4 Months Earlier
Axoland, a kingdom known as the greatest power among the human realms, stood tall with its royal capital boasting a massive castle that truly embodied the kingdom's vast influence and might. From afar, towering spires stretched like enormous arms attached to the castle, its structure monumental. The architecture was both harsh and delicate, surrounded by vast walls adorned with the kingdom's symbol, proudly declaring the supremacy of the Abysscale dynasty—the grand royal family of Axoland. Around the outer walls, an expansive garden bloomed, filled with flowers and servants dutifully performing their roles.
The focus shifts to the throne—the undoubted heart of the castle, positioned at the exact midpoint of the fortress. Forged from silvery metal with golden details, the throne was a sight to behold. Around it, tapestries hung, narrating stories of battles and victories, of a nation forged through blood and fire. Seated on the throne was a mysterious figure, her head resting on her right hand in a posture so relaxed it seemed almost improper for royalty.
"Fei-fei!" she exclaimed, biting into an apple with renewed enthusiasm, as though this were the beginning of something epic. "Are you just going to stand there like an ice statue? Oh, I know you're good at that—always so quiet... Sulking only makes you age faster."
Feitan didn't move. He knew that despite the playful tone, the person before him wasn't here just to entertain herself.
In a calm yet firm voice, he replied:
"I don't move the stones unless necessary. But you... you seem to enjoy playing with them, even knowing they might fall."
The figure chuckled, clearly amused, but she didn't back down. Leaning forward slightly, her expression turned more serious—the energy of the conversation shifting. Her smile faded as she got straight to the point:
"I need you to go to the kingdom of Kitsumi." Her voice lowered, though the excitement was still palpable. "They're doing... ugly things over there. I've heard they're being cruel to the commoners. People are being crushed without even realizing it. And, according to the Global Commission of Diplomats, there's been a sharp spike in famine, torture, and emigration. People would rather be slaves in Orchadia than live in Kitsumi. I don't like that." She made a grimace, as though genuinely bothered, but quickly recomposed herself, as if remembering something important. "I want you to investigate everything. Go to the borders, check the poorest areas. There might be something they're hiding. And you know what I want, right? I want the truth! Don't hold back, Feitan. Don't be... too cautious, okay?"
She leaned back into the throne with a mischievous smile.
Feitan tilted his head in a barely noticeable bow and slowly walked away, his steps as silent as ever. His thoughts were as unreadable as his expression, but one thing was certain: the mission had been given. And as always, he would complete it without hesitation
Two Months Later
Feitan cut through the wind like a lost arrow, racing through the last village he had visited, heading straight to his improvised camp in the abandoned mine. Autumn, relentless, had scarred the land with the cold hand of time. The cracked, dry ground looked like an old man who had surrendered to weariness—a portrait of desolation. The once vibrant landscape was now consumed by a heavy silence, as if the very soul of the kingdom had withered, dissolved in the shadow of death.
Two months had passed since Feitan received his mission, and the oppressive climate only seemed to weigh heavier, thickening the air, as if the land itself was breathing with difficulty. The kingdom was collapsing, not abruptly, but slowly—a drawn-out death, a body decaying little by little, like a flower losing its petals, one shred of life ripped away at a time. The villages were frozen in time. The villagers, mere shadows of themselves, dragged their feet through the dusty roads, living in anticipation of a future that would never come. The stench of hunger, oppression, and misery clung to the air like a fog that refused to lift, and the days stretched on in an endless, suffocating cycle.
"Nothing changes…" Feitan thought, certain that things would only get worse.
Silence reigned in the villages, deadly and consuming. The only sound was the echo of his own footsteps, muffled by the dust rising from every crevice. The ruined houses stood like skeletons, and the few remaining inhabitants looked more concerned about tomorrow than what had already passed. Fear, thick as mist, pervaded everything—a ghostly presence that hovered in the stagnant air.
As Feitan walked, a scene invaded his mind: an old man, eyes vacant, pupils dull like shattered glass, his body hunched from pain. He didn't ask for mercy, expected nothing but the suffering that had long become a companion. The old man reflected the state of all the kingdom's people—pain and hopelessness etched into them like a silent sentence they had learned to endure. They accepted the approaching end as if the spirit of the land itself had surrendered.
Feitan knew what was happening. The reports didn't lie. The Global Commission of Diplomats had already recorded a massive migration of commoners from Kitsumi, fleeing to Orchadia, Axoland, and Nefeheim, in search of a future that might be just as grim as the one they were leaving behind. Nefeheim, in particular, was a cruel place, with public executions and a constant tension between humans and elves. Its streets were littered with corpses, and torture was a daily occurrence. But what struck Feitan most was the lack of resistance. Perhaps it was fear that had swallowed them whole, or maybe the exhaustion from fighting an invisible but very real oppression.
