Chapter 1: Field of Ash
Ash fell slowly from the sky.
Enormous black vultures with eyes far too human circled above the battlefield, as if something precious, hidden deep within the mud and blood, awaited them.
Severed arms and legs stained the field crimson. The parched earth drank the spilled blood. In the center of a thick scarlet pool, amidst the decapitated heads of dire wolves, lay a teenager.
His right hand—scratched and pale as ice—clutched a leather pouch.
It was embroidered with living symbols that flickered like fireflies. The boy's dying hand gripped it tightly, though his body had long since lost all warmth. Blood no longer flowed. His lungs barely remembered how to breathe.
With one final sigh—
Suddenly, his body convulsed.
He arched his back and bolted upright. A deep, guttural inhalation, heavy with death, tore through his throat. It felt as though he had fallen from a precipice and jolted awake upon impact.
His eyes snapped open involuntarily.
He pressed his left hand against his chest. His heart felt as though it might burst out at any moment. Cold seeped into his bones. The sky spun above him as if he were submerged underwater.
Seconds passed.
He remained frozen in place, unable to move a single muscle until his ragged breathing and scattered thoughts regained a faint sense of order.
Bewildered, he lifted his gaze.
Everything was blurred… until the colors slowly sharpened into focus.
His throat moved uncertainly. The sound that escaped was more a whimper than words.
"Where… where am I?"
In that moment, his body felt light, incomplete, fragile.
He looked down at his hands—small, almost like a child's. The skin clung tightly to the bone, making them feel unfamiliar, as if they didn't belong to him.
Terrified, he tried to touch his face, only to realize one of his hands was still gripping the leather pouch.
"This… this can't be me."
Just then, he noticed the pouch vibrating violently, causing the embroidered symbols on its surface to glow.
Without thinking, he let it fall.
It struck the ground, and five brilliantly colored spheres rolled out with a dry clinking sound, peeking from the opening.
They immediately drew his attention.
Each one was a different color, as if entire galaxies were trapped within them.
One glowed like fire.
Another was blue, deep as the sea.
A third was yellow, with threads of electricity leaping inside.
Another contained a sandstorm that swirled without rest.
And the last one was green.
It didn't seem elemental like the others.
Inside it, a reptilian eye was watching him.
The youth stood transfixed, staring at the green sphere.
A chill ran down his spine.
Then the eye inside the sphere blinked.
He lunged backward instinctively. His hands sank into the thick, still-warm pool of blood.
The contact snapped him back to reality.
He looked around… and turned pale with fear.
Beside him lay the severed heads of enormous wolves.
He couldn't comprehend what kind of force could have achieved such a feat. The bodies were nowhere to be seen.
But what truly terrified him…
was that every single one of those heads had a third eye open in its forehead.
Cautiously, he approached them.
He studied the heads for a moment, but the wolves' third eyes did not match the eye trapped within the sphere.
Looking closer, he realized that each of the five wolves already had its own eye embedded in its forehead.
Suddenly, a screech erupted from the sky.
He looked up, overwhelmed, only to see a group of monstrous vultures descending in circles toward him.
He didn't even have time to process the battlefield, the mysterious spheres, or the three-eyed wolves.
His knees trembled, and he collapsed to the ground once more.
The mere sight of those black vultures—nearly three meters tall—flying above him made him wish he could wake from this nightmare.
One of them rose higher and higher into the air.
Just by watching its movement, he knew exactly what was coming.
And he wasn't wrong.
At its highest point, the vulture stopped flapping its wings.
Its body curved in midair…
and then it plummeted.
Like a bird of prey.
He turned ashen.
Terror forced him to react.
He lunged for the spheres, shoved them back into the pouch, and began to run.
Gathering what little strength he had left, he leaped over one of the wolf heads and bolted toward the trees rising in the distance, hoping to find refuge.
But his body was weak.
His steps were heavy, and in some places the grass reached his knees.
Every movement felt like dragging a heavy weight behind him, like running with shackles around his ankles—as if something invisible were pulling him back.
It was torture.
He didn't remember running ever being this difficult.
The vulture descended wildly.
Just as it was about to strike the ground, it snapped its wings open.
The recoil redirected its trajectory straight toward the boy.
The air shrieked as the wings unfurled.
Momentum carried the creature forward as if the air offered no resistance.
In seconds, it was almost within reach of him.
Ten paces remained before the forest.
For a heartbeat, he thought he might make it.
Until he sensed the inevitable shadow looming over him.
Suddenly, a golden thread streaked from one of the trees.
A sharp whistle split the air, and with violent force it struck the low-flying vulture.
Shickkk.
Shacck.
With two swift slashes, the vulture was carved into three pieces, crashing to the ground.
It took only an instant for the blood to fall like dark rain.
The youth stumbled from the tremor beneath his feet and rolled helplessly across the ground.
He looked up.
And he saw her.
A white figure with golden hair and a knight's armor walked slowly and gracefully toward the remains of the vulture.
When she reached the center, she bent down and picked up a black sphere. Inside it, something like living, viscous ink splashed and twisted.
She straightened and looked directly at the youth with a faint smile.
"Hello, SEEKER. Did you find anything good?"