The continent of Valoria lived in a terrifying calm, that didn't brought any comfort, but rather the sense that something long buried was about to rise again from the ashes. Only a few months ago, a catastrophe had shaken the land, tearing it apart and dimming the sun for two whole days. And from that ruin, a new generation began to rise… the generation that was born from war and destruction.
In the Empire of Zitara, a boy trained with his swords, his eyes gleaming like lightning as he swore to change the world. And on the island of Orakano, another boy stared at the sky, plotting his own journey. Neither they knew that no matter how far their paths diverged, they would end in the same place.
Far from all that ruin, in the east of the continent… where palaces towered above rivers of molten fire, and it was said that even the air itself bowed in fear because of the one who lived there… and rolled the Kingdom of Kaji, the land of flame and the home of the king who knew no fear: Cirrus.
The crimson dusk spilled over the royal palace towers, staining its walls more with blood than the light. The atmosphere was silent, until a thunderous bell rang, shaking the walls, followed by a tense announcement through the loudspeakers:
"Immediate evacuation! The army of Makia is at the main gate! The palace is under attack!"
Inside, in the scarlet throne hall, King Cirrus sat upon his red throne adorned with gold and fire. One leg crossed over the other, his elbow rested lazily on the armrest, and his calm expression carried the look of a man bored with the world itself.
His crimson hair was wild, like tongues of untamed flame. A deep scar shaped like an "X" carved across his left cheek, granting him an unforgettable and regal menace. His gray eyes were lifeless, devoid of any human warmth.
The doors burst was open. A pale-faced guard rushed while he's gasping for breath.
"Your Majesty Cirrus… Makia's soldiers have breached the palace gardens! They're coming here!"
A few moments of silence… then Cirrus exhaled softly, as if what he heard was not more than a dull inconvenience. He stood up slowly but heavy, each step from him was echoing like the earth itself bowed beneath him.
In a quiet tone, he said:
"As usual… Makia never gets bored of sending his dogs in my way."
His words were cold, and something in his voice made the guard tremble without knowing why. It wasn't anger… it was certainty. The certainty that disaster was about to strike.
Cirrus walked out of the hall without any armor, without army, without even a sword. To him, the upcoming battle was merely a short walk before dinner.
In the outer courtyard, Makia's army stood in tense formation, their black armor gleaming under the dusk. The ground shook with their steps, until a sound stopped them all… a heavy footsteps.
From the palace gates, Cirrus appeared. He stood upon the stone steps, the wind was playing with his fiery hair. His calm face carried a threat greater than fear itself. His gaze lifted toward the crowd, then looked on a massive man in the front, wearing polished black armor and holding a heavy firearm.
The commander shouted with an amplified voice that contained fury more than courage:
"Cirrus! By order of Emperor Makia, this palace is ours! Surrender, and your death will be swift!"
Cirrus gave a cold, inhuman smile. He stepped forward… once, twice. Each footstep struck the marble like a heartbeat of doom. The soldiers began to retreat… not by choice, but by instinct that's born of fear itself.
Only the commander stood normally, his weapon was trembling in his grasp while he tried to hide his fear. Then… in a second… Cirrus vanished.
A soldier screamed:
"What the—?!"
Before anyone could react, Cirrus was standing right before the commander, close enough that his breath fogged the man's visor. His ashen eyes carried a deathly stillness.
He said in a sharp voice as a blade:
"Did you say… you would take my palace?"
He slowly raised his hand and placed it upon the commander's head. The man couldn't move, couldn't scream. Even the air held its breath. Cirrus pressed lightly… as if he was testing how fragile his skull was. Then, in a flash, the head was gone.
The body collapsed. Cirrus held the head for a moment, stared into the frozen mask of terror, then dropped it. It rolled down the steps, leaving a trail of blood beneath the king's feet.
Cirrus spoke in the same quiet killing tone:
"Tell Makia… I don't accept gifts twice."
No one spoke. The soldiers froze like statues, their faces drained of color. In that moment, Cirrus wasn't just a king… he was a terror incarnate.
Moments later, and the army staggered back. Some dropped their weapons, others gasped in panic. Cirrus advanced, a flames were flickering in his palms, rotating slowly like predators awaiting the kill.
His voice came deep, echoing like something from the abyss:
"Who's next?"
No one answered. Some soldiers turned and fled, others stood paralyzed as if their souls had already been torn from their bodies.
The vice commander tried to stand firm, but his trembling hands betrayed him. His eyes fixed on his leader's severed head that was still bleeding. He shouted with a little strength remained:
"Cowards!! Where do you think you're going?! Fire! Shoot him now!!"
His words vanished into the air. None moved until he swung his arm violently and screamed again:
"Aim for his heart! Now!!"
A volley of rifles aligned at once. Bullets tore through the air toward the king's chest. Cirrus didn't move. He didn't flinch, didn't blink. His eyes burned red, as though the fire within him had awakened, craving blood.
He smirked faintly and said in a chillingly calm tone:
"I've grown tired of this farce."
The ground around him ignited at once. Flames erupted from beneath his feet, the heat was twisting the air itself. The bullets melted at the middle before reaching him.
Cirrus lifted his hand slowly, releasing a massive surge of fire… a living inferno that devoured everything in its path: the earth, the air, and the men.
Screams filled the courtyard. Soldiers burned where they stood, armor melting into their flesh. Others collapsed before a single sound could escape their throats.
The vice commander was the last one standing, half his body was charred, gasping through smoke. He lifted his head weakly and saw Cirrus walking towards him through the fire, as if the flames bowed to him in reverence.
When Cirrus reached him, he stared coldly and whispered:
"You spoke boldly a moment ago… but your heart tells me that you lied."
Before the man could answer, Cirrus struck. His hand pierced through the man's chest and emerged from his back, clutching his heart that was still beating. He raised it before his eyes, and the heart was beating in his palm.
"Your last words?"
"Imp… possible…"
Cirrus clenched his fist. The heart turned to ash. The body fell without any sound. He flicked his hand, shaking off the blood as though it were dirt, then wiped it clean with his crimson cloak in disgusted calm.
The remaining soldiers didn't fight. Their eyes widened, their faces pale.
"He's… he's a demon!! Run!!!"
Panic turned to chaos. The army scattered, and started tripping and screaming. Amid the madness, Cirrus watched while he laughed quietly… he laughed a dark, regal laugh, dripping with mockery.
"Is that all you've got, Makia? Pathetic, you flabby old man."
When more than half the invading army were burned, silence fell over the courtyard like a heavy shroud. Only drifting ash and charred corpses remained. Cirrus walked through the carnage with calm steps, as though treading was not on the dead bodies, but on the remains of yesterday.
His expression stayed unchanged. The flames behind him still burning, but none dared to touch his shadow.
At the grand gates, the royal guards stood frozen, their faces caught between loyalty and fear. Some couldn't look at him; others stared blankly at the corpses, trying to convince themselves that what they saw wasn't done by human hands.
Cirrus ascended the marble stairs slowly. At the top, he turned his gaze to one guard beside the door. Just one look from him made the man tremble.
In a low calm tone, he said:
"Clean up the mess."
It wasn't a request. It was an order The guard swallowed his saliva, then bowed, stammering:
"Y-yes, your majesty!"
Cirrus continued walking without looking back, he entered the grand halls of the palace, and finally reached the throne room. He sat upon his throne, the sunset reflected in his eyes. Slowly, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Not in rest, but in the exhaustion of a man who had stopped being surprised by life from a long time ago.