The crisp, wintry air pulsed with the steady rhythm of footsteps pressing into the fresh layer of snow—each step a soft drumbeat against the silence of the wilderness. Overhead, the sky hung heavy and pale, a canvas of bleak serenity that watched in stillness as a cloaked figure emerged from the misted horizon. Swathed in a long, flowing mantle of black, the young man walked with the deliberate grace of someone unfazed by the cold or the desolation. His pace was slow but purposeful, every movement echoing a quiet confidence. Behind him, his footprints—sharp and solitary—broke the purity of the snow, a fleeting trail destined to vanish with the next wind.
But it was not just the cloaked traveler who disturbed the peace.
Trailing him was a figure carved from nightmare—a charred skeleton wreathed in the faint shimmer of emberlight. It burned faintly, not with the roar of flame, but with a restrained, hellish glow that pulsed like a dying star. Shadows danced around its frame, twisting grotesquely on the ice beneath its feet. In its claw-like grip, it dragged the heavy corpse of a horned white bear, a creature once proud and fierce, now reduced to a broken husk. Blood, dark and steaming, oozed from its wounds, staining the snow in jagged streaks of red. The contrast was grotesque—life and death etched side by side in a land already gripped by silence and frost.
They moved deeper into the belly of Snow Land, where even the air seemed to resist their intrusion. The cold was no mere chill—it was an omnipresent force, a living thing that bit into bone and spirit alike. It howled between the rocks, screamed through the trees, and whispered warnings to those who dared to trespass. Here, only the fiercest could survive, and even they did so with scars. The land was cruel, its beauty edged in malice, and every gust of wind carried the scent of challenge, of ancient trials meant to break the weak and sharpen the strong.
Yet the two figures continued undeterred, a ghost and a hunter, their passage marking the snow not only with footprints and blood—but with purpose.
Snow Land was a sprawling dominion of frozen splendor, stretching endlessly beneath the pale northern skies. It unfurled like a forgotten kingdom of ice, nestled at the edge of the Town of Meira, a modest settlement known for its serenity and stoic people. Here, at the cusp where civilization brushed against wilderness, the land shifted—tranquility giving way to desolation, warmth surrendering to a silence carved in frost. Towering at its farthest boundary loomed the Wall of Orion, a jagged crown of stone and ice that marked the edge of known territory, as if the world itself dared not venture beyond.
This stark geographical threshold mirrored the region's spiritual dichotomy: Meira, with its hearths and human heartbeats, and Snow Land, a place shaped by the wind's roar and nature's indifference. It was into this frigid crucible that the cloaked hunter and his spectral companion strode, their presence a defiant mark upon a land untouched by time. Bound by purpose—part vengeance, part mystery—they cut a solemn path through Snow Land's white abyss, their journey both a reckoning and a rite of passage.
But beyond the veil of the physical world lay Lethe Online—known to its denizens simply as Letheon—a virtual expanse of infinite wonder and veiled truths. It was more than a game; it was a realm woven from code and imagination, a digital dreamscape where magic surged through data streams and players walked as legends in the making. Letheon was a mosaic of cities, each one pulsing with its own life, architecture, and arcane resonance. Some soared like silver towers in the clouds, others nestled in forests that breathed and sang.
Among these realms was Monody, a domain draped in shadow and whispered legend. Cloaked in eternal twilight, it was a city where stars clung low to the sky and secrets were currency. Only the bold dared step within its labyrinthine streets, drawn by rumors of cursed artifacts, forbidden dungeons, and trials meant to unmake the unworthy. To enter Monody was to test one's spirit against silence, and one's courage against the unknown.
In Letheon, danger was part of the allure—but in Snow Land, danger was law. And yet, the hunter walked both worlds with the same steady purpose. One foot in frozen reality, the other in a realm of dreams.
Auriga, by contrast, shimmered like a realm spun from dreams and sugar. It was a radiant Candy Kingdom brought to life—a whimsical land where licorice towers rose high into sherbet skies and caramel rivers wound through meadows of marshmallow bloom. Everything here sparkled with innocence and joy. The very air felt lighter, as though it were laced with laughter. For many adventurers, stepping into Auriga was like returning to childhood wonder—an enchanting haven where sweetness reigned, and danger was but a distant tale.
Just beyond its twinkling horizon lay the Land of Gua, a humble but vital cornerstone of Letheon. Nestled peacefully at the base of the towering Wall of Orion, Gua had the feel of a tightly knit village—welcoming, warm, and quietly industrious. Here, newcomers and veterans alike gathered to train, to trade, and to test their mettle in safe, structured trials. It was a place of growth, where bonds were forged and futures began. In many ways, Gua was the unsung nursery of legends.
But towering above all, both literally and metaphorically, was the Wall of Orion—not merely a structure, but the jewel of Letheon's world. Unlike its real-world counterpart, which marked the border of Snow Land, Letheon's Wall was a living metropolis, a sprawling vertical city built into the very face of an immense, sky-piercing wall. Its many tiers buzzed with activity—crystal marketplaces, airborne docks, and cascading gardens suspended in gravity-defying design. The Wall pulsed with energy and purpose, a magnetic epicenter where destinies converged.
