Mist settled deep within the valley, thick and cold.
Yozaru walked slowly, feeling the damp soil cling to his boots.
In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of collapsed towers — the remains of ancient fortresses once powered by magic.
This path led to a place no one had ever returned from.
Going there was madness.
But a voice within him whispered,
"If no one else dares… then why shouldn't I?"
Long ago, during the Great War, a cruel king unleashed his own creations upon the world — beasts born from twisted magic.
When the war ended and the power of sorcery faded, those creatures did not vanish.
They evolved.
They learned.
Now they lived as part of the land itself — wild, cunning, and deadly.
Even the weakest of them could tear apart a man from the lower ranks without effort.
Yozaru knew this.
And yet, he did not turn back.
The settlements were protected by barrier spells — shields powered by the souls of mages who had sacrificed themselves generations ago.
Though weakened by time, they were still strong enough to keep the monsters at bay.
But Yozaru was the first to step beyond those walls.
He gripped the worn hilt of his father's blade, the weight of both steel and memory in his hand.
It wasn't a legendary sword — just old, dull metal.
Yet to him, it was more than a weapon.
It was a promise.
"I'll change this world."
The wind howled through the trees.
Something moved in the dark.
Yozaru's instincts flared; he drew his blade and slashed — only to strike a dead branch.
His heart pounded.
The feeling of being watched lingered like a breath on his neck.
"Maybe," he muttered, "it's time I learn what truly poisoned this world."
A faint pulse ran through his blade.
The magic inside it responded to his resolve.
He noticed — and for the first time that day, he smiled.
"So… you feel it too," he whispered.
"Then we walk together."
A flicker of light danced in his eyes.
He was no longer just a boy —
He was the spark born from the ashes of the valley.
And with steady steps, he moved forward,
into the heart of darkness.