The night Kazuka's world ended did not begin with screams.
It began with silence.
A heavy, unnatural silence pressed down on the mountain village of Arashima, smothering the chirping of insects and the whisper of the wind. Lantern flames trembled without breeze, casting warped shadows along the wooden paths. Even the stars above seemed dimmer, as if afraid to watch.
Kazuka felt it before he understood it.
His chest tightened as he stepped outside his family's home, bare feet touching the cold earth. He was sixteen—too old to believe in childish fears, too young to ignore the warning pounding in his blood. The night air tasted sharp, metallic, wrong.
"Kazuka!" his mother called softly from inside. "Don't wander. It's late."
"I know," he replied, forcing calm into his voice.
But his eyes were already drawn upward.
The sky was changing.
Dark clouds spiraled slowly, unnaturally, as though pulled by an invisible hand. At their center, the moon flickered—whole one moment, fractured the next. Thin red lines crept across its surface like veins under pale skin.
The elders had stories about skies like this.
Stories no one spoke aloud.
Kazuka's hand clenched into a fist.
A distant horn echoed from the village gate.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
An alarm.
People poured from their homes, confusion turning to fear as the sound carried across the valley. Torches flared to life. Children cried. Somewhere, a dog began barking wildly, then stopped mid-sound.
Kazuka's father emerged beside him, already gripping his old blade. The metal was worn, its edge nicked from years of hunting, but his father held it like a soldier preparing for war.
"Inside," his father said. Not a request.
"What's happening?" Kazuka asked.
His father didn't answer.
The ground trembled.
At first it felt like thunder beneath their feet, but thunder did not crack stone. A deep裂—crack—split the air as the earth near the outer fields collapsed inward. Darkness poured from the wound like smoke.
Then something climbed out.
It was tall—too tall—its body wrapped in blackened armor that looked grown rather than forged. Red light burned where its eyes should have been. Each step it took warped the ground, leaving scorched footprints behind.
A Void Warden.
The name surfaced in Kazuka's mind from half-forgotten legends. Beings born from broken realms. Harbingers of extinction.
Someone screamed.
The Warden raised its arm.
The world exploded into chaos.
A wave of force slammed through the village, tearing roofs from homes and flinging people like broken dolls. Kazuka was thrown backward, his body crashing into the dirt. Pain flared through his ribs, stealing his breath.
"Kazuka!" his mother screamed.
He struggled to rise.
Fire spread. Wood shattered. Screams overlapped until they became a single, endless sound.
Kazuka saw his father charge.
He saw the blade strike.
He saw it shatter like glass.
The Warden did not even flinch.
Time slowed as the creature's claw pierced forward.
Kazuka ran.
He didn't remember deciding to move. His legs acted before his mind could catch up. He reached his father just as the claw descended.
Something inside him broke.
Or awakened.
Heat surged through his veins, white-hot and violent. The world blurred. Symbols—ancient, unfamiliar—burned behind his eyes.
"NO!"
The air screamed.
A shockwave erupted from Kazuka's body, throwing the Void Warden backward for the first time. The ground fractured outward in a perfect circle. Flames died. Sound vanished.
Kazuka stood frozen, hands trembling, breath ragged.
The Warden stared at him.
Not with rage.
With recognition.
"Bearer…" it rasped, its voice scraping against reality itself. "So you still exist."
The sky split open.
A vertical tear of light descended from the clouds, bathing Kazuka in blinding radiance. Pain tore through him as the force pulled at his body, lifting him off the ground.
"Kazuka!" his parents screamed together.
He reached for them.
He didn't reach far enough.
The light swallowed him whole.
And Arashima burned.