25 December 3823 — Southern Town
Southern Town was home to no more than five thousand people. The air was sharp with winter's chill; snow had fallen the night before, leaving the rooftops dusted white. Tonight, the streets were alive—families and friends gathering in the town square to celebrate Christmas.
At the window of a modest house, a five-year-old boy watched the bustling street, eyes wide with excitement. He jumped down from the chair and sprinted down the hallway, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Mom! Mom!"
He burst into his parents' room. "Everyone's going to the Christmas tree! We need to hurry!"
Hearing his cheerful voice, his mother, Vanessa, laughed and caught him in her arms. She smoothed his messy hair and said with a smile,
"We'll leave soon, Reo. Your father's still getting ready—late as always."
Reo pouted. "Hmph… bad Dad."
Across the room, Luther buttoned his coat and sighed with a helpless smile.
"You can't blame me, kid. I wanted to come early, but the manager dumped a pile of work on me at the last minute."
Vanessa gave him an exasperated look. "Enough excuses. Get ready—we're leaving."
Luther chuckled softly and quickened his pace.
After getting ready, the family of three stepped out into the cold night. The streets were beautifully decorated—garlands of lights hung from every post, and laughter echoed between the houses as people made their way toward the town square.
As Luther and his family walked, they greeted familiar faces. In a small town like Southern, everyone knew everyone. Warm smiles and cheerful greetings followed them down the street.
When they finally reached the center, the sight before them stole their breath—a towering Christmas tree stood proudly in the middle of the square, its branches shimmering with ribbons and golden lights.
Overcome with excitement, Reo let go of his mother's hand and dashed forward, waving for his parents to catch up. His laughter rang through the cold air, and both Luther and Vanessa couldn't help but laugh and hurry after him.
The family spent the evening together, lost in the celebration. They greeted neighbors, shared jokes, and enjoyed a warm meal from the food stalls lining the square.
Reo clung tightly to his cotton candy as he tugged at his mother's hand, eyes sparkling as he pointed at the street performers juggling fire beneath the twinkling lights.
Joy filled the air—pure, infectious, and warm. For a brief, shining moment, everything in their world felt perfect.
Then, as the town clock struck midnight, the lights flickered—once, twice— and died.
In an instant, the cheer vanished, replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence.
Suddenly, a streak of red light tore across the night sky and rippled over the ground like a burning wave.
Luther's eyes narrowed. "A Heaven-Earth Sealing Formation?" he muttered, his tone heavy with unease.
Beside him, Vanessa turned sharply. "What's that?"
"It's a sealing formation," Luther explained, his voice tense. "Created nearly five centuries ago by the renowned formation master Zinad Khar. When activated, it seals both the heavens and the earth—cutting off all technology and every form of communication. It also releases a unique signal that alerts nearby cities and the central government in case of emergencies."
He paused, his expression grim. "It protects us from foreign threats but also traps us inside—like turtles in a jar."
Vanessa's face drained of color. "Why did it activate?"
Luther's jaw tightened. "Every city, town, and village has one of these formations. The government installed them to protect citizens from cults like the Dawn of Light and the Dawn of Darkness. If the formation here has been triggered, it means the system detected cult members nearby."
Understanding hit her like a cold wind. Vanessa's arms tightened protectively around Reo, clutching him to her chest as fear slowly crept into her heart.
As Vanessa and Luther were talking, a sudden crackle came from the nearby loudspeakers. The cheerful music that had filled the town square cut off abruptly, replaced by a steady burst of static before a voice echoed through the cold night.
"Hello everyone… this is Mayor Caldwell speaking."
The tone was calm, but beneath it trembled unease.
"I know it's Christmas Eve, but I need everyone to stop what you're doing and return to your homes immediately."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"We've spotted cultists outside the town walls attempting to break in. Please, remain calm and head back to your houses. Lock your doors and stay inside."
A pause. Then the voice grew firmer.
"I repeat—this is not a drill. The Cultivator Association has been notified, and they are on their way. Until then, do not leave your homes."
The announcement ended with a burst of static before the speakers went silent.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, as the weight of the words sank in, the crowd began to scatter.
Luther and Vanessa exchanged a tense glance and immediately turned toward their home, Reo clinging tightly to his mother's hand. Around them, other families hurried through the snow-covered streets, the joy of Christmas replaced by fear and confusion
A gust of icy wind swept through the square as people hurried toward their homes. Snow crunched underfoot, and anxious whispers filled the air.
Before Luther and Vanessa could take another step, several figures in black coats emerged from a nearby alley. Their movements were swift and disciplined, boots striking the snow in unison as they formed a ring around the family.
The townsfolk slowed for only a heartbeat, curiosity flickering in their eyes, but fear quickly urged them on. One by one, they turned away and disappeared into the storm.
The leader of the group stepped forward and raised a hand in salute.
"Young Master, this is Agent Ten, Southern Region Task Force," he reported crisply. "We're under your father's orders to ensure your safety."
Luther's brow furrowed. "So the great commander of the Southern Region Military still finds time to keep an eye on his son, huh?"
