"Shinato, look! I've never been here before!"
"Wait for me, Elista, you're too fast—I can't keep up," Shinato panted as he stumbled after the girl he loved.
"You're so weak. We've barely been walking and you're already gasping like you're about to drop dead," Elista pouted, though deep down she was torn between irritation and amusement at the boy before her.
It was understandable. For all her eighteen years of life, this was the very first time her feet had truly tasted freedom.
A curse, or perhaps some cruel illness, had confined our little princess within the boundaries of the golden fields for eighteen long years, never once granting her the liberty to step beyond them.
When Shinato first arrived in Mill Grace, how envious she had been, listening to that fool of a boy describe the wonders of the harvest festival: the booming drums, the cheerful cries of merchants; the fragrance of barley ground into wine or pressed into flour; mischievous children darting around the village; elders and youth alike chattering noisily while feasting on delicacies, their laughter ringing out… All of it weaving together into a harvest celebration that felt like both gratitude and blessing for a bountiful year.
And so, for this first time, she resolved to enjoy every last drop of it—to make the festival even rowdier than ever. She skipped and twirled wherever she went, pausing at every stall, greeting every person she saw. She made sure that no one could possibly leave the festival unaware that Elista had been there.
The villagers were overjoyed at the sight of their princess. For in all these vast fields, Elista was their only native child. Her existence was so mysterious that, when adults spoke of the princess living in the wooden house under the hill, the children refused to believe it. They dismissed her as nothing more than a legend. Inevitably, they dared each other to venture close, claiming they would catch a glimpse of the red-haired ghost. With every retelling, the legend of the red-haired ghost grew darker, more terrifying.
Some swore they saw the ghost plowing fields, casually lifting massive stones as though they were feathers. Others insisted the ghost had a servant—a white-clad zombie. And whenever that zombie caused trouble for the ghost, bloodcurdling screams would echo across the valley.
Because of these tales, people at the festival split into two camps when they saw the little princess.
The adults, who already knew of her, shouted with joy. They shook her hands, hugged her tightly—the tiny bean of a child they remembered had now grown into a tall, stunning young woman. They adored her. If she craved squid skewers, they gave her a dozen. If she wanted cakes, she got the freshest from the oven. Elista devoured everything voraciously, swallowing like a bull. Had this not been the harvest festival, the entire village might well have starved because of her appetite.
The children, however, were terrified. Haunted by the tales of the red-haired ghost, they screamed when they saw her devouring everything in sight, convinced that the next thing the monster would eat would be them, not the treats at the stalls. They scattered in chaos, shrieking "The red-haired ghost!"—only to stumble upon the white-clad zombie trudging near. By the time they realized, the figure was already grinning, a smile far from friendly. The girls shrieked and burst into tears, while the boys dropped everything and bolted.
This chaotic scene accidentally fell into the weary gaze of Shinato. To him, this peace—this harmony of beings—was more precious than anything. Not only humans, but other races as well, were all present. Small adventurer parties had joined in, merchants from far lands gathered to trade. Lantern light painted the riotous scene in a glow of priceless splendor.
And yet, in Shinato's eyes, there was only her. She turned back to say something to him, and their eyes met. Above them stretched the star-studded night sky, the children, the lanterns… and Elista. She was radiant, like a goddess, stealing his breath in an instant. Shinato, who was used to seeing her in simple work clothes, was utterly transfixed by her ceremonial dress. He wished this night would never end—or, if it must, that the next year would hurry so he could carve this vision into his memory forever, as a masterpiece etched into his heart.
"Hurry, Shinato, the lanterns are about to rise! We'll be late!"
"I'm coming—the others are only just starting to gather them."
At the harvest festival, fireworks were not made of gunpowder, but of thousands of lanterns. They might be hung before shops, from the eaves of homes, or bought from stalls. Wherever they came from, each person contributed a lantern to the finale. Every lantern carried a wish. The greater the wish, the higher the lantern would rise. And when the time came, mages would ignite fireballs, triggering a chain of explosions that lit the sky like a thousand blazing flames beneath the stars.
