Legend spoke of a time long ago, when the world trembled under the shadow of war. The Imperial Order clashed with the abyssal forces, a conflict that threatened to consume all life. In that age of chaos, a knight of unmatched honor rose—Coren, a warrior who fought not to kill, but to protect.
He won countless battles without shedding a single drop of blood. Where others wielded blades to destroy, Coren wielded mercy. He captured demons, not with chains of iron or weapons of war, but within the shelter of the Green Forest, a place untouched by violence. There, he spoke with them, guided them, healed them. Humanity called him the kindest soul to have ever walked the earth.
But peace is often a fragile thing. When Coren escorted the last of the demons to their home, betrayal struck. The Royal Guards, acting under the king's orders, ambushed him. Coren fought valiantly, yet even he could not withstand their overwhelming strength. In his final act, he saved a demon child, giving his life in their place.
Then, light erupted from his body—a brilliance so pure that it split him into millions of tiny flies. These were the Strayflies, a living legacy of hope. Wherever they flew, wounds healed, despair lifted, and life flourished. Strayflies became a symbol: the promise that hope could always rise from the ashes of tragedy. And yet… no one knew if the Strayflies would ever return.
A splash of mud hit Ayron squarely in the face.
"Ah! You idiots!" he roared, wiping the mess from his eyes, while the two other kids below the wooden platform erupted into laughter.
"Clen, you're too good at shooting!" called Myori, giggling uncontrollably.
"I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, my princess," Clen replied, puffing his chest proudly, "even if it means facing the great dragon itself! Hahaha!"
Ayron growled, sprinting toward them, and the two boys scattered. Myori raised her voice after them. "Clen! Help me!"
"I'm sorry, princess! The dragon is too big!" Clen shouted, still running as fast as his legs could carry him.
The three children played in front of a wooden house at the edge of Sunhill Town, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the evening wind. Inside, Seroth Quinn, the former Azure Knight, and Anaya Pensora, their mother, watched fondly from the veranda.
"I am the Azure Knight! You monster!" Clen yelled, brandishing his stick like a sword.
"Garr! You will die by my hands!" Ayron countered, swinging his own stick with exaggerated bravado. Myori clutched her stomach, laughing as she watched them run toward each other, the sticks clashing with imaginary sparks.
"I'll burn you with Azure Flame!"
"Garr! You're dead"
"Take this monster"
"Garr! Ahhh!"
"Why do you keep standing after I hit you?"
"Garr! I'm coming back!"
The children's voices carried across the field, light and carefree, until Anaya called, "Kids! Lunchtime! Wash your hands and legs before eating!"
The three ran inside, washing quickly before sitting down to eat. Myori babbled excitedly about Ayron acting like Erebarl and Clen as the Azure Knight, her laughter spilling into the kitchen.
"My sweetie, eat your pie first…" Anaya began, sighing softly at the chaos that always followed these three.
Between bites, Clen asked, "Mr. Seroth, you were the Azure Knight, right? Is it hard fighting Erebarls?"
Seroth chuckled. "Kid, it's like playing stick-fight games with humans… except they use claws, not sticks. That's the only difference."
The lunch ended, and Myori helped Anaya wash dishes, her laughter still echoing faintly in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Ayron led Clen into Seroth's old study, a room filled with relics of his heroic past—armor, swords, pictures, and a single, locked wardrobe.
"Looking for toys?" Seroth asked with a raised brow.
"No, we're exploring your old stuff," Ayron replied, gesturing toward the shelves. Clen's eyes had been drawn to the locked wardrobe.
"Do you want to see inside?" Seroth asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Clen nodded eagerly. With a turn of the key, the wardrobe opened, revealing a pristine suit of azure armor and a finely forged sword.
"It's been years since I last held this," Seroth murmured, running a hand along the blade. Clen's eyes sparkled with curiosity, but Ayron barely glanced, uninterested.
Then a scream tore through the air.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
Seroth's eyes snapped open. He grabbed his sword instinctively and ran outside, finding Anaya in the yard. "What happened? Where is she?" he demanded.
"It's Myori! She's… in the southern field!" Anaya said, her voice tight with fear.
Seroth didn't hesitate. He sprinted like a leopard, the wind whipping past him. In the distance, he saw her—Myori standing at the edge of the field, tears streaming down her face. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly.
"Take her inside. Lock the doors," he instructed Ayron and Clen as he returned them to the house. Then, with his eyes closed, he focused on the presence lingering in the field—a malignant, unnatural aura.
It was an Erebarl. Towering, brutish, and radiating menace. Its jagged form moved with terrifying strength.
Seroth's eyes glowed with a fierce light. Rocks flew toward him, hurled by the creature's powerful limbs, but he dodged them with inhuman speed, each step a blur. He struck at its legs, toppling it twice before sliding forward to strike at its head. The creature's skull split cleanly under his blade, a testament to the skill and power of the Azure Knight. He collected a few samples from the remains, burning the rest to prevent contamination.
Returning home, Seroth's smile was faint but genuine. "No work for a week," he said lightly, brushing off Anaya's worried gaze.
Evening had fallen, and the streets of Sunhill glimmered under the soft glow of lanterns.
"Will we go to the festival?" Ayron asked, his eyes bright.
"Of course, sweetie," Anaya replied with a warm smile.
"Yay!" the children cheered. "Seroth, are you coming with us?"
"I have duties tonight, unfortunately," Seroth said, regret heavy in his voice. "But enjoy it for me."
The family walked under the golden lantern lights, the town alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted foods. Stalls lined the streets, bursting with colors and delights, and the children dragged Anaya from one to another, sampling every treat they could find.
At midnight, the town gathered in the center to release fire lanterns into the sky. Thousands of flickering lights rose together, casting a glow so bright it seemed to chase away the night itself. Myori's eyes shone, reflecting the floating lanterns, while Ayron and Clen marveled at the spectacle.
The festival ended, and the family began the walk home through the quiet, darkened streets. Myori had fallen asleep, her small hand clasped in Anaya's. Clen yawned, leaning on Ayron's shoulder. But Ayron's gaze lingered on the edge of the forest, dark and silent.
A pair of red eyes blinked at him from the shadows. They vanished in an instant, yet the sight remained etched in his mind. That gaze… it was not human. It was something hungry, calculating, and malevolent.
When they arrived home, the children slept soundly, oblivious to the creeping danger. But Ayron could not shake the image of those eyes. Even as the moon rose high above Sunhill Town, a bloodthirsty presence lingered in the forest, watching, waiting.
And somewhere, in the deepest darkness, a whisper carried on the wind: The Strayflies will rise again…