Shura Arin was falling.
Not drifting. Not descending.
Falling.
The Eternal Depth screamed around him.
Air—if it could still be called air—tore against his body hard enough to bruise. Pressure crushed against his chest and forced itself into his lungs like something alive.
His body spun helplessly through endless gray.
Above him, the world had already vanished.
Gone.
A terrible thought surfaced through the panic.
"I'm going to die."
His eyes burned.
Not from fear.
From memory.
Ruka.
Her hands.
Her voice.
"You listen too much."
His thoughts fractured apart beneath the roaring wind.
"I never had a father… but you never let me feel it."
His chest tightened painfully.
You answered everything.
"NO—!"
The scream disappeared the moment it left him.
No sound survived here.
Tears ripped free from his eyes and vanished into the abyss.
I'll come back.
Mother…
From nothing. From anywhere. I don't care.
The promise cut through him with desperate clarity.
Then—
a whisper surfaced through the chaos.
"Don't fight the air."
The Holy Guard.
Faint now. Distant.
"Flow your Viora."
Panic surged again.
His heartbeat thundered wildly against his ribs.
Too fast. Too loud.
Then—
warmth.
Small.
Familiar.
Shura froze.
It pulsed deep inside his chest like an ember buried beneath ash.
He closed his eyes and reached inward instinctively.
The moment he touched it—
fire erupted through his body.
Not heat.
Something deeper.
Viora flooded through his veins like molten iron forced through fragile glass. Pain tore through him sharp enough to steal thought itself.
But beneath the agony—
something felt right.
Like a missing piece of himself had awakened.
The crushing pressure surrounding him shifted.
The Void resisted.
Not stopping his fall—
rejecting it.
Time lost meaning after that.
Moments stretched unnaturally, then collapsed without warning. The gray around him warped and twisted while pale currents of Viora bled across his skin in faint, unstable waves.
Then the ground appeared beneath him.
Too suddenly.
Stone rushed upward through the fog.
Impact came like the world itself throwing a fist.
CRACK.
The earth shattered beneath his body.
Fragments of black stone exploded outward as dust and ash erupted into the air. The force ripped the breath from his lungs and snapped the world sideways into darkness.
Shura woke slowly.
To weight.
To silence too heavy to be empty.
Pain crawled through every part of him.
His limbs barely responded when he tried to move. His chest tightened sharply with every uneven breath.
Beneath his fingers lay coarse gray moss that crumbled apart like dried skin.
A pale glow pulsed faintly across the landscape around him.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Like a heartbeat beneath the earth.
Where… am I…?
"…He's awake."
The voice pulled him upward through the haze.
Shura forced his eyes open.
Shapes emerged slowly from the fog.
Four figures stood nearby.
Watching him.
Not cautiously.
Prepared.
Warriors.
The first stepped forward without hesitation.
Tall. Lean. Motionless in the way dangerous people often were.
Zenkyou.
Her scarred hands rested loosely at her sides, though something about her posture suggested violence could arrive at any moment.
She crouched beside him with mild curiosity.
"Well," she said casually, "that's new."
Her eyes studied him carefully.
"Fall from the sky, did you?"
Shura instinctively looked upward.
Nothing greeted him.
No sun.
No moon.
No stars.
Only an endless ceiling of dark gray cloud stretching across the world above them like rotting stone.
It didn't move.
Didn't break.
Didn't breathe.
The sight hollowed something inside him.
The sky was gone.
Another voice answered from behind her.
Flat. Certain.
"There's nothing above us."
Zenkyou laughed once.
Loud enough to break the stillness.
Shura stared at them in confusion.
They truly believed that.
The world above—the light, the Tree, Veritas—
they had never seen any of it.
A young man stepped forward next.
A massive black sword rested across his back, absurdly oversized, yet carried as naturally as breathing.
Ren.
"But the real question," he said, narrowing his eyes at Shura, "is why he's here."
