1,113 years later...
Shiora — once known as the land where light and darkness danced in harmony — was burning.
Because of Elyka, the Queen of Darkness, who broke a centuries-old pact and wished to destroy everything.
Naraka, chosen by the Goddess of Light, had everything she created turned to ashes. All of her children, everyone, everything in her kingdom was almost being erased.
And now, the greatest threat — Elyka — was slowly approaching the kingdom, along with her son Serekhka, who held power strong enough to oppose even the brightest light.
While Nujah watched the city's downfall from the balcony of the royal chamber, Naraka came to his side. Nujah bowed and delivered his report on the situation: the kingdom had been annihilated on every front. Even our allies—the Old Spirits—had suffered a massive assault and were occupied defending their own territories. In short, we are alone in this war. As for the nation's condition: an estimated ninety percent has been destroyed. Most of the military orders—Lightward, the Hands of Naraka, and the rest—have been wiped out; the few who remain will die within an hour at most. There is no sign of my Shinrei siblings—tragically, their life force has vanished. Only Maria remains, and even hers is faint.
Naraka, her face clouded with sorrow and anger, was about to answer when a vile stench drew both their attention. Out of the flames came Serekhka—his body damaged, yet advancing without difficulty—carrying the unconscious Maria in his hand. As he lifted Maria and was about to lay out his demands, a sword strike hit him—so fast even he could not perceive it—its blade forged from the branches of the First Tree. He crashed to the ground. Before Maria could fall, Nujah caught her in his arms. Naraka snapped her fingers, pulling Maria to her side, and immediately began treatment. At that moment, Serekhka rose to his feet.
Nujah smiles calmly and says to Serekhka:
> "The exit is the other way, my friend."
> The lighting in his eyes said this wasn't just battle — it was promise.
Recalling his blade with his right hand, Serekhka, laughing as he recovers fully, mocks:
> "So Naraka chose you, her useless adopted son? After I sliced up her real children one by one?"
> "Even if you carry the First Tree — the source of life in this universe — I carry all of my mother's power, human."
Nujah, in a slightly regretful voice:
> "So strong, yet you still talk too much. I suppose you got that from your father.
…Ah, right. You didn't have one. Barbecued by my mother, wasn't he?"
He smiles and strikes a pose with his blade.
Serekhka's expression contorted. Gone was the smirking predator — in his place, something primal and furious.
Then — motion.
A blur of shadow and steel.
His blade slashed for Nujah's throat. Missed.
A second strike — horizontal, teeth-bared — met steel and was deflected with barely a twist of Nujah's wrist.
The third came with a roar. Nujah leaned back by inches, the edge brushing wind against his cheek.
He hadn't blinked. Not once.
His stance didn't shift.
He wasn't braced — he flowed, like a shadow caught in the memory of light.
Serekhka snarled, unhinged.
Blades clashed in a storm of sparks.
He struck again. Again. Again.
Stone cracked beneath their feet. Smoke curled from the torn earth.
Each time Serekhka's fury surged —
Each time, Nujah answered with silence and precision.
The air shook.
Flames curled in Serekhka's wake. Trees withered just by proximity.
But Nujah stood untouched.
Still, he made no effort to dominate. No reckless counterattack. Just breath — calm, measured — and perfect control.
A final wild swing came down with enough force to split a mountain.
Nujah stopped it mid-air with one hand.
His voice, quiet beneath the roaring wind, cut deeper than any blade:
> "That's the difference between us… You fight to destroy.
I fight to protect."
He pushed forward.
Serekhka stumbled. The pressure shifted.
For the first time, the dark prince looked uncertain.
And then —
A shimmer.
The battlefield bent. Something cold slithered through the air, invisible and wrong.
Nujah's pupils narrowed.
Too late.
Pain bloomed across his side. Blood spilled.
He staggered.
Not from the wound.
But from what he felt behind him.
The storm had just begun.
---
Nujah's vision blurred. The battlefield twisted. Shadows multiplied.
Suddenly — pain.
A clean strike pierced his side.
He gasped.
> Then the wind stopped.
The battlefield fell silent — unnaturally so.
A wave of dread washed through the air, thick and suffocating, like the sky itself was holding its breath.
Any ordinary soul would've collapsed from the sheer pressure.
But Nujah didn't flinch. His heart stayed calm. His spirit — untouched.
