The festival grounds no longer rang with laughter. Where lanterns once glowed, only smoke trailed. Where children had cheered, only silence hung, heavy as stone.
Riku's ears still rang with the chaos of his awakening. His legs dragged as two cloaked Enforcers flanked him, one on each side, their gloved hands gripping his arms. He didn't resist — not because he was obedient, but because he couldn't find his breath. His chest burned with leftover sparks, the echoes of power he didn't understand still jittering under his skin.
The villagers stood in two uneven lines as he was marched through the wreckage of the festival. Their faces were pale, eyes wide and afraid, as though they were watching a condemned man walk to the gallows. Some mothers pulled their children closer, whispering sharp warnings Riku couldn't make out. Others stared with a strange reverence, as though what had just happened was a miracle they weren't worthy to look upon directly.
And there, near the broken stage, his parents stood frozen. His father's calloused fists were clenched, trembling, but he didn't move. His mother's lips parted as if to call his name, but no sound came. Riku searched their eyes, desperate for something — comfort, anger, anything human. All he saw was hesitation. Fear.
His throat tightened. Why don't they stop them? Why don't they say anything?
The Enforcer on his right gave a small shove, urging him forward. Riku stumbled but kept walking, bare feet crunching on the gravel path that led out of the square. Every step away from the village felt like leaving behind not just home, but the version of himself that had existed until tonight.
He heard the whispers trail behind him.
"Prism… it can't be."
"Didn't they die out centuries ago?"
"No, worse… they destroyed themselves."
"Dangerous. Unstable. Cursed."
Each word stabbed deeper than the last.
The Enforcers themselves said nothing, their masks hiding any trace of expression. They wore dark, close-fitting coats reinforced with silver threads that shimmered faintly with Soul energy. Each step they took was unnervingly silent, as if the earth itself yielded to them.
As they left the festival behind, the forest swallowed them whole. Shadows pooled between the towering trees, their leaves whispering in the night wind. Fireflies darted around like fragments of lost lantern light, mocking the silence Riku couldn't escape.
Finally, one of the soldiers spoke. His voice was low, gravelly.
"The last recorded Prism sighting was… how long ago?"
The other answered with detached calm.
"Three hundred years. The fall of the Shattered Citadel. We thought the bloodline consumed itself."
"Yet here we are." A pause. "Alive, unstable, and in the hands of a boy."
Riku's stomach twisted. They didn't even bother lowering their voices. To them, he wasn't a person. He was a specimen.
"I can hear you," Riku muttered, surprising even himself with how hoarse his voice sounded.
Neither Enforcer turned. The one on his right merely replied, "Good. Then you'll understand why silence is better than protest."
He clenched his jaw, bitterness searing hotter than the remnants of Soul-light flickering in his veins. He wanted to scream that he hadn't chosen this. That he hadn't asked for his body to split apart into impossible reflections. That all he'd wanted tonight was to watch the fireworks with his friends and maybe sneak extra dumplings before his mother noticed.
Instead, here he was — dragged like a criminal through the forest night.
The trees thinned, and the faint glow of moonlight spilled across an open clearing. That was when Riku saw it.
The Soul Carriage.
It stood in the center of the clearing, its body not wood or iron but a crystalline frame, grown rather than built. The carriage shimmered faintly with hues that shifted like oil on water — blue, violet, green, never the same twice. It pulsed softly, alive, resonating with some quiet rhythm like a heartbeat.
Two great beasts were harnessed at the front — not horses, but spectral constructs. Their forms were carved from pale mist, skeletal frames visible beneath their glow. Each step they took made the air ripple, like water disturbed. They weren't alive in any sense Riku knew. They were Souls bound into form.
He froze at the sight, a chill crawling across his skin. This was no ordinary transport.
One of the Enforcers finally removed his mask, revealing a scarred jaw and hard eyes. His gaze cut into Riku like a blade.
"Get inside."
Riku's feet refused to move. For a heartbeat, rebellion surged — the urge to bolt into the trees, to vanish before they could lock him away. His muscles tensed.
But the other Enforcer's hand tightened on his arm, pressure like iron bands. "Do not test the chains of fate, boy."
Riku swallowed hard, his throat dry. His resentment burned, but so did fear. What lay inside that carriage? What lay beyond this night?
He cast one last glance at the village in the distance, faint lantern lights still flickering between the trees. For a moment, he swore he saw Hana's silhouete standing at the edge of the square, unmoving. He wanted to call out, but the words died in his chest.
The Enforcers shoved him forward. The crystalline doors of the Soul Carriage yawned open, glowing with faint, cold light. The air inside smelled sharp, metallic, tinged with energy that made his skin prickle.
"Move," the scarred Enforcer ordered.
Riku's legs felt like lead as he climbed the steps. The inside was darker than he expected, shadows rippling across crystal walls that pulsed faintly, alive. It was like stepping into the ribcage of some slumbering beast.
