The moon hung high in the midnight sky, its silver glow casting a soft, ethereal light over the sleeping village. The streets below were silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hoot of an owl nestled somewhere in the trees. It was the kind of peaceful stillness that felt rare in their world—fragile, temporary, like something that could be shattered at any moment.
Hayato and Saeka sat side by side on a low stone wall at the village's edge, overlooking the rooftops and distant hills. The cool night air brushed against them, carrying the scent of damp earth and the lingering smokiness of distant cookfires. The weight of the day still clung to Hayato's shoulders, but here, beneath the vast expanse of the sky, things felt a little lighter.
Saeka stretched her arms behind her head, letting out a contented sigh. "It's been a while since we just sat like this."
Hayato glanced at her from the corner of his eye before shifting his gaze upward. "Yeah… feels like we don't get many nights like this anymore."
A comfortable silence stretched between them before Saeka suddenly grinned, a mischievous glint in her golden-orange eyes. "Hey, do you remember when Hikari tried to make dinner by herself?"
Hayato blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, the memory surfacing in vivid detail. "Oh, you mean when she burned the rice and nearly set the whole house on fire?"
Saeka chuckled, nodding. "Uncle Kenji didn't stop laughing for days."
"She was so determined, though," Hayato said, shaking his head fondly. "She wanted to make something special for my birthday."
Saeka smiled softly, propping her chin on her knee. "She's always looked up to you, you know."
Hayato's laughter faded at that, and his expression dimmed. He lowered his gaze to the ground, tracing invisible patterns on the stone with his fingers. "I don't know if she still does," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Not after everything I've kept from her."
Saeka was silent for a moment before reaching out, placing a light but reassuring hand on his shoulder. "She's hurt," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean she's stopped loving you. You're her big brother, Hayato. Give her time."
Hayato exhaled slowly, nodding slightly but not entirely convinced. His eyes drifted back up to the stars—distant and untouchable, twinkling faintly against the vast, endless darkness. "Sometimes, I think about what life was like before all this." His voice was almost wistful. "Before the Aberrants. Before the war. I wonder if we'll ever have that kind of peace again."
Saeka didn't hesitate. "We'll make it happen," she said, her fiery hair catching the moonlight as she turned to face him. "We've survived this long, haven't we? That means we can keep fighting for a better future."
Hayato let the words settle in his mind. He wanted to believe her—to believe that this fight wasn't pointless, that there was still something worth holding onto in this broken world.
For now, he let himself pretend that maybe, just maybe, she was right.
Saeka tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Come on. Let's head back. Hikari will come around. She just needs time."
For the first time that night, Hayato hesitated before nodding. He wasn't sure if he believed it yet, but for now, he let Saeka guide him back toward the house.
The road to fixing what was broken would be long.
But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to walk it alone.
The peaceful night shattered with the rhythmic thudding of heavy boots against the dirt path. The once-serene village outskirts, bathed in silver moonlight, now felt suffocating under the weight of impending violence.
Hayato's sharp ears picked up the sound first, his body tensing instinctively. His glowing markings flickered slightly as his breath steadied, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. His piercing blue eyes darted toward the source of the disturbance, cutting through the darkness with ease.
"Do you hear that?" Hayato asked, his voice low but alert.
Saeka, already on her feet, nodded as her eyes scanned the surroundings. Her body moved with the precision of someone who had been through this before—ready, prepared. "It's coming from the grassy path," she muttered.
And then, they stepped into view.
A group of figures emerged from the treeline, their silhouettes blending seamlessly with the night. Long coats, dark jackets—Nyx's gang. Their faces twisted with cruel amusement, and the way they carried themselves reeked of arrogance, of men who had spent too long terrorizing those who couldn't fight back.
The leader of the group, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running down the side of his cheek, sneered as he cracked his knuckles. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. "Looks like we found you, Hayato. You've been a real pain for us lately."
Hayato stepped forward, his posture steady and unshaken, the wind shifting ever so slightly around him. His facial markings pulsed faintly with energy, a quiet but undeniable warning. "If Nyx has a problem with me, he can deal with me himself."
The scarred thug let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, he's got plans tonight. But don't worry, we'll make sure you're too broken to interfere."
A second gang member, leaner but just as menacing, twirled a knife between his fingers, the blade gleaming under the moonlight. "Boss said to rough you up a little first. But between you and me?" He grinned, tilting his head. "I don't think we'll stop there."
Saeka exhaled slowly, her body shifting into a defensive stance beside Hayato. Her eyes burned with a fiery determination, her long hair swaying as the wind picked up. "You picked the wrong night to start a fight."
The tension in the air thickened, charged with the unspoken promise of battle. The gang members grinned wickedly, already moving to surround them.
