Four Years After the Great Earthquake— In the Southern Ruins.
The Southern Ruins stretched across the horizon like the corpse of a forgotten city. Crumbling buildings leaned at unnatural angles, their foundations split wide open by the earthquake that had reshaped the world years ago. Thick, cold mist drifted between shattered streets and collapsed towers, swallowing the ruins in a ghostly veil that muffled all sound.
"Do you sense anything unnatural, Jina?" a middle aged man whispered his tone rough, his eyes darting nervously through the swirling fog.
Jina furrowed her brow, her senses stretched thin by the oppressive silence. "I sense… creatures," she replied, her voice trembling slightly with unease, "but they have no mana."
the man's frown deepened, confusion and worry etched across his face. "No mana? How many are there?"
She closed her eyes briefly, focusing inward. The mist felt alive, thick with unseen threats. "I can detect only ten… but there might be more, hidden in the shadows."
"Ten or more," he muttered, weighing their chances. "We shouldn't face them alone. I'll stay here and hold the position. You go and bring the others."
"Understood, Master," Jina said with a slight bow before slipping silently into the thickening mist, her footsteps swallowed by the eerie stillness.
The lone figure waited, every muscle coiled with tension, ears straining for any sound beyond the whispering wind. The distant shifting of rubble faded, leaving only the low whistle of cold air threading through broken stone.
Then, without warning, the ground beneath him trembled ominously—a subtle vibration that grew rapidly into a violent shudder.
Dark, sinuous tentacles burst through cracks in the earth, tearing through loose stone and choking dust before coiling tightly around his legs and arms, cold and unyielding like iron shackles.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" he shouted, struggling fiercely against the crushing grasp, panic surging through his veins.
"Stop squirming, human," a cold, mocking voice hissed from the shadows.
A figure stepped forward from between two collapsed buildings—humanoid in shape but grotesquely wrong. With each step, broken stone crunched beneath its pale, unnervingly smooth feet. Its empty eye sockets seemed to suck in the fading light, leaving nothing but darkness where eyes should have been.
The Necfar stared in horror, heart pounding. "What… what are you?" he demanded, mind reeling. "How can something like this even exist?"
The creature tilted its head with a veneer of eerie politeness. "Me? Oh, how rude of me. I should have introduced myself."
It paused, then smiled—a chilling, unnatural gesture that sent a cold shiver down the Necfar's spine. "My name is Helv. And I don't belong here."
The Necfar's eyes narrowed with cautious suspicion. "What do you mean you don't belong here? Then where do you belong?"
Helv chuckled softly, the sound dripping with dark mockery. "Do you really think I'd tell you that?" His voice was a venomous whisper. "Now, be still while I rip your heart out."
Sensing the imminent attack, the Necfar summoned every ounce of strength, breaking free from the tentacles at the last moment. He leapt backward, narrowly evading Helv's clawed strike that gouged the air where he had stood seconds before.
"Stay still, human," Helv hissed, advancing with relentless menace. "Don't make this harder for me."
The Necfar vanished into the shadows, reappearing suddenly behind Helv. He drove a fierce kick into the creature's abdomen, the impact sending Helv crashing across the ruined street and slamming him into the fractured remains of a nearby wall. Chunks of stone rained down, scattering across the ground.
"You talk too much for a monster," the Necfar said coldly, bracing himself.
Helv rose slowly, dark smoke swirling like a living storm around him. "I believe your sensory friend mentioned there were ten or more of us, correct?" His laugh was low and menacing. "Your heart will make the perfect offering to God."
Before the Necfar could react, Helv vanished again—only to reappear instantly, his claw-like fingers piercing deep into the man's chest, severing his heart with brutal precision.
"H-How…?" the Necfar gasped, blood pouring from the wound as life slipped away.
Moments later, he lay lifeless among the ruins.
Helv looked down at the corpse, spat disdainfully, and muttered, "Come out. I didn't need your help as you can see, smoke-face. But whatever."
The mist shifted behind the battlefield.
From behind a ruined tower, a tall grey monster with smoke where its head should have been emerged—the same terrifying entity seen before.
"I'm surprised you were injured by a human," the tall creature said, its voice deep and trembling. "I thought you needed assistance."
Helv rolled his eyes. "It's called toying with my prey. Ever heard of it?" he replied sarcastically.
The tall monster ignored him. "I sense more humans approaching," it said before dissolving into a wisp of black smoke.
"Why is that guy the leader…" Helv grumbled, vanishing shortly after.
Minutes later, Jina returned with reinforcements, stepping cautiously into the ruined street. The mist curled thick and cold around her, swallowing sound and light alike. But something was wrong—an unsettling stillness hung heavy in the air, more suffocating than the fog.
There were no echoes of clashing steel or desperate shouts.
No signs of struggle or resistance.
Only silence.
A silence so profound it pressed against her chest like a physical weight.
Then, through the haze, she saw him.
Her master lay sprawled among the rubble, motionless and broken. The torn earth beneath him bore a hollow, jagged wound—a cruel, empty cavity where his heart once beat.
Jina's breath caught in her throat, the world tilting as grief crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed beside him, trembling uncontrollably. Tears welled and spilled freely, carving clean tracks down her dirt-streaked face.
"Master…" she whispered, voice barely more than a broken breath.
The ruins seemed to close in, shadows lengthening as if mourning with her. Her heart shattered anew with every ragged sob that shook her frame.
