The dragon's roar cracked the heavens—
And then came the fire.
A searing torrent of flame descended like the wrath of a forgotten god.
Shun barely had time to raise his arm before it hit.
-"GRAAAHH—!!"
Flames swallowed him whole.
His skin blistered, peeled like burning paper. Every nerve screamed in agony, as though his very cells were being scorched from the inside out. His breath caught—each inhale pulling in smoke and pain, each exhale a dying rasp.
The fire wasn't just on his body.
It was inside his lungs. In his veins. In his soul.
His shield melted. The ground beneath him warped and bubbled.
The heat clung to his bones like a curse.
His eyes—!
They stung, burned with such intensity he could no longer keep them open. Tears boiled away the moment they formed.
All he could see was red.
-"Too... hot... I can't—!"
Elias's final scream echoed in his
"-MOM!! SHUN!! PLEASE HELP ME!!-"
Her voice tore through the fire, a dagger of guilt sharper than the pain.
But Shun couldn't respond.
The pain faded into numbness.
And then—
Darkness.
He collapsed, unconscious, as the inferno devoured everything around him.
.
....
....
......
........!!
Shun awoke to the stench of charred wood, dried blood, and wet soil. The ground beneath him was cracked and blackened, once part of a stone floor now overtaken by weeds and rot.
The ruined military camp lay in silence around him, a ghost of a battlefield long forgotten. Burnt banners flapped weakly in the wind. Corpses long dead were little more than bones, their armor melted into their remains.
And then—a sound.
Squelch.
A low, wet noise.
Shun turned. In the corner of the collapsed barracks, something moved within a pile of ash and soot. It twitched, then rose.
A scorched figure emerged.
It had no face. No voice.
But the scream that followed—he recognized it instantly.
..
....
"....-AAGHH… IT HURTS… SHUN… WHY…?-"
It was Elias.
Not truly her. Just her voice, somehow echoing from the depths of Shun's own mind. The ashen figure raised a blackened, melted hand and dragged itself forward, each motion leaving a trail of crimson tears.
Shun couldn't move.
His heart pounded, but not from fear. It was shame. Guilt. That burning, gnawing knowledge that he couldn't save her. That her final screams were carved into his mind like brands.
He didn't cry.
Instead, it was as if his lungs refused to draw air.
His chest felt like a cave collapsing inward.
-"You let me die..." the voice whispered.
"No," Shun finally said, voice hoarse. "I wasn't strong enough."
The figure crumbled, turning back into ash.
And then—a sudden chuckle.
"Oooh, intense. Now that's some real character trauma. A solid 8.5 out of 10."
Shun turned, startled.
There, perched atop a pile of bones, was a talking black rabbit with gleaming yellow eyes.
-"Name's Noct," it said, waving a paw casually. "And you, my friend, are officially the most dramatic human I've seen in decades."
-"What the hell are you?" Shun asked, blinking.
-"A guide, a messenger, a comedian—take your pick," Noct grinned. "But more importantly, I'm your handler now. Congratulations."
-"Handler?"
-"Mhm," Noct nodded. "I give you your missions. You either survive or dramatically fail. Either way, entertainment for someone out there. Probably the gods. Or something worse."
Noct leapt off the bones and landed with a soft thud. "Come. There's someone you need to meet."
---
The forest they entered was a corridor of despair.
Trees bent unnaturally, their bark peeled like skin. The ground squelched with each step, soaked not with water, but something thicker—sticky, red-black muck. Crows perched on branches, cawing as if mocking the living. Skeletal remains leaned against tree trunks, some still clutching weapons, others curled in agony.
-"Lovely, isn't it?" Noct grinned. "I call this place 'The Arbor of Regret.'"
Shun said nothing. He moved forward, silent.
At the heart of the forest stood a tent made of stitched leather and bone. Smoke rose from within, tinged a faint green.
-"She's inside," Noct said. "Don't say anything stupid."
Inside, a fire crackled in a stone pit. Herbs hung from the ceiling, dried and shriveled. A woman sat by the fire, stirring something thick and black in a pot.
She looked up.
Her face was sharp and beautiful, with silver hair cascading down her back. Though she looked no older than 40, her eyes held centuries.
-"Another desperate one," she said.
-"This one's got potential," Noct said, hopping to her side. "Name's Shun. Hero type. Tragic loss, survivor guilt, brooding eyes."
-"Name?," she said, looking at Shun.
-"Shun," he replied simply.
-"I am Myria," the woman said. "Prophet of the Ruined Path."
Shun stepped closer.
-"I want to make a pact."
Myria raised a brow.
-"I want you to help me when I call. In return... I'll be your student. I'll do anything you ask. Just... don't take my memories. I need them. Even the painful ones."
Myria's eyes narrowed. Then slowly, she smiled.
-"Interesting. Most come begging to forget. You? You cling to pain."
-"I don't want to forget her," Shun said.
Myria stood and walked toward him. Her presence was overwhelming.
-"Then remember this: knowledge has a cost. And memories... are blades. The deeper they cut, the harder they are to wield."
She extended her hand. "We have a pact."
As Shun touched her fingers, a cold flame surged through his spine.
The pact was sealed.
Outside, the wind howled.
And the ash... began to stir again....