A young man with black hair and black eyes sat alone at a table just outside a small cafe, staring endlessly at the empty plate where his dessert had once been. He wouldn't normally waste money on something so trivial. Dessert had always seemed frivolous, an indulgence for people with time to spare and credits to burn. But today… today was different.
It was January First.
His birthday.
And, like a cruel joke, it was also the day of the Harvest.
Lune stared at the empty plate a little longer, letting the bitter tang of regret settle on his tongue. The sweet, artificial cream had been a poor imitation of the real thing, but for a moment, it had almost been worth it.
"I guess it's time…" he thought, the words tasting like ash.
He let out a deep sigh, pushed back his cheap plastic chair, and stood. The streets were already stirring, thrumming with a nervous, fearful energy. People flowed like a grim river toward the Old City Square, their faces pale and drawn under the muted, artificial glow of the city's dome-lights. Parents clutched their children with trembling arms. Officials in crisp uniforms hurried past, barking hollow encouragement that was swallowed by the chill, recycled air.
Lune watched them for a moment. Some of the children, or rather young adults, were crying quietly, while others stared straight ahead, their small faces stoic as if already accepting what was about to happen. He could feel the collective dread, a physical pressure in the air. Then, with a reluctance that weighed down his every step, he joined them.
The streets were dimly lit, the dome above faintly glinting with a simulation of a sky that had died centuries ago. It had been hundreds of years since the sun was died out. Its brilliant light had vanished, leaving humanity in an endless, starless shadow. But that absolute darkness didn't last long—somewhere above, a new, terrible light had appeared.
And as Lune turned the corner, he saw it.
The Tree.
A colossal, impossible thing that dwarfed the tallest spires of the city. Its silver trunk looked to be able to hold up the heavens, so vast it seemed to warp reality around it. Branches, like cracks of lightning frozen in time, spread across the dome, fracturing the sky above. There were no leaves, only fragments of brilliance drifting down like dying embers. And from those branches hung the fruit—luminous, pulsating orbs of pale light in a world that had long forgotten what warmth felt like.
It was the Soul Devouring Tree… or at least that's what everyone called it.
He had seen it countless times before. Yet each time, the air grew still and the world held its breath just for him to look. Even now, jostled by the silent crowd, he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was beautiful, in a way that made your chest ache with terror.
His gaze dropped to the crowd. Families clung to their children, their embraces desperate and futile. Orphans stood alone, arms wrapped around themselves as if they could physically hold onto theiur souls. The officials' encouragements were just noise now, meaningless static against the looming ritual.
But the Tree was not alone.
A deep tremor ran through the ground. Lune's eyes were dragged upward—there, below the Tree, a second figure stirred.
The Arbiter.
Its skin was as white as a bone, its hair a fall of pure ash. A black cloak shrouded a frame taller than the city's tallest building. Its long hair swayed faintly, though no wind stirred the dead air. No one had ever seen its face. Many had tried. Those who strayed too close… simply weren't there anymore.
It spent most of the year kneeling beside the tree like a porcelain statue.
But now, with a precision as cold and absolute as the void itself, the Harvest was beginning.
The Arbiter's movements were fluid and horrifically deliberate. It raised a pale, slender hand toward the nearest fruit.
The crowd froze. Even the hum of the city's ventilation systems seemed to die.
Lune's thumb instinctively found the worn crown of the old mechanical watch on his wrist.
09:59:59
The second hand ticked forward.
Snap!
The fruit broke from the branch with a sound that was both soft and deafening.
The Arbiter held the shimmering orb for a heartbeat before it crumbled into a whirlwind of incandescent ash, its light swallowed by the Tree's greater glow.
Lune's eyes darted back to the crowd.
All around him, every eighteen year old dissolved into that same glowing ash, slipping through desperate fingers, vanishing from embraces and disappearing from this world.
A mother screamed, clutching at empty air. Countless items clattered on the ground. He wanted to look away. He wanted to close his eyes. But his body refused to obey.
Finally, his gaze was pulled back to the Tree. The Arbiter had already returned to its knees, sitting with a calmness of a fulfilled purpose. Its cloak pooled around it like a spill of midnight. Its hair cascaded over unmoving shoulders.
Then, Lune's vision turned dark.
He felt his body unravel. There was no weight, no ground, no sense of up or down. He was less than a ghost.
And in that nothingness, a voice, faintly familiar and utterly alien, echoed in the confines of his mind:
[Welcome to the Realm Beyond. Your First Expedition Starts now…]