Thick clouds rolled over a crimson horizon, casting an eerie glow upon a battlefield long forgotten by time. The air was dense, soaked with the scent of ash and distant thunder. A lonely wind whispered across the land, carrying the ghostly echo of roars, screams, and steel.
A boy stood still amid the ruins—barefoot, ragged, and trembling. His jet-black hair clung to his face, wet from both sweat and tears. His golden eyes, though barely open, shimmered faintly beneath layers of pain and confusion.
This was Aizen Arcime, only 13 years old, yet his world had already crumbled.
He was a Black Lion Beastman, a rare bloodline thought to have vanished. But Aizen didn't know that. Not yet. Not while he stood among the corpses of his kin—fathers, mothers, siblings—massacred by Dragonkin.
Their wings had blocked the sun that day. Fire rained from the sky. Their claws had torn through homes, and their eyes glowed with hatred.
Why?
Aizen couldn't understand. He was just a boy—clueless, helpless. He didn't know why the Dragonkin had turned on them, or why no one came to save his people. All he knew was loss. And silence.
His legs gave out. He fell to his knees, hands digging into the bloodied soil. His heart pounded like a war drum in his ears. The world spun.
> "Why… why did this happen?"
No answer came.
Only the wind replied, brushing against his face like a cold hand whispering: You are alone now.
As the thunder rumbled again, something shifted inside him. A spark. A pulse of energy.
The skies responded.
The dark clouds above crackled with electricity. Lightning streaked across the heavens, dancing to the rhythm of his heart.
Aizen screamed—not in rage, not in despair, but something deeper. A cry of awakening. The kind of scream that echoes across destinies.
His golden eyes flared with power. His black lion tail swished once, then twice. His blood burned with something ancient.
Something forgotten.
He collapsed, unconscious, as the sky wept.
End of chapter 1