Hunger was the only dish served. The country was sinking, and despair had long ceased to be surprising. Feitan had learned from his informants that in distant regions, people had become so apathetic they would rather starve than ask for help. The system of oppression had reshaped their minds, distorting them until even survival had lost its meaning. They were dead on the inside, far more than physically.
The once-proud walls now stood cracked, desert vegetation overtaking what was meant to be a center of knowledge. Children played among ruins, but their laughter was missing, as though the very concept of joy had been lost somewhere far away. Kitsumi's future was as barren as the landscapes surrounding it.
But amidst all that devastation, there were exceptions—like splashes of color on a faded canvas. One of the kingdom's biggest issues lay in the taxation of river use, magically diverted from its natural course. The poorest villages, with no access to this vital water, relied on rare rainfall or the help of mages with limited power. Those without mages were doomed, wiped out by thirst. The capital, on the other hand, thrived—not by merit or justice, but through the centralization of power in the hands of the nobility.
As the fiefs crumbled and the nobles dug deeper into the coastal zones, the villages near the aquifers clung to life, a false prosperity flickering like a candle in the wind.
Everything indicated that the Emperor of Kitsumi was subjecting his people to a twisted form of "natural selection"—perhaps disguised as a military strategy, a proving ground where only the strongest would survive. But Feitan knew that for now, his mission wasn't to interfere.
Present Moment
Snow still covered the land in a pale shroud, biting winds cutting through the region with chaotic intensity. Feitan pushed forward through the snow, Sekire unconscious in his arms. He wondered why he was saving her—maybe because he had sympathized with the girl, maybe because, just this once, he felt a sense of duty. Feitan had come to believe that a General from Kitsumi had invaded Sekire's village, and judging by her age and childlike appearance, she must have been the one to create the demonic core. In his view, the village's unnatural prosperity despite its deadly surroundings was no coincidence.
Sekire awoke to an overwhelming cold, her vision blurred by the fine snowflakes falling around them. Her eyes slowly opened, recognizing Feitan's serious face, his steps slower now but still unwavering.
"Wha... where are we?" Sekire's voice was faint, nearly drowned out by the howling wind.
Feitan didn't take his eyes off the road ahead, but his answer came coldly, like the wind that sliced through the land.
"Kitsumi. We're at the kingdom's border. Axoland lies further north."
The snow never ceased. The land was deserted, frigid, with skeletal trees broken by time and the remains of ancient structures scattered like bones of a fallen civilization.
Sekire tried to walk, but her head spun, and a tremble seized her. Her hands were still numb, her body too weak to resist the biting cold. She clenched her teeth, trying to stay upright.
"You knocked me down," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Feitan looked at her but didn't stop. His gaze was sharp and unyielding.
"This isn't the time for weakness. Get up. I'll cooperate with you for now, but if my superiors order me to throw you back here or execute you, I will. No hesitation." His tone was direct, without softness—but not entirely without concern. It wasn't kindness, just function.
Sekire tried to swallow the pain, but the exhaustion was too much. She muttered something like a bitter laugh.
"It's not weakness... It's just... hard to move after being tortured for six years."
Feitan stopped, looking at her directly for the first time. Sekire's expression was hardened, but something else lingered there—something he couldn't quite read.
"Surviving here was good for you. But in Axoland, it'll be different. If they accept you there, you'll need talent to live a dignified life," Feitan said, his tone unchanged. "If you don't want to die on the way, better start now."
"How... how is Axoland?" she asked, unable to hide her doubt. The cold and her uncertainty made her afraid, especially after everything she had endured. Yet, she also noticed her mana had weakened compared to a few days ago—something was definitely wrong.
Feitan didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his boots calmly pressing into the snow. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but held a tone Sekire couldn't quite place.
"Axoland is better than this shitty kingdom," he said without looking at her. "Not perfect. But if you're decent and know how to behave, you can live well there. Without the pain and lies of this place."
Sekire felt slightly relieved, though she still didn't know what he meant by "live well." Her body still hurt, and her mind was clouded with fear.
She watched Feitan more closely as he continued walking.
"And if I'm not 'decent'?" Sekire asked, more out of curiosity than a need for an answer. Her voice was still weak, but the question slipped out.
Feitan paused, only to adjust the cloak on his shoulders, as if the world around him mattered less than his own direction. He looked at her, eyes still hidden beneath the mask covering his face.
"Life there won't be easy. But if you're not decent, things will get hard. Axoland has its rules. And those who don't follow them... disappear." He gave a faint, nearly imperceptible smile before continuing. But Sekire understood the purpose—he was teasing her. "Still, I believe you have more to offer than you think."
