When Riku woke up, the sky was purple.
Not just any purple—but a glowing, electric haze that bled across the horizon like spilled magic. Birds with crystal feathers chirped overhead, and trees shimmered like they were dipped in starlight. This wasn't Tokyo. This wasn't even Earth.
"What the hell..."
He stumbled to his feet. His uniform was torn at the sleeve, and the golden medallion that saved him in the alley now glowed softly against his chest. In front of him stretched a wide field filled with luminous grass, floating stones, and ancient statues half-buried in moss.
Before he could gather his thoughts, a notification blinked into view in midair:
[Welcome, Riku Hayashi — Chosen of Veyloria.]
[Quest Activated: Survive.]
"Survive...? What kind of messed-up game is this?"
Just then, a voice echoed across the field—gentle, but firm.
"You shouldn't be standing there. The watchers come when the fog rises."
He turned sharply.
A girl, no older than seventeen, stood at the edge of the clearing. Her white cloak fluttered behind her, silver hair braided tight across one shoulder. In one hand, she held a staff pulsing with energy; in the other, a book etched with runes.
"Are you a mage?" Riku asked, still dazed.
She didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the medallion around his neck.
"So it's true," she muttered. "The mark has chosen you."
"Chosen me for what?! I didn't sign up for this—I was just trying to save someone back home!"
"You crossed into Aetherion through the Trial of Light. The medallion only answers to souls of courage." She paused. "And once chosen, there is no turning back."
Before he could argue, the sky above them shivered—literally tore open in a jagged wound of black mist. Out of it descended a massive, winged creature, half-shadow and half-metal, its screech loud enough to shatter the air.
"W-WHAT IS THAT?!"
"Shadowborn," the girl said. "It's found us."
She threw her hand out, and a barrier of blue flame circled them instantly.
"I don't know magic!" Riku yelled, panic rising.
"Then run!"
The creature lunged—but before it reached them, the medallion on Riku's chest flared white-hot. His arm moved on its own, summoning a sword made of energy, its blade humming like thunder.
With one instinctive swing, he cleaved through the monster's wing.
It howled and vanished into smoke.
Riku fell to his knees, panting.
The girl stared, eyes wide.
"You wield the Arcblade... That means...you're not just a chosen. You're a Herald."
"A Herald of what?" Riku managed to say.
She extended her hand.
"Come. I'll explain everything. My name is Aria of the Crescent Flame. You've just stepped into a war that started before your world even existed."
He hesitated—then took her hand.
As they walked toward a distant castle floating above the clouds, the ground below them shifted subtly. The world of Aetherion had accepted its new player.
But in the deepest parts of the void, something stirred.
A masked figure, cloaked in shadows, watched a crystal orb flicker with Riku's face.
"So... the boy arrives," it whispered. "Let the game begin."