"Sir," Agent Ten said, his tone tightening, "this is an emergency. We've confirmed multiple Dawn of Light cultists surrounding the town."
"Do you know why?" Luther asked.
The agent hesitated, his jaw tightening beneath the mask but offered no answer.
Luther gave a bitter laugh. "Of course. My great father never changes—always saving the world, never caring for his own family."
Vanessa reached out and squeezed his shoulder, the pressure gentle but grounding. "Luther," she whispered.
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from his hands. "Fine," he said at last. "Take us to the safe house."
"Understood." Agent Ten motioned to his team. The black-clad figures closed ranks, guiding the family through the darkening streets as the first distant screams broke the fragile silence of Christmas night.
Agent Ten led the way through the narrow, snow-covered streets, his black-clad team forming a tight perimeter around the family. The night was eerily still except for the crunch of boots on ice and the faint wail of the wind.
After several tense minutes, they reached an old government-owned building on the edge of town. A steel gate slid open with a mechanical hiss as one of the agents entered a code. Inside, the lights flickered to life, revealing a fortified interior lined with reinforced walls and faint traces of protective runes etched into the metal.
"This way," Agent Ten said, guiding them down a corridor toward a secured room at the center of the compound.
Luther, Vanessa, and Reo stepped inside. The chamber was small but sturdy—two cots, a table, and a single vent humming softly in the corner. A faint blue glow from the rune-lights painted the walls in ghostly patterns.
"You'll be safe here, Young Master," Agent Ten assured. "The formation around this building is directly linked to the town's defensive core. Nothing can break through easily."
Luther nodded silently. "Understood."
The agents took positions outside the door, their shadows moving in disciplined rhythm as they secured the perimeter. The heavy lock clicked into place.
Inside, silence settled once more.
Vanessa sat on one of the cots, holding Reo close. The boy had fallen quiet, his small hands clutching the fabric of her coat. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances she barely believed herself.
Luther paced back and forth across the narrow room, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease. Every few seconds, he glanced toward the door—as if expecting it to burst open at any moment.
For a time, nothing happened. Only the steady hum of the rune-lights filled the air.
Then the clock struck midnight.
A distant boom rolled through the building, followed by another—and another. The walls trembled faintly.
Vanessa froze. "Luther… what was that?"
Before he could answer, the muffled sound of shouting reached them—short, sharp commands drowned by the clash of steel and the dull roar of explosions.
Screams followed.
They were close—too close.
Luther's expression hardened. "It's begun," he said quietly, his hand instinctively going to the small blade strapped beneath his coat.
Outside, the night erupted into chaos.
Luther waited inside the room, pacing restlessly. He knew there was nothing he could do outside—the battle belonged to others now. It had been years since he last picked up a sword, and that knowledge gnawed at him more than fear ever could.
Half an hour passed.
The silence broke.
Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor—slow, uneven, approaching. Luther straightened, every muscle tense. A few seconds later came a knock, followed by the sound of someone breathing heavily on the other side.
"Who is it?" Luther called out, his voice low and cautious.
"Young Master," came the reply, ragged and urgent. "I'm Agent Z, under Agent Ten's command. I've been sent on his orders to escort you and your family to the evacuation tunnel."
Luther hesitated. The safe room was protected by formation runes, but only for a limited time. Against high-level cultivators, the barrier wouldn't last long. After a moment of consideration, he made his decision.
"Vanessa, stay behind me," he murmured, then unlatched the door.
It opened with a soft metallic click.
Agent Z stood there, gasping for breath, his uniform torn and smeared with blood. His eyes darted nervously down the hall.
"Young Master, we need to leave," he said, voice trembling.
Luther gave a curt nod. "Lead the way."
They moved through the narrow, dimly lit hallway. The air smelled of smoke and iron. The sounds of fighting had faded, replaced by distant, muffled thuds.
After several minutes, Luther suddenly stopped.
Agent Z turned back. "Young Master, please—we still have a long way to go."
Luther's tone turned cold. "Who are you?"
The agent blinked. "What do you mean, Young Master?"
Luther's eyes narrowed. "Outwardly, you look like one of the Southern Task Force—your posture, your walk, your tone. Almost perfect. But the blood on your uniform isn't yours. The wound pattern doesn't match the way you're moving."
He took a slow step forward, his voice sharpening. "I may not be a forensic expert, but I am the son of the man who trained half the Southern forces. I know their rhythm—their essence."
His gaze hardened. "So tell me. Who are you?"
Agent Z said nothing. His shoulders began to tremble—first a small twitch, then a full shake. One gloved hand rose to his mouth, trying to stifle something.
Then the sound came.
"Zhe… zhe… zhe… zhe… ZHEEEEEE!"
The twisted laugh echoed through the corridor, unnaturally deep and guttural.
When the agent lifted his head again, his eyes glowed crimson. His lips split into a wide, distorted grin.
"So," he hissed in a voice that no longer belonged to any human, "you've seen through my act, Young Master."