Hayato rolled his shoulders, inhaling deeply as the familiar feeling of combat settled into his bones. "You ready?" he murmured to Saeka without taking his eyes off their enemies.
Saeka smirked, stretching her fingers as the faintest blaze of flames flickered along her hands. "Always."
The gang moved first.
And the fight began.
The gang surged forward like a pack of ravenous beasts, their weapons flashing under the cold moonlight. The night air was thick with the scent of sweat and steel, the distant flicker of torchlight casting jagged shadows against the village walls. The once-quiet streets were now filled with the harsh clash of metal, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground, and the sharp, ragged breaths of those locked in combat.
Hayato and Saeka met them head-on, moving in perfect sync, their bodies reacting on instinct honed by years of survival.
A thug wielding a rusted metal pipe came at Hayato first, his stance sloppy but his intent deadly. He aimed a wild swing at Hayato's ribs, the air whistling as the weapon cut through it. Hayato sidestepped effortlessly, the motion fluid, his senses razor-sharp. With a flick of his wrist, he called upon the wind—Gale Strike.
A violent burst of air exploded outward, hitting the thug like a battering ram. The force lifted him clean off his feet and sent him crashing into a pile of crates with a deafening CRACK! Wood splintered, debris scattering across the street as the man groaned in pain, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.
Another attacker lunged from Hayato's left, a jagged knife glinting menacingly in his grip. Hayato caught the movement in his peripheral vision, his muscles reacting before his mind could process the threat. He twisted sharply, pivoting on his heel as his markings flared. Air Torrent.
A concentrated blast of wind struck the knife-wielding thug square in the chest, launching him backward like a ragdoll. He tumbled across the dirt road, the breath knocked from his lungs before he even had time to cry out.
On the other side of the battlefield, Saeka moved like a flickering flame—fast, unpredictable, untouchable. Her teal and green haori flared behind her as she spun, weaving through attacks like she was dancing through the wind itself.
A thug built like a mountain swung a crowbar straight at her skull. Saeka bent backward in an almost inhuman motion, the weapon slicing through the air mere inches above her face. The second her feet touched the ground again, she reacted.
Flame Barrage.
A rapid series of fireballs erupted from her palms, each one burning bright against the darkness. The flaming orbs slammed into the thug's chest one after another, the heat scorching his clothes, forcing him back with each impact. He stumbled, finally collapsing onto the ground, desperately rolling in the dirt to extinguish the lingering embers.
A second gang member tried to blindside her from behind, lifting a bat high above his head, ready to strike.
Saeka's eyes flashed as she stomped her foot down hard. Flame Wave.
A sweeping arc of fire erupted from beneath her, spreading outward like a raging inferno. The thug barely had time to react before the heat engulfed him, sending him skidding across the cobblestone street. He hit the ground hard, groaning in pain as the last remnants of fire flickered out around him.
"You should've stayed home," Saeka taunted, her voice sharp and edged with confidence. She pivoted smoothly, driving her knee into the stomach of another attacker, knocking the wind out of him before he could even lift his fists.
Meanwhile, Hayato faced down a much larger opponent—one of Nyx's strongest men. Built like a tank, the thug stormed toward him, gripping a heavy iron club that looked more suited for smashing through walls than fighting. With a guttural roar, he swung the weapon downward with all his strength, the sheer force of it splitting the air.
Hayato didn't flinch.
His hand shot up, catching the club mid-swing.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, dust kicking up around them. But Hayato stood firm. His grip, enhanced by his control over the wind, held the weapon steady. The thug's eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
Hayato's facial markings pulsed, his power surging to the surface. With a sharp exhale, he tightened his grip. The wind around his fingers compressed, focusing into a razor-thin current. With one final squeeze—
CRACK!
The iron club shattered, broken into two jagged halves. The pieces clattered onto the ground, useless.
The thug's breath hitched, panic flickering across his face.
Before he could react, Hayato grabbed him by the collar, lifting him just slightly off the ground. His eyes burned with a dangerous intensity, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Tell me where Nyx is."
The thug swallowed hard, his fingers twitching as though debating whether to fight back or surrender.
Hayato's glowing markings flared brighter, the wind swirling around them in an untamed vortex, pulling at the thug's clothes and hair. The pressure in the air shifted, heavy, suffocating. "Where is he?!" he roared, his grip tightening.
The gang member, now visibly shaking, stammered, "H-he's after your sister!"
The world stopped.
Hayato's pulse thundered in his ears. Every noise, every breath, every movement faded into meaningless static.
Saeka's eyes widened, her flames flickering unsteadily for the first time. "What?!"
The thug barely had time to register the shift before Hayato released him—and ran.
The battle, the injuries, the exhaustion—none of it mattered.
