Moonlit Oasis | Silver's Domain
Silver lays on a weather-worn stone bench at the heart of a moon-lit oasis. Beyond him, waters mirror the night sky, every ripple washed in soft silver. He savors the hush—until the domain shudders.
For a single heartbeat the scene turns black. A seam of light slices the darkness, unfolding into a doorway glowing with runes.
Ruin steps through.
Cropped top, running shorts, scuffed sneakers; her dark hair is twisted into a slightly crooked bun that catches the moon's glow as she crosses the grass.
Silver, eyes still closed: "Hey, Ruin."
"Hey, little brother." She settles at the foot of the bench.
He cracks one eye. "What brings you here?"
"The Red Dragons ambushed our people," she says softly. "Rika's barely alive—and I'm sure Lucil did it."
A low, dangerous laugh curls from Silver.
"If Lucil struck, he had a reason. When he chooses a target, he never misses, he kills—and he never fights fair."
Ruin flinches. "That's… heartless."
"It's life among mages." Silver's voice stays calm, almost bored. "Power plays, petty wars—weaklings fighting for a throne. In the end, it's all meaningless."
"But—"
"If you gamble with death, don't whine. If you choose life, then complain all you want."
"Rika was trying to leave the clan—" Ruin begins.
Silver sits up, boots brushing the damp grass.
"That changes the dynamic. Now she can complain—and so can you."
She studies him. "Is that really all?"
"I once knew a man who said: keep your humanity by drawing hard lines. Be radical, but never cross them. First line—never harm civilians. Right now, Rika is a civilian."
He notices her uneven bun, leans in, and retires it with quick, gentle fingers. Moonlight flickers over her worried eyes.
"War is coming," she whispers.
"Tell me something new."
She swallows. "You won't fight, but what if the Red Dragons come for me—?"
A thin, lethal smile touches Silver's lips.
"Then they die by my hand. And if they lay a single finger on you, I won't be alone. Someone with a crimson resolve would slaughter his own clan before he let harm reach you—or his sister."
With a snap of his fingers the illusion fades. The radiant doorway blinks out, and the moonlit oasis dissolves into darkness.
Estate of the White Dragons
The White Dragon estate rises like a palace torn from the pages of a European legend—white-marble colonnades, mirrored windows, and wings upon wings of opulent rooms. Terraced balconies overlook a glittering pool and an open training field large enough to host an army.
Silver ascends the grand staircase, boots echoing through a gallery of ancestral portraits. On the second floor, at the corridor's farthest end, waits the infirmary.
He pushes through the double doors.
Inside, lamplight glints off medical steel and snow-white tiles. Rika lies on a cot, pale hair fanned across the pillow, her black-and-silver battlesuit torn and smeared with drying blood. A crescent-shaped gash around her head still seeps crimson. Lightweight armor plates—dented and scorched—cling to her shoulders and ribs.
Silver draws a slow, pained breath.
"Lucil always aims for the vitals, so it's not him" he mutters. "Every strike is a killing blow."
He raises a hand, fingers catching moonlight through the arched window.
The moon outside deepens to an impossible indigo, then dims out entirely. A hush falls. Silvery radiance blooms inside the ward, Rikas body shines like starlight at midnight. Her wounds knit in slow, luminous pulses, as though the moon itself cradles her back to life.
When the glow recedes and natural light returns, she inhales sharply and cries out—pain flaring brighter now that her body is whole.
Silver steps to her bedside, taking her trembling hand.
"Endure it," he says, voice calm but steely. "Better pain than death. Your body just rewound time; every ache strikes at once. Bear it, and you'll rise victorious."
Rika nods, biting her lip hard enough to bleed.
The door bursts open. Ruin strides in, eyes widening at the sight of a healed but shuddering Rika.
"What did you do?"
"You said she didn't want to fight," Silver answers. "So—Lunation Zero."
"You healed her?" says Ruin flabbergasted
Rika's breathing eases; the agony ebbs to a dull throb.
"What was that?" she whispers.
"They tried to kill you, didn't they?" Silver asks.
She nods.
"The Red Dragons," Ruin growls.
"No." Rika says, voice quiet yet clear. "It was—"
"—my parents," Silver finishes.
She nods again.
His eyes harden like frozen mercury.
"Rika, I keep a domain sealed inside my room. Once you enter, no one else can. Stay there until the end of the week. This clan won't survive what's coming."
Ruin face blanches.
Rika gives a shaky laugh. "So you're serious."
"They've betrayed us one time too many," Silver says, turning for the door. "Now they'll reap their reward."
Rika's gaze follows him, a strange loyalty sparking behind her pale lashes.
"After seeing your power," she murmurs, "I'll never serve your parents again. But I can follow you."
"Live your own life," Silver replies—then sweeps from the room.
Ruin hesitates, torn between fear and awe, before hurrying after him.
"I'm leaving Rika," she calls over her shoulder. "I need to talk with my brother."
Silver's footsteps drum down the hall toward his room, Ruin's lighter tread close behind.
Silver's room is perfectly symmetrical: shelves of arcane lunar tomes line each wall, every spine aligned with surgical precision. Lunar motifs, silver crescents and star-etched mirrors gleam against a stark palette of black and white. A modern bed anchors the center, its crisp angles softened only by a single moon-embroidered pillow.
Silver turns as Ruin slips inside.
"You're following me."
"Did you mean what you said?"
"I know how this ends," he replies, voice flat. "If they force me into war, they die."
Ruin reads the resolve in his eyes and exhales. "Then I'll fight with you."
"No." Silver's answer is immediate. "You stay safe. It's my business—and Lucil will see it the same way. You know how they manipulate us."
