Somewhere far… beyond the GrassLands… where the tallest tree pierced the sky, a boy lay sleeping beneath its massive roots.
His name was… Markiel.
Slowly, he stirred, blinking against the morning light.
"Uh? My head hurts," he groaned, rubbing his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet.
He glanced up at the towering tree, its branches swaying gently in the wind, and a mischievous grin spread across his face.
Without a second thought, he began to climb—hand over hand, foot over foot—grabbing vines and branches. The wind whipped against him, tugging at his clothes, twisting his hair around his face. He laughed, a bright, reckless sound, letting the wind push him higher and higher, heart racing with the thrill.
At the top, the view opened up: an endless sea of tall grasses, forests stretching as far as the eye could see, bathed in golden sunlight. Birds chirped in the distance, and the air smelled of earth and life, fresh and sharp.
"What a view," he whispered, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, letting it fill his lungs, letting it wake every sense alive within him.
Then, without warning… he jumped.
The wind rushed past him in a roaring torrent, tugging at his clothes, whipping around his body. The ground approached fast, but before it could claim him, a massive bird swooped beneath him, catching him midair with effortless grace. Its feathers ruffled in the wind, and the world spun in dizzying motion below him.
"Saya, you're late!" he called out teasingly, laughing as the bird carried him.
The girl perched atop the bird laughed lightly.
"But I caught you on time, didn't I?" she replied, her voice playful yet sharp, her hair streaming behind her like a banner in the wind.
"So… what were you doing up there anyway?" she asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
"Just… a short nap," he replied casually, though his heart still pounded from the climb and the jump.
"And how was it?"
"I… had a very strange dream," he murmured, his hands gripping the bird's back tightly as the wind tugged at him.
"That dream again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What do you mean again?" he stammered, confusion creeping into his voice.
"You had the same dream yesterday," she said calmly, her gaze sharp.
"Wha—?" Before Markiel could respond, the air thickened. A low hum seemed to vibrate in his bones. Silence fell over everything, pressing against his ears and mind.
The world seemed to pause. The birds froze mid-flight. The wind halted. Even the grasses below shivered without movement.
Then… a gust of wind tore through the grasses, shaking the trees and rattling the ground beneath him. Dust and leaves swirled in a chaotic spiral, whipping around his face and stinging his skin.
The girl's tone softened, almost a whisper, cutting through the chaos.
"You should wake up now… show them what you're made of."
A shiver ran down his spine. His stomach knotted, a strange heat rising in his chest, coiling around his thoughts.
Then… the world cracked. A deafening voice thundered through the stillness, shaking the sky and the earth alike:
"Revenge!"
Pain, memories, and rage flooded through him like a tidal wave, slamming against his mind from every direction. Faces he didn't want to remember, screams of the past, echoes of betrayal—they all collided within him.
His body ached. His vision blurred—but his resolve hardened. Every fiber of his being screamed, do not fall. He stood his ground, bruised, battered, and trembling, yet unyielding.
A figure emerged from the shadows, calm yet terrifying. Its presence pressed down on him, a suffocating weight that made every heartbeat thunder in his ears.
"You should have listened and obeyed me, Vharon… I could have given you rest and peace," the voice said, soft yet suffocating, heavy with unrelenting pressure.
The figure lifted a hand, and light twisted unnaturally around it, coalescing into a sword that seemed to hum with power. The glow was blinding, yet somehow sharp, cutting through the haze of the sky, reflecting off every trembling leaf and blade of grass.
Vharon's heart pounded so loudly he feared it would burst from his chest. He tried to flee, but his legs betrayed him—rooted to the ground as if the earth itself conspired against him.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, to dodge, to run—but he could not. Only his gaze could follow the sword, glowing ominously, humming with deadly light, and the figure behind it, calm, unyielding, unstoppable.
He glanced back one last time—and everything blurred into a swirl of light, shadow, and wind.
To be continued.