Unable to hold back the anguish anymore, she flung her arms wide and screamed—a raw, piercing cry that tore through the desolate silence and echoed across the broken land.
"MASTEEEER!"
Her scream lingered, haunting and hollow, swallowed slowly by the ruins themselves.
In that shattering moment, the weight of loss pressed down, a cruel reminder of the darkness creeping ever closer.
The haunting echoes of Jina's scream faded into the cold mist, leaving behind a silence heavier than the ruins themselves. As reinforcements gathered around her, the weight of loss settled deep into their bones, a stark reminder of the darkness that now crept through Zephyria's broken lands.
Days passed in a blur of preparation and quiet mourning. The world outside continued its slow, stubborn recovery from the great earthquake, but within the walls of the Necfar headquarters, urgency simmered beneath the surface.
The morning air was crisp and cool as my father and I made our way through the bustling streets. Around us, the city buzzed with life—vendors calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, artisans hammering away at renewed craft. Yet, amidst the noise and color, my thoughts remained tethered to the shadow of recent events, the fragile hope of survival, and the mission that lay ahead.
Four years had passed since the earth had torn Zephyria apart, and now, here I was—on the cusp of stepping deeper into the world my father inhabited.
The towering stone walls of the Necfar headquarters rose before us, a fortress of history and power. Inside, the grand chamber awaited—a place where decisions were made that shaped the fate of our land.
As we entered, the murmurs of gathered Necfars filled the air, their voices low but charged with an undeniable tension. I settled quietly on my father's lap, feeling the weight of their gazes—some warm with gentle smiles, others solemn with the burden of responsibility.
Soon, the king arrived, his presence commanding immediate silence. The gravity in the room was palpable as he took his seat, ready to address the assembly.
And so, the wheels of destiny began to turn once more.
King Chrono's presence brought a hush over the chamber, his eyes scanning the gathered Necfars with quiet authority.
"So, is everyone here?" King Chrono asked, his voice steady but carrying the weight of the news to come.
"Yes, my lord. All are present," replied his assistant, bowing respectfully.
Chrono's expression darkened. "We convene today because of the incident in the Southern Ruins two days ago."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room—concern and unease blending in the air.
A woman with flowing white hair leaned forward. "A-rank Necfar Zhong Lu was involved in that mission, correct?"
King Chrono nodded solemnly. "Yes. And C-rank Necfar Jina returned with troubling news."
Jina stood, her hands trembling slightly but her voice steady. "While Master and I searched the ruins, I sensed creatures—unlike anything we've encountered before. They lacked mana, which is… unprecedented."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Master stayed behind to alert the others. When I returned with reinforcements, we found him dead… his heart torn from his body."
A heavy silence fell, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone present.
King Chrono's voice softened. "You may sit, Jina."
She nodded, wiping a tear and lowering herself into her seat.
Discussion shifted quickly to strategies—how to strengthen defenses, gather intelligence, and understand these new threats without mana. The urgency was clear, but so was the uncertainty.
As the meeting progressed, I sat quietly on my father's lap, absorbing every word, every glance exchanged between the Necfars. Their concern was real, but beneath it simmered a determination to face whatever darkness was rising.
This was no ordinary enemy—and we would need every ounce of strength and knowledge to confront it.
As the meeting drew to a close, the weight of the discussion still pressing on the room, I felt a sudden, sharp pain lancing through my chest. It was unexpected—like a fiery spike igniting deep within me.
My breath hitched, and the world around me seemed to tilt and blur.
A burning sensation spread rapidly, scorching through my body, stealing the air from my lungs. I doubled over, clutching my chest as dizziness washed over me in waves.
"Son!" my father's voice cut through the haze, panic and urgency mingling in his tone. He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands trembling as he reached out.
An elderly woman with a calm presence stepped forward. Her eyes were wise, her movements deliberate yet gentle. She placed her palm over my chest, and a faint, soothing glow emanated from her hand—soft and pure, unlike any magic I had seen before.
The fire inside me began to dull, the pain ebbing away as the warmth spread through my body, weaving a fragile shield of relief.
"I have healed him," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet strength. "But you must take him home, Zekra."
My father lifted me carefully, his eyes filled with gratitude and lingering worry. "Thank you," he whispered, determination settling into his features. "I will."
Before we left the chamber, exhaustion claimed me. Sleep pulled me under, the world fading into shadows and silence.
But even as I drifted away, the voice returned—ancient, commanding, yet strangely comforting.
"Listen, child. Your path will not be easy. Your next task is to learn about mana—not openly, not where others can see. You must study in secret."
The voice's tone was firm, yet not unkind. "Knowledge is your weapon, but it must remain hidden. Your survival—and the fate of many—depends on it."
It paused before continuing, "I will guide you when the time is right. Until then, fulfill your purpose quietly. Do not reveal what you are to anyone."
When I awoke, I was cradled in my mother's arms.
"Are you awake, dear?" she asked softly, worry etched in her voice.
I nodded faintly, my mind still heavy.
How can I train mana without drawing attention? I wondered. Does the command mean to learn quietly, or simply to observe? Father will teach me, but must I hide this part of me from everyone else?
Deep inside, a quiet certainty settled. God's orders were not mere suggestions—they were absolute. To survive, to fulfill my destiny, I would have to obey, no matter the cost.