The air was thick and damp—like a wet blanket clinging to the skin, suffocating. Rain was coming; I could feel it in the scent of the earth, mingled with the aroma of withered flowers and exhaust. This park was the only place in the city where I could still breathe, even if only for a moment. A soft wind whispered, carrying the distant hum of the city, almost imperceptible.
I hated this city.
Cliché? Perhaps. But it was the truth. The city felt like a grand theater—everyone wearing masks, performing roles they didn't even understand themselves. False smiles, hollow conversations, ambitions pressing down like stones. I had never felt truly alive here. Once, I believed living in a big city was a dream. Now I knew—it was an illusion, fading with time.
My name is Ziyan al-Fatih, a second-year high school student nearly invisible among thousands of unfamiliar faces.
Once, my family was respected. But five years ago, it all crumbled. My father was deceived, ruined, and then chose to end his life. Three years later, my mother followed—her body defeated by an illness she had long hidden.
Since then, I've lived with my uncle, Malik al-Fatih.
And the thing I despise most is myself.
When my father died, I did not cry.
When my mother left, I felt nothing at all.
As if something inside me had vanished—or perhaps it had never been there.
I never had many friends. At school, I was just a shadow drifting through the halls. They hated me, bullied me, and I… didn't care. Not angry. Not hurt. Just hollow.
That afternoon, I sat on a creaking wooden bench in the back garden of the school. The wind scattered dry leaves around me, carrying the sharp scent of wet soil. Children's laughter echoed faintly in the distance—like ghosts of a past that would never return.
Then… I saw her.
A woman sat on the bench across from me. Her hair caught the evening light, shimmering softly in the breeze. Her gaze was direct—sharp, yet strangely comforting. For some reason, I couldn't look away. My fingers clenched in my lap, as if holding myself still.
Perhaps fate. Or perhaps… something inside me compelled me to stand without realizing it.
"Excuse me?" My voice almost drowned in the rumbling sky.
She turned. A faint, thin smile—half believing I was really there.
"Ziyan?" she said softly. "You still remember me, it seems."
I froze.
"Sopia…?"
The name slipped out before I could stop it.
Sopia—my former English tutor.
I was ten then, and she only fifteen. Though close in age, she seemed older. Smart. Beautiful.
She was the only person I had ever admired.
"Weren't you supposed to go to America?" I asked, uncertain.
Sopia smiled. But this time, there was no light in her eyes. Her voice was heavy—like someone who had just lost something they could never reclaim. I glimpsed her fingers curling slightly, a subtle clench. Something she hid—a long-held wound, restrained with quiet strength.
"That was the plan," she said softly. "But sometimes… the place we most wish to avoid is exactly where we need to go."
There was an odd tone to her voice—calm, yet carrying something dark. I noticed a faint crease on her forehead, a single moment of weakness that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
I stared at her. "What happened to you?"
Sopia looked down, then shifted her gaze to the old building at the far end of the park. Moss covered its walls, windows gaping like empty eyes.
"Sometimes," she whispered, "some things are better left hidden."
A sudden gust swept through. Dry leaves spun into the air. Black clouds rolled across the sky, swallowing the colors of dusk. The scent of ozone stung sharply—signaling a storm arriving too soon.
Sopia glanced at the sky, then grabbed my hand. "Quick! Take cover over there!"
Her hand was cold. Too cold—an uncanny shiver ran up my spine, as if something foreign had been awakened inside me.
We ran through the first drops of rain toward the old building. Inside, the air was suffocating. The smell of rotting wood and dust filled my lungs.
"What is this place…?" I whispered.
"An old warehouse," she replied flatly. Yet her eyes never stopped scanning the room.
A vast, silent space. Moss consumed the walls, as if time itself had forgotten it. At the center stood an ancient wooden staircase, stretching upward, waiting to be touched after so many years.
We paused, listening to the rain's patter outside. But there was something else—soft, almost imperceptible, like a hiss of wind from above.
Or a whisper.
Sopia looked at the staircase with gleaming eyes—eyes I recognized. Even as my tutor, she had always been like this. Curious about things meant to remain untouched.
"You haven't changed," I muttered. "Still the same as before."
She gave a faint smile. "And you… always following, even while complaining."
I said nothing. She was right.
Each step up the staircase groaned beneath us. Dust fell from the cracked ceiling. Occasionally, I glanced at Sopia and caught that same spark of curiosity from long ago—a contagious habit that, somehow, had become a part of me.
Upstairs, the air grew cold. Every room we entered smelled only of age and forgotten things. Until finally—we arrived at a door.
The last door.
The air around it was heavy, almost hissing against my skin. My chest tightened, as if the room itself was watching. My heart raced, instincts screaming.
Sopia stood beside me. Her face was tense, but her eyes… too brave for my own fear. Once again, I caught a flash of grief—an old wound not yet healed.
She reached for the door handle. I instinctively stopped her.
"Don't, Sopia," I whispered. "Something's not right in here."
She glanced at me, eyes glimmering—a mix of fear and curiosity I had seen too many times before.
"Perhaps," she said softly. "But aren't you curious?"
I said nothing. That curiosity, like a sweet poison, crept slowly into my chest. A bad habit I had inherited from her.
