Mikado found himself standing still in a dark—quiet—and desolate place. Below him was a shallow pool of water that didn't even pass the soles of his shoes in depth. Confused, he looked around to no luck. He tried calling back, but his voice did not return.
Seems like this place is endless.
Mikado shivered as the area was devoid of light, which meant that this place offers no warmth, no comfort, and no kindness. Mikado didn't understand that, but he felt it, which made him understand in way that he could.
He began to walk forward, his feet creating soft splashes as it tredded the ground below. He inspected his body for any abnormalities—only to find none. So, he kept walking.
A few minutes later, he grew bored and even more confused. Was this a dream? Or was it reality? He couldn't tell anymore.
His pondering was cut short as the world around him began to alter and distort. Caught off guard, he falls backwards and the area around him transforms into a literal hellscape. Terrified, he tries to cover his eyes to stop it from overwhelming him, but something grips his hands tight—pulling them away from his face. He hesitantly raises his head, eyes slowly drifting up as it locked onto the figure in front of him.
The moment he did, his breath slowly began to turn rapid, and he flew into a panic. In front of him, was the manifestation of Kiroku. But he looked wrong. Very wrong.
He looked pale. His retinas were shrunk. He looked like a demon. One who was burning with rage. "Why didn't you help me," It said in a monotone voice. "You left me to die."
Mikado's eyes widened, sweat beating down his face. His lips shivered as he struggled to find the words he wanted to say.
Kiroku began to yell. "You LEFT me to DIE!" He lunged at Mikado, gripping his shoulders tightly with his hands. "This is ALL your FAULT!What were you doing when you watched me DIE?!"
Pause.
"WHAT DID YOU DO? NOTHING!" Kiroku screamed, shaking Mikado violently, causing him to gasp in pain. "You should've died that day."
Mikado's eyes began to form tears as he could only apologise. I'm sorry… I'm… sorry…
Mikado tried to wipe the tears away, but when he did, this time, his parents stood in front of him. Confused, he turned his head to look around, just to see the children from the warehouse—all gathered around him. His parents and the children looked down at him with disgust, disappointment, anger, and hatred written all over their faces.
Mikado's breath hitched as he tried to crawl away. "Please… don't look at me like that…" He whispered, voice breaking as the tears began to drip from his face.
His mother spoke, "Why were you the only one to survive?"
His dad added, "Why bother being alive?"
The children began to shout.
"You should've never been born."
"Why do we die, and you live?"
"This is all your fault."
"All your fault."
"Waste of space."
"I hate you."
"Just die already."
"No one wants to see your pathetic face."
Mikado's jaw began to twitch as his lips quivered. Then he began to shriek, covering his ears with his hands as he cried and bowed his head. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" He repeated like a robot with a broken voice box.
"Please… no more… I didn't want this…" He whispered in a shaky voice, throat tightening as he began to panic. He was having a mental breakdown.
The spirits around him continued to mock and insult him, pinning the blame and forcing Mikado to carry the guilt of being a survivor.
"PLEASE! STOP THIS!" He cried out, swiping away at those that got too close, but his hand phased through like he tried to grab steam. They were intangible. And retaliating only made them louder and more aggressive.
Mikado began to full-on weep, entering a fetal position as he tried blocking out the noise with his hands—drowning in his own tears as they kept tormenting him. Mikado felt helpless and overwhelmed by the guilt and blame for what he couldn't stop. All he could do was sit there and suffer.
But today, something will not let it happen.
His arms were suddenly jerked upwards as a glowing white hand pulled him up, lifting him off the ground. The spirits below tried to drag him down, gripping at his feet, but they could not reach him. Confused, he steals a glance below, looking at the evil beneath. Then his eyes drew towards the figure lifting him.
And then he blinked.
And when he blinked, he found himself in an ethereal and majestic landscape—surrounded by lush, green grass, a soft blue sky and a view of a mountain that was the pure definition of 'beautiful.'
His eyes darted around, trying to absorb everything that he was experiencing. It was so much that he was stuck in a state of awe and amazement.
He glanced at the figure that carried him here, intending to thank it. Instead, it started shaking him. Then,
Pwoosh.