Shinato and Elista each carried their lanterns. They hurried to the Askha River, flowing behind the village, embraced by fertile pastures where livestock thrived. Normally, villagers drew water here, washed clothes, even bathed—adventurers too poor for an inn often did the same. It was a picture of rustic, sometimes chaotic, daily life.
Between the village and the riverside stood an ancient shrine, dating back to the age of gods. Every domain ruled by a demigod had a grand temple honoring the deity of that land. For Mill Grace, that deity was Kaguen, the god of Chaotic Fire, the divine patron of this soil. All culture, crafts, and festivals revolved around fire. Kaguen embodied faith, prayed to for safety and harmony with the sacred flame.
Aside: The story of Kaguen. He was one of the Nine Great Gods, present since the dawn of the continent. He fought in the great war against the injustices of the primordial beings ruled by the ancient gods. Kaguen belonged to the elemental deities, the "new gods," who rose against the ancients—beings like Montaris, god of the mountains, and Druantia, goddess of forests and trees. From this war came the division of powers and races as they exist today—or so history claims.
The shrine of Kaguen was a relic of that glorious age, sustained by the flames of chaotic demigods. It never knew darkness, lit by the life force of its rulers. Only when no worthy heir remained would it fall dark. For that reason, apart from Elyndor—the capital of light, ruled by Goriath Crown, the demigod of illumination—Kaguen's shrine was the only other place never shrouded in night.
Tradition dictated that after the festival, everyone visited Kaguen's shrine to pray. Shinato and Elista were no exception. Swept along by the crowd, they entered the shrine, excitement shining in their eyes. For Elista, it was her first time standing before the supreme god of the land. For Shinato, it was his first time entering with the one he loved. They wandered bright candlelit corridors, mingled with the crowd, gazed at the legendary warriors, offered thanks to the demigods of ages past. Finally, they stepped into the main hall—the resting place of Kaguen. The chamber glittered with golden splendor. More than just a tomb, it was called Kaguen's Treasure, and rightly so.
"Are you okay, Elista? You look exhausted," Shinato asked anxiously. His worst fear seemed to be coming true.
"I'm fine… but I don't know why, the moment I entered Kaguen's hall, my body felt strangely drained," Elista forced a smile, sweat beading her beautiful face as if she were feverish.
"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have brought you here."
"It's all right. The outfit you gave me worked wonderfully. I can't believe I made it this far with you. I think it's just too many people—I'm not used to it. Let's find a place to rest."
So they left. Shinato shielded her with his body, pushing through the pressing crowd with one hand while holding Elista's hand firmly with the other. Normally strong and lively, she now looked fragile, as though she might collapse at the slightest bump.
Shinato cursed himself. He had trusted that old drunkard too easily, blinded by his excitement to attend the festival with Elista. He had lied to her about the outfit's true purpose.
The truth was, the outfit was made by green goblins from the forest, at Shinato's request. He had added his own cooling technology, a desperate attempt born of hope and his faith in science. He remembered clearly his conversation with his forest friends.
"You're really taking her into the heart of the village?"
"I don't know. Ortis said it would be fine, but I'm not sure I should ask her at all," Shinato sighed, twisting his hair, weighed down by indecision.
"If Ortis said so, then it'll be fine," Baroga replied, puffing on his pipe. As the goblin chief and Elista's foster father, Baroga must have felt lonely knowing his daughter would miss the goblin festival this year.
"Do you need help with your goblin festival?" Shinato scratched his head, guilty for stealing Elista away from her people.
"No need. Our festivals are always simple. I just worry she'd feel left out, so I asked. Truth is, she usually causes more trouble than help anyway—ha!" Baroga laughed, remembering how her "help" had nearly ruined past festivals.
"What about gathering canary eggs? Last year I sped things up with my suction machine, remember?" Shinato boasted.