Only one thing did.
Hikari.
The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie, silver glow over the village. The cold wind howled softly, whispering through the empty streets, chilling Hayato to the bone as he sprinted toward his home. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his muscles burning with exhaustion, but he didn't slow down. He couldn't.
Something was wrong.
The air smelled of smoke—faint but undeniable. The uneasy silence that blanketed the village was unnatural, suffocating, a void where the usual sounds of life should have been. The gnawing dread in his chest tightened with every step, clawing at his ribs like a living thing.
Please… let me be wrong.
But the moment his home came into view, his worst fears became reality.
The door was nearly off its hinges, broken wood splintered across the threshold like shattered bone. The whole house has been set on fire. The once-cozy home had been reduced to chaos and gulped in flames.
Hayato's breath hitched, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
No. No, no, no.
Hayato's rushed into the burning building, ignoring the heat and burns from the flames.
The sturdy wooden table was shattered, its pieces strewn and burning across the floor. Plates, cups, and other household items lay in jagged fragments, glinting in the dim light.
"Uncle Kenji!" His voice cracked as he stumbled forward through the flames, his boots crunching over broken glass and debris.
Dark smears of blood streaked the floor in long, cruel arcs. The acrid scent of blood filled his nostrils as his gaze locked onto the figure slumped near the center of the room.
Kenji.
Kenji's olive-green jacket, once worn with quiet dignity, was now soaked through with blood on the floor. Dark stains spread across the fabric, the wounds beneath carved open by something unnatural. Thick, jagged spears of shifting shadow protruded from his chest and abdomen, pulsating with a faint, sinister energy. The tendrils writhed and coiled within the wounds as though alive, dark veins of corruption spreading outward like cracks in stone.
"Uncle…" Hayato whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
Kenji's eyelids fluttered weakly at the sound, his once-sharp gaze now hazy with pain. His breaths were shallow, wet, and uneven, a cruel symphony of agony.
"Uncle!" Hayato's voice cracked as he ran to his uncle. He quickly put his uncle on his back and carried him out of the burning building. Once they were out, He placed him on the ground.
"UNCLE! UNCLE!"
Hayato's hands trembled as he pressed against the wound, trying—hoping—to stop the bleeding. His glowing markings flared erratically, responding to his desperation, but no matter how much energy he pushed into his palms, nothing was working.
"You're going to be okay." he lied, his voice shaking.
A sharp gasp echoed in front of him as Saeka caught up with him to see all the chaos.
Her fiery hair was wild through the wind, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the devastation. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a sob.
"Oh my god…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her gaze locked onto Kenji's broken form, and her knees nearly buckled.
"Saeka, help me," Hayato pleaded, though deep down, he knew. He knew there was nothing she could do.
She knelt beside him anyway, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder. "Hayato…" she started, but the words caught in her throat.
Hayato's mind raced, panic clawing at his sanity. His uncle was dying—no, he was already gone—but he realized, while he was searching through the burning house, something else was missing. Someone was missing.
His head snapped up.
Hikari.
She wasn't here.
Where is Hikari?
"Where is she?" Hayato demanded, his voice raw. "Where's Hikari?"
Kenji's breath hitched as he struggled to speak. His cracked lips barely moved, but he forced out a single, cursed name—
"Nyx…"
Hayato's blood ran cold.
The name slithered through the air like poison, seeping into his veins, igniting something deep, something primal.
Kenji's body convulsed slightly, his breathing growing weaker. He opened his mouth again, but no more words came. His body sagged, the last of his strength leaving him as his eyes slipped closed.
The final breath escaped his lips—a faint, trembling sigh that echoed in Hayayo's and Saeka's ears. Because of that both their hearts completely stopped for a moment.
And just like that, he was gone.
"No…" Hayato's voice broke. His hands tightened around his uncle's limp body as though holding on could somehow keep him here. "No, no, no! You can't leave us! Not like this!"
Saeka's grip on his shoulder tightened as she swallowed back a sob. "Hayato… he's gone."
The words shattered something inside him.
The man who had raised him and Hikari after their parents' deaths—the man who had protected them, guided them, and taught them how to survive in this broken world—was now nothing more than another casualty of Nyx's cruelty.
A dull ringing filled Hayato's ears.
Nyx had taken everything from him before. And now… he had taken even more.
Hayato's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his skin. His entire body trembled—not with grief, not with despair—but with fury.
His glowing markings flared, pulsing with raw, unfiltered energy. The faint hum of wind stirred through the wreckage around them, responding to the storm raging inside him.
"Nyx" Hayato growled, his voice low and venomous, carrying the weight of an oath that could not be broken.
End of Volume 1, Next Volume Coming Soon!