His expression darkened slightly.
"This region is restricted."
Near Zenkyou stood a younger girl with faint light trembling around her fingertips.
Yura.
Her voice came softer than the others'.
"His clothes are torn," she observed carefully. "But there's almost no blood."
She hesitated.
"And he doesn't have a weapon."
The fourth figure remained farther back.
Silent.
Bow drawn.
Arrow ready.
Orin.
His eyes never left Shura.
Zenkyou tilted her head slightly.
"Who are you?"
Shura opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
Not because his throat hurt.
Because his thoughts felt hollow.
The Edge had taken something from him during the fall.
Fragments slipped away whenever he tried to grasp them.
"I…" His voice cracked painfully. "I don't…"
A shallow breath escaped him.
"I don't remember."
Silence followed.
Ren sighed heavily.
"Perfect."
"A broken kid falls out of the sky."
Orin's bow remained steady.
"His Viora feels wrong," he said quietly.
A pause.
"…Unnatural."
Zenkyou didn't respond immediately.
But her eyes lingered on Shura longer now.
She had seen Viora before.
Trained it.
Fought beside it.
Survived against it.
This felt different.
Not wild.
Not corrupted.
Unplaced.
Shura felt it too.
Something nearby.
A presence buried deep beneath the world.
Watching.
Waiting.
He had sensed it during the fall.
And somehow—
it had sensed him back.
Zenkyou stood and made her decision.
"Alright," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him upward carefully. "Broken boy."
A faint smirk touched her face.
"You're coming with us."
Shura tried to stand.
His legs immediately failed beneath him.
Ren caught him before he collapsed fully.
"The Empress can decide what to do with you," Zenkyou continued.
Shura looked upward instinctively.
No sky waited above him.
Only endless gray stretching forever across the cavernous world.
Closed.
The four exchanged a brief glance.
Ren exhaled through his nose before lifting Shura over one shoulder effortlessly.
"You're lighter than you look," he muttered.
Then they began moving through the fog.
Zenkyou led the way with measured confidence.
Orin stayed behind them, bow still raised toward the darkness surrounding the path.
Not toward enemies.
Toward possibilities.
Yura walked closest to Shura. The faint glow around her hands pushed weakly against the gray mist around them.
Not enough to defeat the darkness.
Only enough to exist within it.
Shura stirred weakly against Ren's shoulder.
"…Where am I…?"
Nobody answered.
A moment later, another question escaped him.
"…Who am I?"
Still silence.
Time blurred strangely as they traveled.
Minutes and hours lost meaning beneath the endless gray.
Then—
light appeared ahead.
Far in the distance, a thin golden beam pierced through the fog.
Shura's breath caught instantly.
Something about the light felt familiar.
And horribly wrong.
Ren shifted slightly.
"Orin," he said flatly, "lower the bow."
Orin didn't move.
"I'm not aiming at him," he replied quietly.
A pause.
"I'm aiming at the thing following us."
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Yura's light flickered.
Zenkyou stopped walking.
Slowly, she turned her head toward the darkness behind them.
For the first time since Shura awakened—
her expression hardened.
"Move," she ordered calmly.
No one argued.
They continued forward at a faster pace now.
Toward the distant beam of gold.
Toward the place Zenkyou finally named without looking back.
"The Ossuarium."
Yura glanced toward Shura briefly.
There was kindness in her eyes.
And fear.
Shura closed his eyes again.
Not from exhaustion.
From weight.
Questions without answers pressed against his thoughts like unseen hands.
The fog thickened as they moved.
Shura lost all sense of direction minutes ago.
Maybe longer.
The gray around them swallowed distance strangely. Sometimes the golden beam ahead looked close enough to touch.
Then impossibly far again.
No one spoke now.
Even Zenkyou's earlier confidence had quieted beneath the pressure settling into the air.
Only footsteps remained.
Muted.
Heavy.
And somewhere behind them—
something still followed.