And then the doors closed.
The sound rang final, a resonant clack that seemed to echo far longer than it should.
The hum inside the carriage was impossible to ignore. It wasn't a normal carriage. The walls of crystalline lattice pulsed faintly, veins of light crawling through them as though the entire structure had been grown rather than built. Every pulse vibrated softly in Riku's bones, like the steady beat of a heart that wasn't his.
He sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped tight around his knees. The glow cast faint shadows across his face, and every flicker of color reminded him of the chaos he'd unleashed earlier — crimson flares, shards of ice, threads of lightning spiraling out of control. His stomach turned. He pressed his forehead against his arms.
Why me?
The silence stretched on too long. His breathing sounded too loud, every breath bouncing back off the crystal walls. Outside, the faint clink of harness chains and the spectral beasts' steps marked their steady march through the night.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Riku jerked upright.
It wasn't the scarred commander. This one was younger — maybe in his early twenties. His mask hung loose around his neck, revealing softer features and tired eyes. He stepped inside, careful, as if wary of startling Riku. The door clicked shut behind him.
"You're not chained," the enforcer said quietly, taking a seat across from him. "That's a good sign."
Riku's brow furrowed. "A good sign? You dragged me away from my home. Everyone looked at me like I'm cursed. And you're saying that's good?"
The man held his gaze but didn't rise to the heat in his words. "I didn't say it's fair. Only that it could be worse. The commander—he's the type to shackle first, ask questions later. I convinced him otherwise."
The humming walls seemed to buzz louder at that, as though they approved of honesty. Riku wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or resentful. His fists clenched. "Then why am I here at all? I didn't… I didn't even do anything on purpose."
The enforcer leaned back, exhaling. His eyes softened. "Because you're not just anything. You're a Prism."
That word again. Prism. Spoken like both curse and miracle.
Riku bit back a surge of anger. "I don't even know what that means! I'm a Concept type — I thought I could shape ideas, bend them. That's what my teacher said. So why did everything… split apart?"
The enforcer's mouth twitched, like he was debating how much truth to share. At last, he spoke.
"Concept Souls are rare. They let their wielders tap into the essence of ideas themselves. You could have been a Mimic, or an Origin, or even an Echo… manageable enough. But Prisms?" He shook his head. "They were supposed to be extinct. Not just rare. Gone."
"Extinct?" Riku whispered.
"Too unstable," the man said quietly. "Too impossible. They refract reality itself into pieces. For centuries, no one has seen one survive long enough to master it. Most burn out. Some… worse." His voice trailed off.
Riku swallowed hard, throat aching. "Then why me?" His voice cracked, raw. "Why was I born like this? I didn't ask for it. I didn't want this!"
For a long time, the enforcer didn't answer. His gaze dropped to the glowing floor. Only the hum of the carriage filled the space between them.
Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost reluctant.
"Concepts don't choose. They are chosen."
The words lodged deep, heavy in Riku's chest. He didn't understand them, not fully — but they felt final, like a sentence passed down by something far larger than either of them.
The silence stretched again, thicker now, pressing down like the weight of the crystal walls. Riku wanted to scream, to pound on the walls until they shattered, to run back to the life that was slipping further with every turn of the spectral beasts' hooves.
But before he could speak again, the carriage lurched.
Not the smooth sway of a turn. A violent jolt that nearly threw Riku from his seat. The walls groaned as the entire construct tilted sideways, then snapped back upright with a sickening crack.
"What—?" Riku gasped, gripping the edge of the bench.
The enforcer was already on his feet, hand snapping to the hilt of his blade. His expression hardened in an instant. "Stay down."
From outside came a sound that didn't belong on any road — a guttural snarl, deep and hungry, followed by the shriek of steel meeting steel. The spectral beasts screamed, their voices hollow, inhuman.
Another impact slammed into the side of the carriage. Crystalline shards cracked, the walls flickering violently. Sparks rained from the glowing veins as if the construct itself were bleeding.
Through the wall, faint shadows moved. Figures leaping, masked, blades in hand.
Riku's pulse raced. "Who—?"
The enforcer's jaw tightened. "Soul Rogues. Carrion hunters. They prey on rare sparks… and they must've scented yours."
The words chilled him more than the night air. He pressed back against the wall, panic surging. His hands trembled, unwanted sparks crackling at his fingertips.
The carriage rocked violently again, nearly toppling. The sound of claws scraping crystal echoed, and then—
The night shattered with the clash of steel.
The crystalline carriage split open in a blaze of sparks, shards of glowing soul-glass scattering across the ground like broken stars. Riku barely had time to shield his face before masked figures poured in from the treeline, their blades gleaming with raw Soul-infused fire.
The Enforcers reacted instantly. The commander's voice thundered like an iron bell:
"Form the ring! Protect the prisoner!"