He felt her before he saw her.
And then, from the far edge of the battlefield, Elyka appeared — eyes glowing like frozen stars.
Elyka, standing in the distance, eyes glowing cold.
> "You were doing so well," Elyka said.
"Let's see how you handle the real game."
With a simple wave of her hand, Elyka stopped Nujah mid-step —
his limbs stiffened, suspended in the air like a puppet on strings.
Serekhka didn't wait.
He struck Nujah with a sharp blow, launching him across the battlefield —
aimed directly at where Naraka and Maria stood.
Then, without hesitation, Serekhka jumped after him —
determined to land the final blow.
But just before they hit the ground —
Nujah's fingers moved.
His body came back to life mid-air.
With a flash of motion, Nujah twisted around, grabbed Serekhka —
and turned the fall into a new direction.
He dragged Serekhka with him, far from Naraka —
and vanished into the smoke as they crashed together into the distance.
And as all this unfolded —
Naraka snapped her fingers.
> From the edge of the golden light behind the throne,
two radiant beings emerged — soldiers formed from pure light, silent and solemn.
Maria turned as they approached, her knees weak, but her eyes full of defiance.
"I'm not running," she said quietly. "Not while he's out there fighting for me."
But then —
a warm pulse of golden light wrapped around her — not like a prison,
but like a mother's arms pulling her back from the edge.
Naraka's voice echoed softly in her mind:
"You've already fought enough, my child. Let me protect you now."
Maria trembled.
Her hands curled into fists.
Then slowly… she nodded.
One of the soldiers extended his hand.
She took it — not because she was forced… but because she chose to trust.
As they vanished into the light beneath the throne,
the soldiers carried her to the Golden Vault — the last sanctuary untouched by war.
Maria whispered to herself:
"Come back to us, Nujah. Please… come back."
> And above them — far from the vault's golden silence — the battlefield was still screaming.
Nujah stood, bloodied — but unbroken.
Beneath his feet, the stone floor had cracked; ancient runes pulsed dimly with fading magic.
The air trembled as shattered walls groaned under the weight of the realm's final breaths.
Above them, the sky burned — a rift torn between light and shadow, splitting open at the very heart of the war.
Serekhka stepped forward from the throne, his form wreathed in seething darkness.
With every step, the world seemed to recoil. The wind howled like lost spirits.
A black aura rose from his left shoulder, carrying the whispers of annihilated souls behind him.
Then — he struck.
His blade carved through the air, each swing laced with spells older than memory.
Every movement summoned a curse.
Every footstep scorched the ground beneath.
The first blow tore past Nujah's face — a breath's width from flesh.
The second grazed his wrist — but did not cut.
The third — their swords collided.
Not sparks — but starlight erupted between them.
And still, Nujah did not answer with rage.
He moved like wind in a forest:
Fluid. Silent. Unyielding.
Each step, each shift, kept him within a circle unseen — a sacred dance with gravity itself.
Serekhka's rage deepened.
The very air around them cracked and bled with runes.
Dark magic poured in from the broken sky, targeting Nujah from every angle.
But none could touch him.
He dodged through them all —
And when the stray spells arced toward Naraka's direction,
Nujah sliced them mid-air with invisible precision,
splintering the magic before it could reach her.
He spoke only once:
> "You fight with wrath.
I fight with faith."
Serekhka roared, his scream shattering the clouds.
The heavens dimmed. Stars withdrew.
But Nujah held his ground.
At that moment —
A ring of light formed around Nujah's blade.
The echo of Shiora — divine and ancient — awakened within him.
His sword, no longer steel, had become a sacred vow.
Serekhka unleashed a final, monstrous strike —
Driven by hatred. Aimed at Nujah's heart.
But the blade never landed.
Time warped around the impact.
And from the sky — a golden pulse descended.
Naraka's magic, sharp as a divine command, slammed into the ground between them,
healing Nujah's wounds, reigniting his breath with radiant warmth.
Then—
Elyka's voice tore through the darkness like a whip:
> "One hour — and you still can't kill a mortal boy!?"
The Queen of Shadows emerged.
The wind died.
And the true battle…
had only just begun.
> "Don't you die," Naraka yelled to Nujah.
"I'll handle this lunatic myself."
And then — it happened.
In an instant, Elyka and Serekhka switched places.