She nods, conceding the point.
"What was that magic?"
"Lunation Zero. It rewinds the body one full moon cycle."
"Wait—time magic?"
He shakes his head. "Think of it as a backup file: one cycle is roughly thirty days—technically twenty-nine point five three, but that decimal annoys me, so … thirty. The downside? No mana for a full day, and no other Lunation Zero spells until it resets."
"That's it?"
"Mana is everything. Without it, a mage is nearly helpless. Humans knew that—so they built this."
He opens a drawer and takes a matte-black object.
Ruin's eyes widened. "A gun?"
"Believe it. In the last war this little machine nearly wiped out every melee mage alive."
"It's still just a gun."
"Exactly—the most efficient killing device humans ever forged."
Ruin can't decide whether to laugh or shiver.
Silver puts the gun in his trouser pocket and his t-shirt is in front of the gun so that it is not recognizable.
"Feel like a walk?" Silver asks, twirling the pistol once before tucking it away.
"With a gun?" Ruin snorts—and both siblings break into laughter.
Southern Shinjuku | Arcade
The arcade sprawls beneath an overpass, awash in neon and the clang of retro cabinets. Rows of vintage fighters—Murder's Intent, Road Brawler V, Digital Warrior 5—flash crimson and emerald. Crowds jostle for coins and bragging rights.
Ruin drops into a Murder's Intent cockpit and picks Enira, the moon-based mage.
Silver leans on the seatback. "So you picked me."
"What?"
"He keeps enemies at a distance and reshapes the arena to suit him. Ring a bell?"
Ruin blinks—then grins when the comparison clicks.
A burly stranger takes the opposing station, selecting Tenner, all muscle and mobility.
Ruin hits Start. "Tell me, in a world with modern weapons… how do mages survive?"
Silver folds his arms. "Picture the last war but with spellcasters. Old traditions shattered overnight. A fireball against a rifle? Pointless—unless you adapt."
Ruin strings together a combo; Round One is hers. Spectators drift closer, drawn by the fluid play.
"So mages had two options," she says, eyes never leaving the screen. "Keep your distance and dump mana into strikes stronger than bullets… or, if you're melee, build shields tough enough to close the gap or more simply just blink."
Silver's smile says "Exactly". Ruin's opponent corners her, unleashes a brutal chain, and evens the score.
She nods toward him. "Wise words, little brother."
Final round—Ruin anticipates every dash, counters clean, and the crowd erupts when K.O. splashes across the monitor.
Her stomach growls loud enough to cut through the cheers.
"Ramen?" Silver
Ruin nods.
Outside, night air hums with traffic.
"Hey, Silver, do you really plan to leave?"
"Yeah, you?"
Ruin gazes up at Shinjuku's skyline, lights flickering like distant constellations. "I love Japan. I'll study magic here." She laughs softly. "Even if lunar arts aren't exactly trendy."
Silver raises an eyebrow. "Stick with them, then."
She pulls a crescent-shaped pendant from under her shirt. "Lunar Illusion."
The bustling street fades; pedestrians fade to motes of silver. Only the moon remains, lighting over a silent, empty Shinjuku.
"I want you here when the war ends," Ruin whispers. "The two of us—together."
Silver sighs, half-smile tugging at his lips. "I need to tie the loose ends first. But you, Ruin—you're a magnificent mage."
She brightens. "A little change of subject, it's a question I've been asking myself all evening—how'd you get that gun?"
"From the Tsukiwari group. Tough guys, soft hearts. I saved them—"
"Saved them from what?"
Silver scratches his head. "The men in blue."
Ruin's eyes widened. "The police, Silver."
"They didn't have guns," he protests. "I wondered why."
She groans, hooks an arm through his. "Never mind. Will you let me keep the illusion up on the way to the ramen restaurant? I don't like it to be crowded."
"Don't drain your mana."
Ruin's grin turns wicked; she mimics a gun twirl. "Please. Worst-case?" She winks. "Hasta la vista, baby—you've got the gun."
The siblings disappear down the moonlit avenue, laughter echoing in the illusion's silver hush.
Estate of the Red Dragon Clan | Dojo
The dojo is a slaughterhouse of silence—wooden pillars slick with blood, tatami mats torn and sodden. Ten fallen mages sprawl where they fell, their robes burned in blood.
At the center stands Rei, shackled in black chains with dark enchantment. Her own blade—gleams in murderous bloody red, blood dripping to the floor from her blade.
Across the room Ryujin staggers, shock whitening his face. Only now he fully register the stump where his left arm used to be—blood beating out in furious spurts. Fear eclipses the pain.
"You… what sort of monster are you? You are not Rei!" he rasps, voice trembling. "You'll become an entity soon."
Rei pushes against the chains, wrists shredding. Fresh links clink into place as more clan members pour through the shattered doors, fanning out in a semicircle of spears and shaking hands.
"Ryujin!" Her scream cracks the rafters. Tears carve streaks through grime on her cheeks. "Please—NO!"
She pulls harder, iron biting deep.
"Kill me!" Rei sobs, choking on the iron taste of her own blood. "Please, I don't want to turn into an entity!"
Ryujin's glaze hardens, a shadow swallowing the last of his humanity. "The White Dragons are too powerful," he murmurs, eyes gone flat. "Rei… I need—"
"I don't want to be a monster!" Her voice shatters, raw, feral. "I just wanted to be a mother!"
Something in Ryujin snaps. He pivots away, tears he refuses to shed. He pushes past the mages, and shuts the door behind him.
On the other side, he breaks—silhouetted by lantern light, in this slight moment he begins to shed a bloody tear.