I drew a deep breath. "Go ahead," I finally said.
Sopia gripped the handle. The hinges creaked—a long, drawn-out cry. Light flickered from the door's edge, pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
Then she pulled it open.
Inside stood a large cabinet. Its carvings were intricate, yet strange—symbols that felt alien, as if staring into something that should not exist in this world. From its crack, a faint light pulsed slowly.
"Sopia, don't—"
Too late.
She had opened it.
A black book lay inside. Its cover, like polished obsidian, shimmered dimly with a star-shaped symbol spinning slowly at its center.
The moment her fingers touched it, the air changed. Cold, oppressive, as if the world itself was holding its breath. My body trembled, skin crawling, every hair on my arms standing.
Light surged from the floors and walls, spiraling around us. The wind screamed. A strange vibration rattled my ears.
"Sopia!" I shouted, but my voice was swallowed. My body was dragged backward, trapped by an invisible wall.
Sopia stood rigid. The book clung to her hands, glowing—the symbol spinning faster. I tried to pull it, but the cold bit into my skin. Pain. Freezing to the bone.
Everything spun. The world cracked, pulled into a vortex of light. From its center emerged a dark rift—a door… to a place where even light feared to tread.
I fought, but my body was lifted, powerless. Air was sucked from my lungs, sounds around me faded, splintered, then vanished into a hollow hum.
I only had time to see Sopia's eyes—empty, yet somehow… pleading.
Then everything… disappeared.
---
The sky above was not the sky I knew—deep crimson with swirls of orange, moving like molten lava. Black stones beneath me radiated heat. In the distance, a river flowed—not water, but molten red, steaming into the air. The smell of sulfur burned my nose, making me gasp.
This world… felt alive. Every step made the air tremble, as if some unseen entity watched my every move. My breath came short, heart pounding—but awe clung to me, unstoppable—a mixture of fear and wonder.
Sopia lay not far from me. Her eyes scanned the alien sky, hair damp with steam rising from the ground. She tried to stand, knees weak. I pulled her behind a large rock, shielding her from the scorching wind.
"Ziyan…? What's happening…?" Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.
I shook my head, trying to steady my breath. "I don't know. But we need to find safety first."
I looked around. Vast fields of glowing flowers stretched endlessly—a beautiful nightmare. Red and gold blossoms glimmered, their scent cloyingly sweet, making my head spin. Mist crept down, obscuring vision, adding to the world's mystery. Each step produced a strange rustle from the ground, as if it were alive.
From the mist came laughter—soft, yet clear, like a wrong song. Small lights appeared, spinning like fireflies, then began to take form.
Fairies.
Tiny winged beings, glowing softly. Beautiful, almost dreamlike—but their eyes were sharp. Cold. Not friendly. Their aura demanded caution.
One hovered closer. Its voice was soft, yet laced with suspicion. "You… are not of this world. Your aura… is foreign. Who are you?"
Sopia stared, eyes shining with awe, forgetting her fear for a moment. "They… are beautiful," she whispered, genuinely amazed.
The fairies exchanged glances, confused. "Beautiful? Is that the name of your kind?" one asked suspiciously.
I straightened, trying to steady my trembling voice. "We… are humans."
The voice echoed through the mist, creating a strange resonance. Some fairies trembled, lights flickering like flames in the wind. They exchanged wary looks.
"Humans…?" one repeated, low, almost a whisper, yet deafening. "I have never seen your kind."
Another circled us carefully, watching for danger. Their bodies shimmered, but every movement was tense, ready for threat.
"Your bodies are strange… weak, yet something is different," it whispered, a trembling mix of fear and curiosity. "Perhaps new beings created by the Lord of Fire. Or… experiments of Aethel."
The light around the fairies began vibrating faster, sharp and piercing. The wind moaned, casting shadows and reflections that heightened the tension.
Sopia shook her head quickly. "No! We're not—"
Before she could finish, their wings erupted into sharp flashes—spinning shards of light, forming arcs and spears of fire. I felt the heat and pressure, skin nearly burning. Instinct screamed: run, before it's too late.
I grabbed Sopia's hand. "This way!" I shouted, pulling her as fast as I could. Heat lashed our backs, burning. Every streak of light made the air quiver, scorching nearby leaves.
We ran, pushing through the thickening mist. The lights pursued relentlessly, like living wrath. My chest burned, breath aflame—but we pressed on. Fear and wonder blended—this world felt alive, breathing, forcing us to move.
Then—everything stopped.
Silence. Air froze. Mist and trees vanished, as if erased. White stretched endlessly—no bounds, no direction. Only light—blinding, source unknown. A terrifying yet magical void consumed our sight.
From the distance came heavy footsteps. The mist shivered, then parted.
A black horse emerged from the glow—massive, imposing, its body gleaming like dark metal. Each step left smoldering embers fading slowly in the air. Its eyes reflected silver, piercing… as if seeing deep into me.
I could not move. Between fear and awe, I stood frozen, letting its gaze pierce my soul.
Then, without opening its mouth, a deep, resonant voice filled my mind—vibrating, tangible, as if the world itself spoke:
"Welcome to Muspelheim—the world of fire that knows no mercy."
"I am the Guardian of the Hero Story."