Here, excitement never slept. The city was home to epic events and grand tournaments, the kind that stopped time and drew every eye across Letheon. Chief among them was the Battle for the Top 100, a fierce and storied competition that showcased the most formidable players in the realm, each fighting to etch their name into legend. Equally prestigious was the Clash of the Top 12 Guilds, where strategy, unity, and raw power collided in unforgettable spectacle.
The Wall of Orion was more than a place. It was a proving ground. A dream. A stage where the best rose, and the rest were left watching.
And now, amidst the vast enchantment of Letheon, our gaze narrows to a singular figure—a young man, sharp-eyed and resolute, a hunter carved from countless trials within this digital frontier. Where others saw an elaborate game, he saw a living world brimming with purpose. With bow slung across his back and algorithms woven into instinct, he set his sights on the horizon, drawn inexorably toward the towering marvel of the Wall of Orion.
But the road to greatness was never meant to be easy.
He journeyed first through the frost-laden wilds of Snow Land, where silence blanketed the terrain and each breath left a whisper in the cold. Here, survival was a skill earned, not given—and the hunter, though seasoned, sought to test his strength against nature's fiercest avatars. Accompanied by a loyal cadre of summoned minions—beasts, constructs, and phantoms bound by code and will—he ventured deep into the white abyss.
It was there that he encountered the horned-white bear, a titanic creature cloaked in pale fury and ancient might. With eyes that glowed like moonlit ice and muscles forged by blizzard and time, the bear stood as a true guardian of the north. The clash that followed was brutal and unrelenting. Snow was thrown into the air like ash from a battlefield, cries of war mingling with the roar of the beast. His minions fought valiantly, darting and swarming with practiced precision, and the young hunter directed them with unwavering command.
For every blow the bear dealt, the hunter answered with strategy. For every wound suffered, his team endured. And when the snow finally settled, it was he who remained standing—victorious. The bear fell, a giant brought low, and with its fall came not just experience, but proof: of mastery, of growth, of readiness.
Dragging the beast's massive form behind him, a trophy of trial and triumph, the young man turned once more to the southeast—toward the glowing spires of the Wall of Orion. Whether to tell tales of conquest around its bustling plazas, to train for greater foes, or to test himself in the crucibles of the Top 100 Tournament or the Top 12 Guild Wars, he did not yet know.
But the Wall called to him all the same.
It loomed like destiny itself—colossal, vibrant, alive. And as the hunter approached, the gates seemed to open just a little wider, as if Letheon itself recognized his arrival and waited eagerly to write the next chapter of his legend.
Presently, the conjured minion—an imposing, skeletal figure wreathed in a faint crimson glow—pressed forward with tireless effort, dragging the immense carcass of the fallen horned bear across the uneven, frostbitten terrain. The creature's blood left a fading trail upon the snow, a crimson thread woven into the vast white tapestry that stretched toward the horizon. With each jarring pull, the prize of their battle edged closer to its final destination: the towering gates of the Wall of Orion.
The hunter followed at a steady pace, his eyes fixed ahead, his purpose unwavering. There was no celebration in his stride—only calculation. The slain beast, massive and formidable, was more than just a trophy. It was opportunity. Its dense, pristine hide would fetch a handsome sum in the crafting markets, and its rich, coveted meat could be sold to elite guild halls or alchemists for a premium. Every part of the creature had value, and he would ensure none of it went to waste.
The profits, however, were not for luxury or pride.
They were fuel.
Fuel for sharper blades, sturdier armor, and rarer runes. Every coin earned was an investment in future strength, each upgrade a stepping stone toward his singular, unrelenting goal: to rise through the ranks of Letheon's elite by merit alone.
He belonged to no guild. He accepted no sponsorships. In a world rife with shortcuts—where players bought their way to fame with real-world currency or aligned themselves with powerful factions for easy access to rewards—he chose the path of solitude and sweat. No shortcuts. No handouts. Only skill, strategy, and ceaseless perseverance.
His journey was not the loud, flashy kind sung in taverns or clipped into highlight reels. It was quiet. Methodical. Honest. And that, he believed, was what made it worthy.
He would not ascend by favor.
He would earn his place among the legends.
As the colossal form of the bear neared the gates of the Wall of Orion, the weight of its symbolism settled heavily in the hunter's mind. The beast was not merely a creature felled in combat—it was a mirror of his ambition, a symbol of conquest through grit and discipline. Just as the Wall loomed tall and unyielding, guarding the world within from all manner of threats, so too did his resolve stand firm, a bastion against the seduction of shortcuts and the ease of compromise.