Shura could feel it.
Not through sound.
Through Viora.
The warmth inside his chest pulsed uneasily, reacting to a presence hidden deep within the mist.
Watching.
Waiting.
Every instinct told him to turn around.
He didn't.
Because ahead—
the golden light kept growing brighter.
And for reasons he couldn't explain—
it felt safer than the darkness behind them.
Then the fog began to thin.
The walls of Ossuarium were visible now.
Still distant—
but impossible to mistake.
They rose from the gray like something carved from memory rather than stone. Jagged towers pierced upward through the endless fog, their silhouettes sharp enough to wound the eye.
The city did not seem built.
It seemed unearthed.
"I… think I can walk now."
Shura's voice came out weak and uneven.
No one answered immediately.
Ren lowered him without complaint.
The moment Shura's feet touched the ground, pain surged through his legs. His knees trembled violently beneath him.
Not from injury alone.
Something about this place resisted movement itself.
The air felt heavy, dense enough to press against his body with every step.
As though effort here had to be earned.
Shura forced himself forward anyway.
One step.
Then another.
Slow.
Heavy.
The gray wind dragged against him like unseen hands.
"What are you doing?" Zenkyou called back without slowing. "Is this your first time walking?"
Shura tried to answer.
His legs gave out before the words could form.
A hand caught him instantly.
Ren.
Effortless.
"Careful," Ren muttered.
Shura forced a shaky breath into his lungs.
"…Where am I?"
Zenkyou glanced back this time.
"What?"
Shura looked past them toward the distant city.
His throat tightened.
"What happened to me?" he asked quietly. "How am I here?"
A brief silence followed.
Then Orin spoke without turning around.
"Don't force him," he said calmly. "The broken child barely understands where he is."
Shura frowned.
"What's going on?"
"Keep moving," Ren replied. "If you stop too long, your muscles lock."
Shura stumbled forward again.
"I should be dead."
Ren shrugged slightly.
"Probably."
The answer unsettled him more than comfort would have.
They climbed the final stretch of the path in silence.
Then the fog opened.
Shura stopped.
Before them stood the gate of Ossuarium.
Massive.
Ancient.
The black stone seemed to absorb the pale light around it rather than reflect it. Towers rose overhead like the ribs of some colossal buried beast.
The gates opened before the group approached fully.
No guards questioned them.
No words were exchanged.
The moment Shura crossed the threshold, something shifted inside him.
This place had weight.
Not physical.
Authority.
The city did not merely exist within the land.
It ruled it.
"This," Orin said quietly, "is Ossuarium."
The name settled heavily in Shura's chest.
He stared upward.
"This isn't just a city," he murmured.
Orin finally looked at him directly.
"…No."
Zenkyou folded her arms while watching Shura study the skyline.
"Brat," she said, glancing back at him, "does this look like a city to you?"
Zenkyou folded her arms.
"This is Ossuarium kingdom," she said.
It pierced upward.
Gothic spires clawed toward the endless gray ceiling overhead while enormous bridges stretched between towers at impossible heights. Massive arches curved above the streets like the inside of a giant skeleton.
Nothing here had been built for beauty.
And yet beauty existed anyway.
Not elegance.
Purpose.
Every wall bore signs of wear. Every staircase dipped beneath generations of footsteps. Faceless statues lined the roads, kneeling in silence beneath drifting ash.
Broken.
Weathered.
Enduring.
They continued deeper into the city.
The streets twisted into layers upon layers of descending corridors and elevated walkways. Yet despite the complexity, nobody hesitated.
People moved with precise instinct.
No collisions.
No confusion.
Soldiers watched movement instead of faces. Merchants shifted around one another without speaking. Entire crowds flowed like a single organism responding to impulses Shura couldn't understand.
"Where I am?," he whispered.
No one replied.
But he already understood the answer.
This was control.
The realization unsettled him.