"Thanks to you, we got less than a tenth of our usual haul. So do us a favor—toss that damned contraption aside and get out of here." Baroga spat to the side, scowling.
"But…" He paused. "What will you two wear to the humans' festival?"
"The usual."
"This is a human festival, boy. You'd have her go in farm clothes?"
Baroga sighed, baffled how his daughter could love such a fool. He opened his treasured chest and drew out a white ceremonial gown adorned with vivid cherry blossoms. Gently, almost reverently, he brushed the dust from it. In his eyes gleamed memory and sorrow. Slowly, he placed it in Shinato's hands—a priceless heirloom passed down like a treasure.
"This outfit… was it your wife's?"
"Hah! My wife could never fit into something this large. It belonged to my daughter—a warrior, brave and unyielding." Baroga's voice caught, silvered hair trembling with memory. "She is gone now, but her legacy remains. My wife wove this dress from the finest threads our people could gather. It is not only a relic of a hero but the labor of an entire village, a gift of love. I entrust it only to the chosen."
Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks, dripping onto the gown. Baroga's breath shook as grief clenched his throat. Stroking the fabric, he whispered as if bidding farewell:
"Go now. Leave this old man, and pass to her heir."
Shinato stood frozen. He knew nothing of the past, but he understood the priceless weight of what lay before him. Unsure if he even had the right to accept, it felt like robbing an old man.
But Baroga gently placed it in his arms, smiling with relief. At last, he had found someone worthy to wear what had long slept in his chest.
"I've heard it gets hot. Do you have any ideas to improve it?"
"Improve…? Are you serious? This thing is priceless!"
"Touch a single stitch wrong and you'll be stew tonight. But you're clever—find a way to adjust it."
"Adjust it? What do you think I am, a god?"
"You know I don't repeat myself. Find a way—or don't bother coming back."
"Feeling better, Elista? Can you breathe?" Shinato asked, leading her to a quiet corner of the shrine, worry etched on his face.
"I'm fine. This outfit you gave me is wonderful—I feel cool all over."
"Haha… I'm just glad you're happy."
The truth was, what cooled her wasn't the dress, but the hairpin he had crafted just for her. By gathering free energy and shaping airflow, it conjured breezes that kept her body cool. A small invention, but one Shinato was proud of. Yet he couldn't tell her. Perhaps it was shyness, or his wish to share credit with Baroga's magnificent dress. So he only smiled, quietly content.
"Let's go," Elista beamed, life returning to her face. She was like a red rose blooming anew, radiant with pride.
She pulled him along, while he trailed dreamily behind. Through clustered houses, past lantern-bearing crowds, they ran. Children's laughter rang, conversations buzzed, joy overflowed. A boy and a girl, hand in hand, hearts alight. They didn't need to release their lanterns to know their wishes. Both prayed the night would last forever—that these hours together would never fade.
The moment arrived. Lanterns rose on the wind, drifting into the deep night. The sky, once clad in stars, now donned a robe of fire. At first a few sparks, then a blaze that set the heavens alight. Countless tiny lanterns became the sky's new garment, carrying prayers to the gods, blessing the harvest.
Shinato released his lantern with a secret wish, cheeks flushed as he stole a glance at her. He saw her cradling her lantern with both hands, eyes shut tight, whispering softly. Then she opened them and set her wish afloat. Her eyes sparkled as she watched it join the others. A happy smile bloomed across her face.
Shinato, dazed, watched her every move, his own cheeks burning. He let go of his lantern, wishing nothing for himself—only that Elista's desire might come true.
They found refuge beneath an ancient banyan tree, away from the crowd. Neither dared meet the other's gaze. Words piled up unsaid, yet a single look would make their hearts explode.
Shinato fidgeted. He longed to speak, but couldn't begin. His eyes darted, his hand creeping across the grass toward hers. The closer he got, the faster his heart pounded, like war drums.