The carcass dragged behind him was more than flesh and bone; it was proof. Proof of effort, of danger faced and overcome. Proof that he could earn his place in a realm where many chose the fast path, where coin often spoke louder than courage. The spoils it yielded—fine hide, potent meat, materials rare and prized—would be transmuted into power, yes, but also into affirmation. Every gain he reaped was a promise to himself, a stone set in the staircase he built to ascend the player rankings by his own hand.
And so he moved forward beneath the vast, virtual sky of Letheon, a lone figure flanked by his crimson-glowing minion, shadows lengthening with the sun's descent. The fading light set the heavens ablaze in a spectrum of gold and rose and amber, bathing the world in the quiet majesty of dusk. The Wall of Orion loomed ever closer, etched in black against the bleeding sky—more fortress than city, more legend than stone.
Its towers and parapets whispered of challenge and triumph, of guild halls and duels, of glory hard-won. Within its embrace awaited the crucible of true competition—and he would enter it not as a prodigy blessed by fortune, but as a craftsman of his own fate.
Each step he took echoed with quiet thunder across the snow-crusted path, a soundless vow resounding through the cold air: he would rise.
Alone.
Unyielding.
Unbought.
As he approached the epicenter of Letheon's glory, the young hunter paused atop a slight rise, taking in the breathtaking sprawl that lay before him. The Wall of Orion, no longer a distant silhouette, now rose in full—its gates flung wide to a world teeming with life. The city beyond was a living tapestry, a shifting kaleidoscope of color and movement, where thousands of stories unfurled in tandem across cobblestone streets and towering spires.
He stepped through the threshold—and was immediately immersed in motion.
Everywhere he looked, the world pulsed with purpose. Players of all classes darted between shops, arenas, and quest hubs—some clad in brilliant armor that gleamed like starlight, others in tattered robes heavy with enchantments. Floating merchants hawked limited-time gear from glowing kiosks. Portals flared open and shut, warping seasoned guilds to raids or ranked duels. The scent of ozone from spellfire lingered in the air.
From deeper within the city, the distant clang of weapons echoed—sparring matches or sanctioned battles unfolding in the coliseums. Triumphant cries, jeers, and the thunder of summoned beasts filled the air in staccato bursts. The rhythm of conflict—the heartbeat of Orion—was unmistakable, intoxicating.
Yet amid the chaos, another pulse called to him.
The scent of grilled meats and sweet pastries curled through the air, guiding his senses toward streets lined with bustling eateries and open-air taverns. Wooden signs swung gently above warmly lit doorways, each promising nourishment and reprieve. Adventurers laughed over shared meals, guilds clinked mugs in celebration, and lone wanderers sat in corners, quietly recovering from close calls and narrow victories.
For a moment, he simply stood there—a stranger in a city of legends—letting the symphony of sights, sounds, and scents envelop him.
Then, with a breath that drew in all the energy of the realm, he stepped forward.
His dark cloak flared behind him like a banner of intent, a quiet declaration of his arrival. He carried no guild emblem, no entourage, no shining title above his head—only the aura of someone who had braved the cold, conquered the wild, and now stood ready to claim his place.
Here, in the pulsing heart of Letheon, he would carve the next chapter of his story—one forged not by favor, but by fire, steel, and the unrelenting will to rise.
In his wake, a spectacle of awe and dread unfurled—a procession unlike any the Wall of Orion had seen in recent memory. Towering skeletal figures, summoned from the nether by his command, marched in disciplined silence. Each one bore the burden of a fallen horned-white bear, their massive carcasses trailing behind them like trophies of a forgotten war. The parade moved with eerie synchronicity, a macabre caravan that carved its own legend into the very stone of the city.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Players halted mid-conversation. Merchants leaned from their stalls. Veterans of countless battles narrowed their eyes. The sight was impossible to ignore—not only for its visual majesty but for what it signified: the rise of a new power, one not clad in golden guild banners or crowned with server fame, but forged in solitude, strategy, and cold, relentless will.
The cobbled streets, vibrant with life and laughter moments ago, seemed to quiet in reverence—or perhaps unease—as the hunter passed. Children gawked. Streamers scrambled for footage. Even the automated city announcers paused in their festive chatter, their magical scrolls flickering uncertainly before resuming their cheery scripts.
And still, he walked on.
His expression betrayed neither pride nor arrogance. Cloak billowing like the final stroke on a master's canvas, he moved with unshakable calm, the perfect counterpoint to the chaos he trailed. For all the noise he created, he remained silent—a paradox incarnate: the lone hunter who marched like an army, the quiet challenger who entered with the weight of a raid.
This was Letheon—a world of stories waiting to be written. And now, his tale had arrived to take its place among the greatest.
With every step he took, the city responded—not with fanfare, but with a shift in atmosphere. It was as though the game itself recognized something had changed. The streets of Orion had always bustled with legends and newcomers alike, but this… this was different.
The hunter's journey was no longer just his own.
It was a signal.
A beginning.
A declaration to all who watched:
A new name would be carved into the annals of Letheon—and it would not be forgotten.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───