Prisoner.
The word struck Riku like another blade. He curled into the corner of the ruined carriage, heart hammering, breath shallow. The festival—the laughter, the warmth—felt like a distant dream now buried beneath screams and firelight.
The Rogues moved with feral precision, their faces hidden behind cracked masks of bone and iron. One vaulted onto the roof of the shattered carriage, cutting downward with a jagged weapon that hissed like a saw tearing through glass. Two Enforcers met him in midair, blades locking with a flare of sparks that lit the forest like lightning.
"Stay back, boy!" one shouted over his shoulder, though his voice was already strained under the Rogue's assault.
Riku's hands trembled. He wanted to move, to help, to do something, but the memory of what he had unleashed at the festival chained him still. The shards of light, the impossible fracture in reality—his very existence had left people terrified.
I'll only make things worse.
The commander strode into the fray, cutting a path with grim authority. His blade was a slab of blackened steel, every strike carrying the weight of years. He moved like a man who had fought wars before Riku was born. When one Rogue dared step in his path, the commander's strike cleaved through the air, throwing the masked man against a tree with bone-snapping force.
Then—out of the forest shadows—another figure appeared.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his mask darker than the others, etched with twisting sigils that pulsed faintly red. He carried no weapon, only his hands—yet the very air distorted around them, bending like heated glass.
The commander stopped, lowering his blade to guard. "You," he muttered. His tone carried recognition—and disgust.
The Rogue leader tilted his head. His voice rasped, low and cutting: "A Prism hasn't walked this world in centuries. You think I'd let him vanish into your vaults?"
Riku's breath caught. The leader's masked gaze turned toward him, and in that instant, Riku felt like prey marked by a predator older than time.
"Do not touch him!" the commander roared, lunging forward.
Steel met bare hands. The impact shook the ground, sending cracks racing through the soil, rattling the spectral beasts that strained against their crystalline harness. The leader laughed, his voice carrying that unbearable rasp.
All around them, Enforcers and Rogues tore into each other. The air stank of burnt ozone, weapons glowing as Souls clashed. A scream split the night, cut short by the sound of steel piercing flesh.
Inside the broken carriage, Riku's chest heaved. Every crash, every cry, echoed in his skull until it blended with whispers from memory.
"Danger…"
"Ruin…"
"Prisms destroy everything they touch."
"No," Riku gasped, clutching his head. "I don't want this—I didn't ask for this!"
But his Soul didn't listen.
The hum returned—low, resonant, like a thousand bells tolling inside his bones. The broken shards of the carriage around him vibrated, catching stray moonlight and refracting it in unnatural colors. The air rippled.
And then it happened.
A single shard of light slipped free—an arc that cut across the battlefield with surgical precision. It sliced through one Rogue's blade as if it were butter, continuing into his chest. The man collapsed, mask splitting in two, eyes wide in silent disbelief.
Everything stopped.
The Enforcers froze mid-strike. The Rogues recoiled in unison. All eyes snapped toward the carriage, toward Riku.
"The boy…" one Rogue hissed.
"The Prism…" another whispered, almost reverent.
And then chaos ignited anew.
"He's the prize!"
"Take him alive!"
"No—secure him for the Soul Court!"
Their words tore at him, each one more suffocating than the last. Prize. Prisoner. Weapon. Never Riku.
The resonance inside him swelled. Light fractured out in shards, bending the forest itself. For a split second, the trees around them weren't trees but jagged silhouettes of impossible landscapes—endless skies filled with floating rings of crystal, oceans boiling with starlight, fragments of eternity bleeding into reality.
Riku's knees buckled. His vision swam. "Make it stop…"
But no one heard.
An Enforcer shouted for backup. A Rogue lunged. The commander and the leader clashed again, their Souls colliding in shockwaves that tore bark from trees.
Riku stumbled out of the wreckage, dazed, clutching his chest. His body felt like it was tearing apart from the inside—light spilling through the cracks. He didn't even notice the Rogue until it was too late.
A rough hand seized his collar, yanking him down into the dirt. His back slammed hard, the breath knocked out of him. A mask filled his vision, cracked and smeared with blood, eyes burning with greed.
The Rogue's hand pressed to his throat, heavy, suffocating. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move.
The Rogue's grip tightened on Riku's throat, stealing his breath. His vision blurred, spots of white bursting in his sight. The man's voice slithered into his ear—
"With you, boy… the world will burn bright."
And then the world itself shuddered.
A roar like thunder split the night as the commander surged forward, his entire body igniting with Soul force. His blade was gone—he needed no steel now. The Concept around him bent and screamed, the very air folding under pressure. He raised his arm, and with a single gesture, unleashed devastation.
