The village appeared calm, but it was a suffocating stillness. In the distance, the shadows of the people still tried to weave the remnants of hope. The soil they tilled was the same earth as before, yet nothing changed; the livestock they tended did not grow in number; the vegetables and fruits they nurtured every day yielded nothing. Only the fingers moving nimbly, weaving under the scorching sun, showed any result. They kept moving, breathing, and living as if everything were normal. But in their sleep, they knew—this was not how things were supposed to be.
In an aging thatched hut on the edge of the village, the atmosphere was starkly different. Several elders sat cross-legged, but the lighthearted laughter that usually filled the air was absent. Their wrinkled faces were cast down, etched with lines of deep-seated anxiety.
For half a year now, the village's belly had been forced to compromise with hunger. The fields remained green, yet they were barren, as if the Earth had closed itself off, refusing to grant them life. The grains of rice and wheat they planted were nothing but empty husks, while the fruit trees and vegetables stood stiff and silent. It was a curse. The Gods had turned their faces away. That was all they knew.
"We cannot just sit here and rot. We must do something!" one of them exclaimed.
"I feel we have done everything. We have prayed, we have offered sacrifices to the Gods," another replied.
"Perhaps it is time we seek another place," suggested another voice.
Among them sat a highly respected man named Kaito. He was the tenth descendant of the Arata family—a lineage that had led and protected the village with wisdom for generations. But now, it seemed the Earth was no longer on his side.
"My brothers, I understand this situation, but we must not be reckless in our steps. I ask you all to endure just a little longer. I will send Takihiro on a journey to find a new land for us. Once he finds it and returns, we will gather again to decide the best path for everyone," Kaito Arata spoke, his voice calm yet firm.
The meeting concluded with a collective nod of agreement from the village elders.
That night, Arata went to the ancient temple to offer a prayer. As he closed his eyes in the silence, the sky above the village suddenly seemed to tear open. A dimensional rift erupted, expanding and spitting out an object that hurtled down with terrifying speed.
BLAR!
The impact obliterated the temple. Arata was thrown violently, hitting the bushes near the temple gates. His consciousness flickered into darkness before he finally forced himself up, his body trembling. The sight before him was an indescribable horror: the temple was in ruins, leaving a gaping crater in its center.
Something called out to his very soul. Despite his shaking legs, he drew closer. The cold night air vanished instantly, replaced by a heat that clashed with the dew, creating a thick shroud of mist and steam. At the bottom of the crater, a metallic, chest-like object stood tilted. A blue light pulsed from the cracks in its surface. At its center was an octagonal shape set with a shimmering, teardrop-shaped crystal.
Without realizing it, Arata reached out and touched it. Suddenly, a blinding radiance consumed his vision. Time seemed to freeze. Absolute silence swallowed the world.
The mysterious night finally ended, replaced by a dawn that bore ill tidings. Arata was startled awake, not by the sunlight, but by the clamor of villagers surrounding his front door. Their voices were fractured, overlapping in a cacophony of panic.
"Lord!" "Lord Arata, come out!" "Lord, come quickly! Look at what has happened to our Temple!"
The cries were urgent, making Arata's heart hammer against his ribs. With a heavy sense of dread, he hurried from his cot to meet them. The floorboards creaked sharply under his hurried footsteps. He found a group of villagers standing at his threshold, their faces pale as death.
With gasping breaths and tears staining their cheeks, they told their story in stammers. The sacred temple—their only sanctuary for prayer and hope—had been swallowed by the earth. The structure was buried under a massive mound of soil that had appeared out of nowhere overnight. Only a single wooden gate pillar remained, standing tilted and fragile, as if waiting for the moment to collapse and merge with the ground.
Arata gasped; disbelief struck his chest like an iron mace. Without wasting a moment, he ran with the villagers to the site. But upon arrival, his footsteps froze. He stood silent before the massive mound that now entombed their history and faith.
This was beyond reason. Arata remembered clearly—last night, when he came to pray, everything was normal: dark, cold, and misty. Even when he returned to the village, there had been no roar, no thundering sound, nor even the slightest tremor of the earth. The sky had been clear. Yet now, the temple was gone, buried in an impossible phenomenon.
The sight was a crushing blow to the already suffering people. They believed the wrath of the Gods had reached its peak, though they knew not what sin they had committed. Wails, tears, and mournful prayers now decorated the site that had become a grave for their hopes.
Amidst this storm of despair, Arata stood tall. Though his own heart was in pieces and his mind was in turmoil, he forced himself to calm his people.
"The Gods could not hate us!" he cried out, trying to quell the hysteria. "We have given every praise, prayer, and the best offerings. Even last night, I myself knelt here, pleading for mercy for us all. And I bear witness—nothing strange happened then."
Suddenly, a flash of light flickered in his mind. He tried to grasp at the remaining memories of the night, but it was in vain. There was a missing piece—a fragment of memory that felt as though it had been deliberately erased from his head.
Driven by a final spark of hope, Arata urged the villagers to act. "Let us dig! Let us reclaim our sacred place!"
The villagers scrambled to grab their tools. With what little strength they had left, they struck the mysterious mound with hoes, spears, and crowbars. But the temple seemed to refuse to be found. The soil burying it suddenly hardened, turning as tough as a steel wall.
Tools bounced off, unable to leave even a single scratch on the surface. The harder they struck, the stronger the earth resisted. The strangeness peaked when, simultaneously, wild roots and thick moss began to crawl and grow at an impossible speed, cloaking the mound as if wanting to hide it from the world forever.
The excavation stopped instantly. A cold shiver of horror spread among the villagers. Some fled back to the village in terror, while others stood paralyzed by a sight that defied human logic. Arata remained frozen, staring blankly at the temple that was now being "swallowed" alive by the earth.
"Lord, we should leave this place! Right now!" a villager cried, his voice trembling violently.
"He is right, Lord! Before something worse befalls us all!" another added, eyes darting warily toward the mysterious mound.
Arata nodded slowly, though his gaze remained fixed on the lone remaining pillar. "Very well. Everyone, return to the village hall!" he commanded firmly.
They hurried away, their footsteps kicking up dust along the path. Upon reaching the hall, the unrest did not subside. The large room was instantly filled with the hum of fearful stories and whispered anxieties.
In the midst of the chaos, Arata remained as still as a statue. His heart felt a dark omen, and with his instincts still sharp, he knew that something far greater was lurking in the shadows. Months of hunger, prayers that hit a deaf sky, and now the impossible destruction of the temple—nothing in the ancestral records of this valley had ever told of something this terrifying.
"Go back to your homes," Arata ordered, his voice cutting through the noise. "Stay inside. I fear more ill fortune is coming."
He then looked at several men who seemed more composed. "You, perform night watches in shifts. Ensure every corner of the village is monitored. Do not let your guard down for a single moment."
"Yes, My Lord," they answered firmly.