The cold wind stopped blowing.
The air stood still, heavy and thick, as if it were struggling to breathe. Trees bowed to their roots, and birds' wings trembled at the sheer force emerging from the forest.
Suddenly, two eyes snapped open.
A boy jolted upright from his bed, his heart pounding like war drums. His eyes flickered like fireflies, and his hands clawed at his chest as he whispered.
"That dream again. A kingdom reduced to ruins, a king covered in blood, and a black crown turned white. What could this mean?" he asked in a strained tone.
Deep within the trees, a faint figure stared closely, almost as if it were peering straight into his soul.
He could feel it.
That shadowy presence.
His gaze shifted toward his window. He crawled out of bed, but when he looked outside, he saw nothing—only the afterimage of a figure.
Not knowing what had happened, he took his cloak and rushed outside, desperate to leave that nightmare behind. He couldn't ignore it.
He ran, blinded by his own fear.
He couldn't see his own world changing around him.
He stopped and opened his eyes.
What he saw horrified him.
The ground flickered with power, and the skies turned crimson. His feet trembled as the ground beneath him turned black, consuming not energy, not light, but souls.
Souls from living beings.
He wanted to run, but he couldn't. Something was dragging his feet, a great force pulling him toward the glorious power emerging from the depths of the forest.
He could see it.
The vision.
A blade drenched in blood.
He extended his hand. It was as if the blade whispered his name, calling to him, promising him false power.
The blade whispered its own name.
Blood Reaper.
The name of death called to him.
His fingertips touched the blade's hilt.
His eyes turned crimson.
Suddenly, a voice roared out.
Leaves turned to ash. The ground shook with might, and animals froze.
"STOP! YOU ARE NOT READY!"
His eyes snapped open.
He fell to the ground, the blade still pulsing with restless power.
The boy looked up with a dim expression.
"Who are you? No... what are you?"
"I am the Keeper of everything light or dark, pure or corrupt, lost or found. My name is the Keeper, and it will forever be. Now and for eternity."
His voice cracked. His tone was too vague to understand.
"But that is not why I came."
"Then why? Why did you come? First, it was the dream, then the horrifying vision, and now this."
His voice cracked like a creaking door.
"You think power is a gift? Oh, no! It is a burden, a curse, a weight. Many people have tried to wield that curse but failed. Many people have tried to push their way through but failed. Many people have tried to wield it... but they were all shattered. Consumed."
The Keeper paused.
"Do you know why?"
The boy shook his head.
"Because the blade didn't whisper their names. The blade didn't call to them. The blade didn't whisper fate into their hearts."
The Keeper walked toward him and knelt down.
"The blade chose you. I don't know why it did, but what I do know is that the Blood Reaper doesn't choose wrongly. So, I will play along."
The Keeper's expression grew stern as he pointed toward Satomo's arm.
"But you must earn it!"
He paused.
"Satomo... you must earn it."
When Satomo turned his head, he saw nothing.
But he felt a sharp pain in the palm of his hand.
A very sharp pain.
It was a scar.
The scar was carved into his soul, like a mark that refused to heal.
Satomo lay on the green grass, and all he could hear was a faint voice whispering:
"He remembers all."
TO BE CONTINUED...