The ground erupted in a spiral of force, a shockwave tearing through the Rogues like an unseen storm. The man on Riku's chest was flung backward, crashing into the shattered remains of the crystalline carriage. The others staggered, shields and weapons snapping like twigs beneath the commander's strike.
For one moment, the battlefield froze. Everyone—Rogues and Enforcers alike—felt it. The commander's Concept wasn't just power; it was dominance, absolute and crushing.
Riku coughed, clutching his throat as he scrambled back, eyes wide. "Wh-what was that…?"
The younger Enforcer from before muttered, almost in awe, "That's… a Concept. The commander is bending the law of force itself."
The commander stood tall, his shadow stretched long by the fractured glow of the shattered carriage. His voice boomed with command, not explanation:
"Scatter, you wretches. You face more than you can carry!"
The leader of the Rogues caught himself, his mask cracked, his stance steadying. He hissed, lifting a hand as though to signal retreat. His followers snarled in protest, but the leader's voice cut like glass:
"Enough. This hunt isn't done. The Prism belongs to us… and we will return."
With that, the Rogues slipped back into the forest, masks vanishing into the dark like phantoms dissolving into shadow. Only the corpses they left behind—still, broken—proved they had been there at all.
The night fell eerily silent. Only the strained breaths of the Enforcers, and the faint hum of the crystalline fragments, broke the stillness.
Riku sat in the dirt, trembling. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His mind replayed the image of the man he'd cut down—his light slicing through chest and mask. Not a monster, not a beast—just a man. A man whose eyes had widened with shock before the life drained out.
"I… I killed him…" Riku whispered, his voice hollow. "I didn't mean to… I didn't even—"
The commander's boots crunched against the soil as he strode over, towering above him. His gaze was sharp as steel, a mixture of disdain and calculation.
"You can't even grasp what you are," he said flatly, "and yet you can tear reality's weave with a thoughtless scream."
Riku flinched, forcing himself to look up. "I didn't ask for this! I don't even understand what's happening!"
The commander's eyes narrowed. "Then listen, boy. What you touched tonight—what you are—is Soul itself. The essence that gives form to will, shaping the world. Some wield it as fire, some as steel, some as illusions. These are Sub Types. But Concepts…"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into something like reverence, though weighed with threat.
"Concepts are not skills. They are the most powerful Base Type. A Concept user does not simply wield a weapon—they wield inevitability."
Riku's breath hitched. The commander's earlier display—how the air itself had folded and crushed—suddenly made sense. Not magic, not a trick. A law rewritten.
The young Enforcer added quietly, almost sympathetically, "That's why Prisms… why you're different. Too unstable. Too impossible. You don't hold one law—you fracture them. Every glimpse, every surge, is reality breaking into mirrors."
Riku shook his head violently. "No. No, I don't want that. I just… I just wanted to enjoy the festival…" His voice cracked, the weight of the night finally crashing down.
But the commander did not soften. Instead, he reached to his belt, pulling forth a length of glowing, spectral chain. The links shimmered with shifting light, etched with runes that pulsed faintly, humming in harmony with Riku's very bones.
The boy recoiled. "What—what is that?"
"Chains of Restraint," the commander replied, his tone cold. "Forged to bind anomalies like you. They will dampen your surges until you are contained."
"No!" Riku scrambled back on hands and heels, but two Enforcers seized him by the arms. He thrashed, desperate, panic flooding every nerve. "Please—I'm not a weapon! I don't want this!"
The commander's eyes remained like stone. "Want has nothing to do with what you are."
The chains wrapped around his wrists and chest, glowing as they tightened. At once, the resonance within him dimmed, muffled like a storm sealed behind glass. The hum that had been building in his body all night fell to a faint vibration, leaving him hollow and weak.
Riku collapsed forward, gasping, his body trembling under the weight of the restraint. The commander finally turned his back, speaking to his men. "The carriage is lost. We march to the capital on foot. No delays."
The Enforcers set about recovering what they could—supplies, weapons, the few fragments of the carriage still intact. The spectral beasts dissolved into mist, their purpose severed with the destruction of the construct.
The forest was quiet again, but the silence was heavy, as though it too watched.
Riku rose unsteadily, chains glowing faintly at his wrists and across his chest. Every step felt heavier than the last—not because of the physical weight, but because each movement pulled him further from everything he had known. The laughter of the festival. The warmth of home. His parents' frozen, fearful faces.
Now there was only the night, the trees stretching endlessly, and the glow of the chains that marked him as something less than human.
The commander walked at the front, his stride unyielding. Behind him, the Enforcers carried torches that cast long shadows. And in the middle of them, dragged forward like cargo, Riku walked with his head down, the glow of his bindings the only reminder of what he was becoming.
He whispered to himself, too soft for anyone to hear:
"…Am I… really a monster?"
The chains pulsed once, faintly, as if answering.
And the boy named Riku took another step into the dark road of fate, leaving his home behind forever.