"Elista, I…"
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The roar of fireballs echoed from all sides. A lantern brushed one and ignited a chain reaction. The sky erupted in a dazzling display—flames bursting everywhere, thunderous explosions rolling across the hills, winds surging, children shrieking, applause booming. A perfect, radiant festival spectacle that left Elista wide-eyed in awe.
Every year she had watched the finale from the forest, but to stand here, so close, was sublime. Her ears rang, her eyes dazzled, her skin burned from the heat, yet her heart raced on.
She stood dazed, watching the embers rain down upon the fertile land. The acrid scent of smoke filled her lungs. What was this? A phoenix—reborn from ashes, descending from the heavens. Though cheers rang around her, something about this was not right.
Elista was suddenly pulled away so forcefully that she couldn't react in time. Before she could even gather her thoughts, thousands of people were rushing, hand in hand, fleeing from the plains behind them. Panic and fear filled the air, but Elista still couldn't understand what was happening.
"Shinato, what's going on? Why is everyone panicking?"
"The Fire Phoenix—it's coming. It's heading straight for us."
"The Fire Phoenix? But that's just a remnant…"
Before she could finish, Elista turned her head and pointed behind her, her face unable to hide her shock. A massive flaming bird was indeed hurtling toward them at terrifying speed. The air around it burned so hot that it scorched the grass far below. It was real, and it was flying straight for the great village of Mill Grace.
"This isn't good!" Shinato shouted, reaching behind his back to pull out the wooden board he had tied there.
He hurled the board forward, then turned, lifting Elista into his arms with all his strength before leaping onto the board. They surfed rapidly toward the village, where their guardian demigod was rushing at almost equal speed.
Ortis's pace was fast, but gradually slowed as the endless stream of people ahead of him made it impossible to accelerate further.
On the other side, Shinato faced the same problem. The crowd was too dense, making the path home harder than ever before. Chaos consumed everything, and in just a matter of seconds, everyone before and behind him might all be reduced to ash beneath the monstrous heat of the creature behind them.
But desperate times call forth heroes. Faced with impending annihilation, a group of mages from different adventurer parties broke away from the crowd. As if guided by telepathy, they stopped and began chanting spells together. Despite the panicked shoves, despite the blood-curdling screams, they conjured a powerful gust of wind to push back against the fiery beast.
The creature's wings faltered momentarily, but in an instant, it regained balance. With a single beat of its wings, it created a storm of flames that devoured the wind itself. Though fleeting, that moment had saved countless lives.
"Shinato and Elista, they're almost there. But those mages…"
No, there was no way they could escape in time. Those great mages had chosen to sacrifice their lives to buy only a few precious seconds for the rest. Shinato caught the sorrowful gaze of a female mage—her expression calm, but her eyes filled with heartbreaking pain.
Within that fleeting moment remained their entire world: comrades who had shared joy and hardship, loved ones, enemies, strangers they had just met yet felt bonded with for life. Did it matter if they would now turn to ash? Cries of despair echoed, mingling with maddened screams in the burning night. My friends, be happy. History would only remember them vaguely as "Mage 1, Mage 2, Mage 3…" But history be damned—if they lived on in the beautiful memories of their people, that was enough.
Ortis charged forward with all his might, empowered by the courage of the mages behind him. Yet even so, their deaths seemed inevitable. Thousands were saved through the power of fewer than a dozen brave mages. A demigod like Ortis felt so small in the presence of such people.
One by one, the mages fell—some to the unbearable heat that consumed all oxygen, others collapsing from depleted mana. They awaited death, each breath closer to the end.
But then—the creature seemed to slow. No, it was slowing down. Its scorching heat weakened, as if something was drawing its flames away. One mage lifted his head in astonishment, shouting in joy:
"Ortis, you really made it in time? Impossible—"
His words froze. Before their astonished eyes stood a young girl with blazing red hair, cradling another child in her arms. Her pure white armor absorbed the waves of fire pouring into her.
"Damn it, Elista! I'm here—damn it, damn it!" Ortis roared.
"Shinato, let me go!" Elista cried in alarm.
"What? Are you crazy? Do you realize what's coming for us?"