Ossuarium did not feel like a place meant to be lived in.
It felt maintained.
Like a machine that could not afford failure.
And somehow—
he was already inside it.
The deeper they traveled, the sharper the atmosphere became.
Guards stood at exact intervals along the streets. Voices stayed low and efficient. Symbols stitched into dark cloaks marked affiliations Shura didn't recognize.
Guilds.
Units.
Clans.
Systems within systems.
A woman carrying a heavy crate brushed past him. A split-circle insignia marked the fabric across her shoulder.
Exhausted.
Focused.
Alive.
Shura stopped walking.
Something flickered in his mind.
Crowds.
Movement.
Noise.
A hand pulling him through sunlight—
Pain struck behind his eyes instantly.
"My…" His breath caught.
He pressed a trembling hand against his head.
"My name…"
Orin turned immediately.
"You remembered something?"
The answer surfaced before Shura could think.
"…Shura."
The word settled into him with strange certainty.
Like finding a missing piece buried beneath rubble.
Yura smiled softly beside him.
"Then welcome back, Shura."
Ren glanced sideways.
"Took you long enough."
They kept walking.
Shura studied the people around them more carefully now.
"Those people," he said quietly, nodding toward a passing group wearing layered insignias, "they aren't soldiers."
"No," Orin replied.
"They're Guild."
"What's Guild?"
"You don't need to know yet."
Zenkyou glanced at him with faint amusement.
"You ask a lot of questions."
The words struck something deep inside him.
Another voice echoed faintly in his memory.
Softer.
Warmer.
You ask too much.
Shura stopped breathing for a second.
"…No…"
The memory slipped away before he could hold onto it.
His hands trembled.
"I can't…" His voice cracked. "I can't see her face…"
Zenkyou stepped toward him immediately.
No hesitation.
She placed a hand gently against his head.
"Hey."
Warm.
Steady.
Shura slowly looked up at her.
And for one fragile moment—
the fog inside his mind parted.
Ruka.
Clear enough to hurt.
Then gone again.
His knees hit the stone hard.
Shura bowed his head deeply.
"…Thank you."
Tears struck the ground beneath him.
Zenkyou sighed softly before wiping them away with her sleeve.
"Don't worry," she said quietly.
"You're safe here."
Around them, nearby pedestrians slowed slightly as they passed.
Not stopping.
But noticing.
Their expressions softened with something Shura didn't understand.
Recognition.
Respect.
Sympathy.
No one interrupted.
Yet somehow the silence around them changed.
When they began walking again, Shura instinctively reached for Zenkyou's hand.
Holding it tightly.
Like it was the only stable thing left in the world.
His eyes drifted briefly toward the ring she wore.
Far ahead, a pillar of golden light pierced upward through the gray ceiling.
Blinding.
Absolute.
The sight stopped Shura in place.
"…What is that?"
"The Core Beacon," Orin answered.
A massive beam of golden light stretched upward through the endless gray above them.
Shura followed it instinctively.
Higher.
Higher.
Until the light vanished into the distant ceiling of cloud.
There was no visible source beyond it.
No end.
Only the pillar itself—
immense and unwavering—
as though it had been driven straight through the world.
Zenkyou's expression darkened slightly.
"For decoration."
The closer they moved toward the center of the city, the heavier the atmosphere became.
More guards.
Narrower pathways.
Sharper eyes.
Until finally—
they reached the heart of Ossuarium.
The castle stood above the city like a living shadow.
Black spires twisted upward like thorns while enormous bridges connected distant towers high overhead. Every surface bore carvings etched deep into the stone.
Not decoration.
History.
War.
Sacrifice.
And somewhere within it—
something watched.
Shura felt the presence immediately.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Ancient.
Orin exhaled slowly.
"We've arrived."
Shura lifted his eyes toward the towering structure.
His name had returned to him.
But everything else remained buried beneath fog and silence.
And deep inside his chest—
the Viora still burned.