It was too fast for even Naraka to react.
Serekhka, now at full strength, lunged at Naraka.
Elyka, empowered by Darkness-blood, grabbed Nujah mid-air — and began draining his soul.
Naraka rushed to block Serekhka's strike — shattering her own barrier in the process.
She fought with everything — blade, magic, will.
But even she couldn't fully stop Serekhka's relentless fury.
Then — a miracle.
A crimson, rose-shaped sword, forged from both divine and human blood, fell from above.
It pierced straight into Elyka's chest — weakening her grip on Nujah's spirit.
Nujah, sensing the opening, screamed:
> "NOW!"
He unleashed his soul — diving into Serekhka's body.
A storm of spirits clashed inside.
> "Die already, you cursed mistake!" Nujah roared.
> "You think you can control me? I am the curse," Serekhka spat.
But Serekhka's strength overwhelmed him.
Even with Naraka's healing...
Even with Elyka weakened...
Nujah's soul began to crack.
His voice trembled.
> "I'm sorry… Mother…"
And with that —
his soul shattered,
scattered like glass across the stars.
His soul fragments scatter into the universe.
Seeing this, Naraka calmly accepts the outcome.
No anger. No sorrow. Only silence. She lays down, fully accepting that it was all her fault.
Serekhka, no longer mocking, pays his respects.
Elyka, too weak to stand due to the rose sword inside her, yells:
> "Serekhka! Pull it out and end her already!"
As he approaches Naraka, the universe lets out a sound.
Serekhka looks up, and sees the light of creation cracking.
A high-pitched sound follows — so intense, even he and Elyka fall to the ground.
The scream becomes a chant.
> "Everyone collapses — enemies, beasts, even the air itself.
But only the invading forces began turning to gold — Shiora's soldiers merely fainted under the weight."
Their bodies begin turning into gold, except for Elyka.
Serekhka, confused, finds his sword useless.
Elyka, terrified, snaps her fingers and erases her own existence.
Serekhka, covered in gold, utters his final words:
> "This isn't the end."
Naraka, now smiling eerily, stands and sees that all enemies approaching from the dark side have turned to gold.
She laughs maniacally — until she sees Nujah's fragments floating in the air.
She drops everything and focuses only on him.
"Abandoning all else, she began gathering the pieces of his soul — pouring her final strength into restoring him."
The next day, the surviving soldiers come to her with reports, but she dismisses them:
> "Not now. Search for all survivors. Use everything left in the kingdom. Report back tomorrow."
They bow:
> "It's good to see you alive, our Queen."
Even death can't restore a soul once it's burned —
But Naraka, chosen by Shiora and born with unmatched skill, can rebuild one with 98% success from even the tiniest fragment.
But because this soul belonged to a Shinrei, and it burned — even the smallest mistake could erase it forever.
One day later, with help from mages, elves, giants, and dwarves, 25% of the kingdom was already restored.
They rushed to tell Naraka.
Upon entering the room, they saw Nujah — fully healed, but now with a third eye.
As the dwarf stepped into the room—
"GET OUT!!" Naraka screamed.
The shout struck like thunder.
The dwarf froze for half a second…
Then turned and ran — boots clattering down the hall,
not daring to look back.
Nujah had woken up.
From the sound of her voice.
> "Wasn't that a little harsh?" he said.
Naraka hugged him immediately.
Ten minutes of silence followed.
Then Nujah said:
> "I'm glad to see you too… Mom."
"Now explain why I have a cursed eye on my forehead."
Naraka handed him water before he could speak —
> "Drink this first."
> After he drank it all, Naraka sat beside him with her half-shattered body.
> "I'm sorry," Nujah said, holding her hand.
But strangely… there was no pain.
His breath was steady. His spirit — overflowing with energy.
He felt stronger than ever before.
A sudden surge of light pulsed from his palm —
In seconds, Naraka's wounds were gone.
Even the deepest scars faded as if they never existed.
"What... just happened?" he asked, stunned.
Naraka looked at him softly.
"That power… doesn't belong to you alone."
"When your soul shattered, I recovered every piece — with Shiora's help."
"But during that moment… Shiora made a decision."
She pointed to his forehead — to the third eye, now faintly pulsing.
"To stop Serekhka's power from spreading, she didn't destroy it."
"Instead, she sealed it inside your soul fragments."
