Winged soldiers poured from the decks, their armor gleaming, their eyes cold. They claimed they were searching for a stolen relic: the Setto Setto Fruit.
Razen stood at the village gates, smiling.
"You're too late," he said. "The fruit belongs to the boy now."
Faith watched from the shrine, heart pounding. The fruit pulsed. The book glowed. And the final page — one Razen hadn't seen — appeared.
Eat it when the world turns to ash. Eat it when the sky weeps. Eat it when you are ready to become more than man.
Faith stepped outside.
The empire's soldiers turned. Razen nodded.
And Faith took a bite.
The world exploded.
Light surged from Faith's body, tearing through the mist, the trees, the sky. His veins lit up like constellations. His eyes burned white. The fruit dissolved into his skin, and the book vanished in a burst of wind.
He screamed — not in pain, but in revelation.
He saw memories that weren't his. Battles fought in ancient times. Empires rising and falling. A voice, deep and eternal, whispering:
You are Heaven reborn.
The soldiers attacked.
Faith moved without thinking. His body danced through the air, fists glowing, eyes locked. He struck one soldier, and their power flowed into him — fire manipulation. Another fell, and he gained flight. A third screamed, and Faith absorbed their strength.
Razen watched, smiling.
Faith was becoming exactly what he wanted.
The village was gone.
Burned to the ground. Bodies scattered. The empire retreated, defeated and humiliated. Faith stood in the ashes, trembling.
Razen approached.
"You did well," he said. "You are ready."
Faith looked at his hands. They glowed with stolen power. He felt strong. Invincible. But something inside him twisted.
"Why did they come?" he asked.
"To take what was never theirs," Razen replied. "You must stop them. All of them. Every fruit user. Every empire. They are evil. You are justice."
Faith nodded.
But the voice in his head whispered again.
You are not justice. You are balance.
Faith left Kurohara that night.
He didn't say goodbye. He didn't cry. He simply walked into the mist, the stolen powers humming beneath his skin, the rewritten guidebook burned into his mind. He believed he was saving the world.
But the truth — his origin, his destiny, and the chief's plan — waited in the shadows.
And the sky, once again, began to bleed.