He awoke in a bed. One that felt familiar, though the ceiling did not.
His eyelids struggled to stay open, and his entire body was aching from the wounds he received about a week ago. He felt a soft, warm touch—wiping away a tear on his cheek. Surprised, he weakly turned his head to see a young girl, roughly 2 years older most likely, sitting at his side.
She already noticed that he was awake, but she remained quiet. Her expression did not change; she just observed him with a soft and gentle look that could make a boy's heart skip a beat.
He gathered the strength to open his mouth, trying to say something.
The girl leaned in closer, as if trying to listen to what Mikado had to say.
"Is that you… Yoriko?" He mumbled quietly, the tiredness in his voice clearly evident in his tone.
The girl parted her lips slightly, and with a soft voice, she replied, "Yes, it's me." She turned and reached for a towel, which she then used to wipe away the cold sweat that settled on Mikado's face.
"You were having a nightmare, weren't you?" She asked, wiping his arm without meeting his gaze.
"I-I think… I was…" He replied, his eyes darting back to the ceiling.
As he lay on the mattress, he began to question what he'll do now. There's nowhere to go.
But before he can think, let's do a little 'rewind.'
A week earlier, the Velkaris fleet were forced to retreat from Erodus as the 3rd Fleet Division of the Eurina Empire were on their way, and their current condition is unable to survive a battle with them.
Hours later, the first zeppelin descended from above, landing at what remained of the docks. The soldiers stared in disbelief, laying their eyes upon the tragedy that had struck the pride of the Eurinians.
As more of the airships docked, The Rear Admiral: Masuyama, stepped foot onto the cracked concrete of the city. He observed for a moment before advancing without giving an order. The other soldiers nearby noticed this and followed in pursuit.
"What the hell happened here…?" A soldier questioned, dumbfounded at the devastation caused by a simple 'raid.'
Rescue operations were already underway, but only a select few were found alive. Around 98% of the population had perished in the attack. That's a low number considering the fact that Erodus had an approximate population count of 30,000. Meaning, only six hundred survived. But 280 of them were missing, lowering the number down to three hundred and twenty.
The rescue teams were losing morale as corpses stacked up after corpses, many being elders and children. It was truly a horrifying and despicable act that the Velkaris Union had committed. A true war crime and atrocity. The Eurinian soldiers knew this, and justice had to be served.
On the other side, Masuyama kept going forward, his boots treading on the ashes of the rubble and debris as the faint scent of smoke still filled the air like incense.
The fires had consumed everything, which convinced most of the soldiers to believe that the survivors that survived the initial attack—had not survived the flames.
Of course, Masuyama disagreed with this. From what we can tell, his intuition was saying something else—which led him to a collapsed building. Inside, half-buried in rubble: an iron crate. Bingo.
"Bring this to one of the zeppelins," he commanded. Without question, soldiers hoisted the crate and carried it to the docks, eventually loading it onto a ship called The Flying Beauty.
hours later at midday. The fleet was prepared to depart from Erodus, and Masuyama ordered the fleet to lift off and turn starboard (right) back to the Pillars of Power—the heart of the Eurina Empire.
On the Flying Beauty, a specific soldier that went by the name of 'Gan' was strolling around the zeppelin without a care in the world until he stumbled upon an iron crate. Curious, he began poking at it with his built-in cannon arm on his right. And I mean what I say. He has a full giant cannon as a right arm.
One of his comrades passed by and noticed the strange activity that Gan was doing. This comrade went by the name of 'Mizuki,' and he asked about the crate with curiosity.
Gan turned to him and spoke, "I dunno what it is, I found it. Don't wanna open it." He replied lazily.
Mizuki grew confused. "What do you mean by 'you don't want to open it?' Is there something unpleasant in there?" He asked, incredulous.
Gan turned back to the crate. "I dunno."
Mizuki sighed. "Then why poke it at all?"
Gan turned and with a smirk, replied, "Because I wanted to."
Mizuki blinked before shrugging, "Well, that makes sense." As he turned to leave, Gan poked it again with his cannon, which created a loud clang accompanied by a faint whimper from inside the crate. Mizuki froze, and the sound had caught the attention of the others. When Mizuki turned towards the crate again, Gan was already metres away from the box, saying it startled him when it made a sound.
