Chapter 1: Sekihokoku — Heaven or Hell?
Flickering images, like shards of memory splintering apart, slid before my eyes like an old scratched film. The clash of sword and spear on stone—cold, hard—merged with the ragged breaths of those fleeing fate. Blood, a deep crimson, dripped onto the forest rock; each drop seemed to gouge itself into time, painting a mute tableau of tragedy. Everything appeared through a fogged pane, as if the whole world had been distorted by a nightmare with no escape.
A low voice sounded—quiet yet razor-sharp, like wind slicing across a barren desert, carrying the sorrow of lost days:
"Back then… the world began to rot.
A young girl fell in the heart of the woods, blood soaking earth and sky.
A teacher stepped from the darkness, but that figure… was no longer himself.
And then time—what should have been immutable—began to run backward."
Jet-black eyes opened, fathomless as an abyss, swallowing the star-strewn sky. The space around twisted and warped, as if rent by a power beyond human comprehension. The wind screamed, bearing pain and chaos, as though the very cosmos roared in despair. Pieces of reality unraveled, dissolving into a nightmare without end.
The voice returned, a whisper from the void:
"When power crosses the bounds of reason,
the price to be paid is always beyond expectation."
Suddenly, a blinding shaft of light tore the night apart. Time seemed to stop; space froze in that instant. A radiant figure emerged on the edge of annihilation—a celestial spirit, arms outstretched, light pouring from her as if to enfold the very chaos. Her eyes shone—not with hope, but with a fate set to be overturned.
The voice spoke once more, like an irresistible prophecy:
"At the moment everything collapses, destiny reaches forth.
The tale… is rewound to its beginning."
The scene blurred, drawn into a whirlpool of reversed time. The final images dissolved, leaving a deep, chilling blackness. Only the slow, fragile beat of a heart remained—weak yet resolute—a promise that this story was not over.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying on a simple bed. Morning sunlight slipped through the cracks of an old wooden window, painting golden streaks across the packed-earth floor. It was me—Sakari—a fourteen-year-old boy with messy chestnut-red hair and eyes that always avoided meeting others. I wasn't remarkable; just a timid kid who preferred watching the world from a corner rather than diving into it. But I was kind, at least. I'd share my last piece of bread with the neighborhood children, help the old woman carry water back from the rain forest. In Seiki Ren—the most despised of the three sects in Sekihokoku—kindness could sometimes be the only weapon to survive.
Sekihokoku… Xích Phụng Quốc, as people called it. I often pictured it as a colossal phoenix, three wings circling the central volcano—Thiên Diệm. That was our emblem: a kingdom reborn from ash, where contracts of fate bound every soul into an endless cycle. I was born in Seiki Ren, the land of scouts willing to sacrifice themselves, where harsh discipline forged strength out of absolute obedience. They said we were pawns on the board, always pushed to the front to protect the other two sects: Seiki Hoki, whose arrogant politicians sought to perfect humanity and upgrade strength; and Seiki no Doko, who controlled the economy and reared the populace like livestock. We were scorned, called "the lowly ready to die for order." But to me, Seiki Ren was home. Here, between the desert and the northern rain forest, the spirit of the volcano seeped into every breath, making life harsh but fiercely alive. I loved the afternoons spent on the sand dunes, watching Phụng Thiên—the immortal phoenix—soar across the sky with feathers of blazing red, gold, and black. I once dreamed of seeing the crimson Lycoris, the sacred flower that blooms only every thousand years, like a promise of rebirth.
My life was simple, yet happy. I had a family—one blood relative—and companions through the storms of fate. Especially my sister, Akari. She… was beautiful like a fairy, with long, glossy deep-red hair and a gentle gaze that always smiled when she looked at me. She was my support, the one who wrapped me in her arms when nightmares of war came. "Sakari, don't worry," she would whisper, voice warm as a hearth on a cold night. "No matter how rotten the world grows, I will always be here to protect you." We lived in a small house on the edge of the village, laughter echoing every evening. My father taught me how to hold a blade; the little ones in the village dragged me through thorny bushes. Seiki Ren might be the bottom of society, but to me it was paradise—because Akari was there, gentle and strong, like the undying flame of the Phoenix.
Everything was peaceful—until that day of fate.
That morning the wind from Thiên Diệm blew fiercer than usual, carrying the smell of smoke and ash. I was playing in the yard with the village kids when the drum sounded from the shrine—the drum of Homura, the Fire God, embodiment of protection and punishment. Villagers gathered, whispering anxiously. I shoved through the crowd, heart pounding. Then they arrived: envoys of the supreme order under the Fire God's command, crimson cloaks billowing, eyes as cold as blades. They read the decree: "Akari of Seiki Ren has been chosen as the sacrificial vessel for Phụng Thiên. She shall become a Fire Celestial, healing the wounds of countless warriors on distant battlefields. This is the supreme honor!"
My world shattered. Akari? My sister? I raced home, legs trembling. She stood there, calm as she accepted it, but her eyes glistened with tears. "Sakari… I must go. This is my fate, to protect the realm." Her voice quivered but held steady.
"No! You cannot go!" I shouted, clutching her hand, tears spilling down. "They can't take you! Sacrifice… you'll die! You'll be consumed by flame, become a celestial… but you won't be yourself anymore! I won't allow it!"
She knelt and hugged me tight. "You fool. This is how I protect you—protect everyone. Phụng Thiên needs me. If I refuse, the whole village will be punished. You understand, don't you?"
I didn't. I ran to the shrine and begged the envoys. "Please! Choose someone else! My sister… she means everything to me!" They only sneered. "A Seiki Ren brat like you? Know your place. Such honors do not come often."
I tried to use the tiny power I had—a faint spark of fire-element I had only just learned—to disrupt the ritual. I threw myself into the circle of flame, shouting, "Stop! I won't let her go!" But they pushed me aside with ease; my power was a candle against a storm. I lay on the ground, blood from a small wound dripping, watching her climb the sacrificial dais. "Sakari… I love you," she whispered one last time before the flames swallowed her.
She became the Fire Celestial; brilliant light burst forth, healing distant soldiers. But for me, it was an irreparable loss. Lying amid the ash, I swore in my heart: "One day… I will gain power. I will climb to the highest ranks of Seiki Hoki and overturn this rotten system. I will never let anyone be sacrificed in vain again!"
And so my story began—from the ashes, rebirth.