"There's a little girl back there—red hair!"
"A red-haired girl? What are you talking about?"
Shinato turned back. Aside from the fallen mages, no girl remained.
As if compelled by unseen hands, Elista leapt from Shinato's arms, rushing toward a helpless girl sobbing on the ground. Without hesitation, she shielded the child with her body, her back turned to the fiery beast. A strange warmth filled her, a gentle release for the heavy burden she always carried in her heart. This time, I did it. No more regrets.
This time? Has this happened before…?
Ortis dashed madly toward his daughter, pushing his body beyond its limits. He threw himself between her and the Phoenix, which, desperate against having its flames absorbed, bared its talons and struck.
KENGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
The clash rang out, followed by a wave of shock. Two monsters had collided, their fangs and claws meeting. Elista was thrown aside, clutching the child tightly. Nearby mages were blasted away, their fates unknown.
Blocking the killing blow aimed at his daughter, Ortis countered with a furious punch to the Phoenix's face, twisting it grotesquely. Its agonized scream echoed across the land. But it knew Ortis's weakness. With another furious beat of its wings, it unleashed a wall of flame. Ortis braced himself, shielding against the inferno, but the force still devoured everything behind him. He turned in horror—only to feel sharp claws rake a deep wound across his back. Ignoring the pain, he lunged forward, desperate to reach the fire before it was too late.
No… I'm too late again. The flames condensed into a massive sphere of energy, ready to engulf the village.
But then—from within the smoke, a transparent barrier rose. Shinato had activated his greatest invention, a shield he had spent five years creating. A translucent dome absorbed every element, every vibration. The mysterious light once thought useless now shone with incredible strength.
Inside the barrier, the villagers stood in awe, sheltered within a massive sphere surrounded by hellfire.
"What the hell is this?" Ortis muttered in disbelief.
"Focus, old man! Just buy me some time!"
Through the wall of flames, a figure emerged, racing toward the battle. Shinato, clad in bulky gear, burst from the smoke, both hands gripping an oversized weapon. He steadied himself, kneeling, resting the massive cannon on his shoulder, and pressed the trigger.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
A stream of water shot forth, a devastating blast that hurled Shinato backward, tumbling off his board.
"Please… let this work," he whispered before losing consciousness.
The water tore into the Phoenix, gouging a deep wound in its body. But instead of falling, the beast went berserk. Its frenzied attacks became unpredictable, forcing Ortis to dodge and block desperately.
This isn't good. I'll have to use my strongest strike. But a meteor would wipe out the entire village… Ortis glanced at the shield. His instincts told him it couldn't withstand such a colossal attack.
He swung desperately, each punch fierce but increasingly wild as his body weakened under the Phoenix's relentless assault.
Was this how it ended? Would Ortis fall here, defeated by this legendary creature? It was too strong, a god-level calamity unleashed. How could a mere demigod hope to defeat Kaguen's pet? His strength was borrowed—yet that wasn't reason enough to give up. Meteor—that was the only way. Shinato's plan must have counted on it. Would the shield hold? There was no more time…
But just as he prepared to unleash it, a miracle happened. The Phoenix froze, its blazing muscles spasming, its body beginning to collapse.
It had been driven into berserk frenzy, wasting all its strength on meaningless thrashing instead of finishing Ortis. Shinato's attack hadn't been ordinary water—it carried the energy of that mysterious light. It had pushed the Phoenix past its limits, then shattered it from within.
Now, the creature looked pitiful. Its fiery feathers burned out, it fell like a bird with broken wings, struggling helplessly to flee.
So the plan had never been about unleashing the strongest strike. Ortis only had to stall long enough for the energy to take hold.
Thud.
So gentle, the final blow pierced its skull. The once-mighty beast collapsed, its cries fading. No one could have predicted such an ending.
The clouds, which had silently borne witness to the battle, finally broke, releasing soft raindrops. The raging flames disappeared. The battlefield lay quiet, marked by blood and sacrifice.