A few others had already gathered around the crate—all curious and sceptical about what's in the box. But the whimpering grew more frequent, and you could now hear breathing from within the crate, which brought surprise to the soldiers stationed nearby.
A young girl peered from the side—Yoriko. Her eyes narrowed as she observed the crate. There was something… wrong. Calmly, she stepped forward, inspecting the lid. It was tightly sealed. Her gaze flicked to Gan, still whistling and oblivious, and she motioned for him to help her break it open.
With a grunt, Gan pried the crate apart. Slowly, the lid lifted. Inside lay a boy—Mikado—covered in blood, ashes clinging to his hair and skin. His body reeked of smoke and death, lips cracked and dry, eyelids swollen and red, feet bruised and blistered.
Yoriko leaned closer, her eyes scanning his frail form. She reached out, checking for a pulse—faint. A shallow, rasping breath. Her calm, composed expression shifted instantly to worry.
"Get the medical team. Now!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the shocked soldiers.
Mikado's weak eyelids fluttered. He tried to move, to curl away, but his body refused to obey. Yoriko knelt beside him, gently brushing ash from his hair and blood from his face. Her presence was steady, reassuring amidst the chaos, and for the first time, Mikado's trembling slowed.
The soldiers scrambled, hauling stretchers and medical kits toward the crate. Gan's cannon arm clanked against the deck as he followed orders in a daze. Mizuki whispered under his breath, "How is he even alive?"
Yoriko's eyes met his briefly, calm and firm. "It's okay… You're safe now," she murmured, and in that moment, the world outside the crate—the smoke, the rubble, the death—faded. All that mattered was getting him out alive.
The medical team worked quickly, surrounding Mikado with warm blankets and carefully tending to his burns, bruises, and swollen limbs. Every touch was measured, deliberate, as though they feared breaking him further.
Mikado flinched at first, shrinking into himself, but the soft, steady presence of Yoriko at his side began to anchor him. She didn't speak loudly or demand his attention—she simply sat, occasionally brushing back stray strands of hair or holding his hand when he trembled.
Slowly, the boy began to open up, recounting fragments of what happened in Erodus. His voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, but Yoriko leaned in and listened, letting each word settle without judgement.
When he spoke of Kiroku, of the warehouse, of the screams and the fire, her expression softened, and tears fell silently from her eyes. Her grief mirrored his own, letting him know that he wasn't alone in feeling the weight of what happened.
Other crew members—Gan, Mizuki, and a few medics—watched quietly at first, then gradually softened as they realised the depth of his trauma. Some offered small gestures: a cup of warm broth, a quiet pat on the shoulder, words of encouragement. Mikado tried to withdraw, fearing he didn't deserve kindness, but the gentle persistence of Yoriko, paired with the patient attention of the others, began to chip away at the wall he'd built around himself.
He began helping with small tasks—carrying supplies, tidying equipment, simple errands. His hands were unsteady, but he was careful, precise, and surprisingly capable. The crew exchanged impressed glances. This child, broken as he seemed, had a resilience that couldn't be ignored. And though he tried to hide it, Mikado slowly began to feel a sense of belonging he hadn't known in what felt like a lifetime.
Some of the adults suggested sending him back to a safer location on the next supply run, thinking the life aboard the Flying Beauty might be too harsh for him. Mikado's chest tightened at the thought. He didn't fully understand why, but something in him knew he couldn't go back—not to the ruins, not to the ghosts of Erodus, not to the life he had lost.
When Masuyama heard of the suggestion, he flatly rejected it, his expression unreadable. Mikado observed him quietly, sensing the weight of authority and strategy in the admiral's decision. He realised then that staying wasn't just a choice—it was survival, it was growth, it was the first step toward reclaiming his life.
He looked to Yoriko, whose calm gaze gave him courage, and to the others, whose quiet support offered him reassurance. For the first time in what felt like forever, Mikado allowed himself to hope. He would learn, he would train, and he would become more than the survivor of tragedy.