"You didn't choose this — but your body accepted it."
She took a breath.
"It's what saved your life. That darkness is why you're still breathing."
"And why you healed me with a single touch."
Nujah fell silent.
"...So I'm carrying him."
"His entire darkness was sealed into you — not his mind. Shiora did it to save us all.
" But yes," she nodded.
Nujah wanted to scream but listened instead.
Naraka continued seriously:
> "In my first war with Elyka, I was actually killed. But since I was the first to strike while everyone else was paralyzed with fear, my soldiers, out of shame, rushed in screaming."
> "9,775 died that day. But 20 survivors managed to seal her.
Because of that sacrifice, Shiora chose me as Champion of Light… and Goddess of this universe."
Nujah said:
> "I already know that. The real question is… how did I come back?"
Naraka answered:
> "You gave your life for me. And for Shiora.
Shiora saw that and used all her hidden light to seal everything — except Serekhka."
> "To kill him is one thing. To seal him is another.
"His mind lies sealed in the golden vaults beneath Shiora."
Shiora offered a solution: if you agreed to become the vessel of Serekhka's darkness… they would help me restore all our children."
> "They saw no one more worthy than you."
Nujah trembled but stayed calm.
> "What mission?"
> "They want to put you to sleep… forever."
"To ensure no one can ever use Serekhka's power again."
Tears ran down her face, but her tone didn't break.
> "Will my brothers… my daughter… and you be safe?" Nujah asked.
> "Yes. Elyka's only hope was to find someone with Serekhka's strength again."
Nujah nodded.
> "So… everyone's dead?"
Naraka couldn't speak — she just nodded.
Nujah stood up, kissed her hand, and said:
> "As the last Shinrei, I accept this final duty."
> "Don't you want to see Mitra or the others one last time?" she asked.
> "If I see them… I won't have the strength to do this."
They both fell silent.
She led him to the snowy garden beneath the throne.
As they neared the sacred lake, Nujah
> "Funny… We used to dream of dragging Serekhka here. I never imagined I'd be walking in his place."
Naraka didn't respond. She kept walking beside him in silence.
> "Come on, Mom. Let's have one last fun conversation before the end," Nujah said, forcing a half-smile as they neared the frozen garden beneath the throne.
Naraka finally stopped, her breath visible in the cold.
> "What do you want to talk about, Nujah?"
He looked up at the falling snow.
> "Anything. Just not about pain. Not about duty. Not even about Serekhka."
He paused, then added with a quieter voice:
> "Maybe… tell me something from when I was still a child."
Naraka closed her eyes.
She remembered.
A moment not of war, not of training — but peace.
> "You once cried for three hours because a bird fell from its nest," she said, her voice softening.
Nujah chuckled weakly.
> "That bird lived, right?"
> "No. But you buried it under the oldest tree. Gave it a name. Held a ceremony."
He didn't reply. His lips trembled slightly.
--
They stood in silence for a while.
And then — Nujah stepped forward, towards the machine built for eternal slumber.
The frozen mist clung to his breath. Each step echoed like a farewell.
> "Take care of my brothers, my daughter… and of yourself," he said, voice low and steady. "That's my last wish."
Naraka didn't answer with words.
She only nodded — because anything more would break her.
Nujah turned his back for the last time.
He approached the center — the sacred pool sealed beneath the machine.
The water was still. Quiet. Endless.
Without hesitation, he stepped in.
His body didn't sink — it was pulled.
Gently… deeply… silently…
Above him, the snow kept falling.
A world that once embraced him… now watched in silence.
But nothing reached him anymore.
Drawn to the very bottom,
Where no dream could reach,
No voice could echo.
The light of his soul dimmed under the water,
And with a final shimmer,
He disappeared into the abyss.
Naraka's fingers trembled as she reached for the six sacred keys.
One by one, she placed them into the machine:
The Lock of Thought.
The Lock of Movement.
The Lock of Memory.
The Lock of Sleep.
The Lock of Immortality.
And at last —
The Lock of Peace.
With a deep rumble, the mechanism sealed.
The water turned golden — still glowing with the warmth of his presence.
But he was gone.
No sound followed. Not even her breath.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Tears fell from her eyes, one after another,
Not with pain —
But with a silence only a mother could understand.
And the snow kept falling.
Soft. Endless. Cold.
Like time itself pausing to mourn.