What did he mean by "more to offer"? She didn't see herself as special, nor did she believe she was capable of anything grand. Yet Feitan's words—despite their coldness—awakened something in her, a faint spark she knew she couldn't let die
The wind blew harder, as if trying to interrupt the moment.
Feitan raised his arm with a subtle gesture, wordlessly inviting her to follow—no rush, no urgency.
"Let's go." His voice was firm, but not harsh—more a suggestion than a command.
"The path is long, and night is falling. We need to cross Kitsumi and reach the north. Axoland is still far away."
Three Days Later
The biting wind of the blizzard had begun to subside as Feitan and Sekire neared the borders of Axoland.
The once bleak and frozen landscape gradually softened, a hush falling over the world. The crunch of Feitan's boots on the snow faded, replaced by a stillness that spread through the air like a sigh.
Sekire lifted her gaze, sensing the change.
The heavy gray sky had begun to lighten, as though the land beneath her feet had absorbed the storm and now exhaled in peace. Snow still blanketed the terrain, but it fell now with gentleness—lazy flakes drifting like the world itself had grown weary.
"We've arrived."
Feitan's voice broke the silence, low but resolute.
Sekire looked around, trying to grasp what exactly stood before her.
The kingdom of Axoland stretched out ahead—not in dramatic splendor as she had imagined, but in calm, serene contrast to the harshness of Kitsumi.
Feitan paused, taking in the view. There was a stillness to him, as though this place was known to him, as if it welcomed him in its quiet way.
Sekire swallowed hard.
Something in her stirred—a fragile hope, or maybe the sense of having reached something she hadn't realized she was searching for. The blizzard had ceased, but the quiet held weight. It was as if this place had the power to absorb pain and fear, offering a moment of rest to those who arrived—even if only for a while.
Still dazed from the long journey, Sekire scanned the horizon as they walked.
The land unfolded in wide fields buried in snow, broken only by twisted forests that stood like watchful sentinels.
As they advanced, the silhouette of Axoland's city emerged in the distance—bold outlines drawn against the sky, like a silent invitation through its gates.
The closer they got to the great castle, the more Sekire felt something shift inside her.
She couldn't explain it, but even the wind seemed different here.
It wasn't just the cold—it was as if the air itself acknowledged them, as though the kingdom knew exactly who was arriving, and had made space for them.
Feitan led her to the castle gates, where a row of guards clad in golden armor stood watch.
No words were exchanged; Feitan simply nodded, and the doors opened.
The entryway was vast, with stone walls that seemed to drink in sound, creating a reverent silence. Lanterns flickered, casting dancing shadows across the corridors, and the echo of their steps rang deep and alone.
Before they reached the main hall, whispers floated through the corridors.
Servants, attendants, guards—all spoke in hushed tones, curiosity blooming with every step they took.
"Feitan brought a child?"
A woman's voice, barely above a whisper, slipped from the lips of a maid scrubbing the walls in the northern wing. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she glanced at the towering figure passing by.
"Is she some kind of prisoner? Or maybe... a refugee?"
An older man, face lined and stern, pushed a cart of brooms down the corridor, shaking his head.
"I don't know... but word is he's been coming and going more often. Something big's about to happen. And that girl—if she's here, she's here for a reason. Something important. Something no one else knows."
His voice was low, but laced with a note of respect that hinted he understood more than he let on.
In a nearby corner, a young maid with blonde hair tied in a bun peeked through a slightly open door, eyes locked on Feitan and the girl beside him. Her face was pure curiosity.
"I heard there was a guest coming. But I didn't expect this… Could she be a candidate for—"
She stopped abruptly, realizing she might be overheard. But the gleam in her eyes betrayed the storm of speculation inside her.
"Enough gossip."
A stern guard, his face marked with scars, stepped forward and shut his mouth with a frown.
"Feitan doesn't like this."
But no one paid him any mind. If anything, the intrigue only deepened.
Then, at last, Feitan stepped into the main hall—and silence fell like a curtain.
The very air seemed to stretch and shift, as if the castle itself had been waiting for this moment.
Feitan motioned for Sekire to follow him to the center of the room.
The hall was immense, draped in ancient tapestries and bathed in the golden glow of a massive hearth at the far end.
The throne stood elevated, majestic—empty, but the space around it hummed with presence, as though always anticipating someone.
Feitan came to a stop in the center of the hall. For a heartbeat, everything was still.
Then a voice rang out.
"Well, well… Fei-Fei. Welcome back."
It was sweet, but laced with unsettling irreverence. Sekire barely had time to react before a figure emerged from the shadows—a presence so overwhelming it bent her knees with fear, as if the weight of two oceans had just dropped onto her chest.