Episode 1 — The Dream of Malgrin
Somewhere far from war and ruin… in a time long gone.
A vast grassy field stretched endlessly under the golden morning light. In the distance, a small, worn house stood slightly crooked, surrounded by silence. Peaceful. Still.
Two young children ran barefoot through the grass, laughter carrying on the wind. They were about seven and five years old, but in the dream their faces were washed white, faceless silhouettes of innocence. All that could be seen was the joy in their movements, the sound of their laughter.
"Come on, big brother! You're too slow!" one voice rang out playfully.
"I'm letting you win this time!" another voice answered, full of laughter.
From the house, a woman stepped outside. Their mother — early thirties, gentle aura, plain clothes, a worn cloth basket in her hands.
"Children—come inside!" she called warmly. "Eat something before you wear yourselves out!"
The dream felt warm, filled with echoes of laughter and love.
The past never truly fades, a voice whispered inside the dream. It waits… hidden in the quiet moments.
Inside the small dining room, the children and their mother sat cross-legged around a simple wooden tray, eating a modest meal together. The children's blank faces still carried smiles. Their mother's eyes, however, were clear—filled with warmth.
"They had little," the narration echoed softly, "but they had everything."
The edges of the dream began to blur, cracking like glass. The laughter grew faint…
And then it shattered.
---
Malgrin — the Demon King — jerked awake. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, drenched in cold sweat. The dark chamber around him pulsed faintly with red light—the sigil of Abyzareth, the Demon Dragon, carved into the wall behind him.
His black katana rested at his side, its blade gleaming faintly with ominous light.
"…That dream again," Malgrin muttered softly, voice low.
A shadow stirred on the wall. Abyzareth's formless silhouette flickered into view—monstrous, shifting, with glowing eyes watching.
"You still fear the truth, my king," Abyzareth's voice rumbled from the darkness.
Malgrin's crimson eyes narrowed.
"Fear? …No. But even now… I still remember their faces."
He turned toward the black castle window. Beyond the horizon, the dead world stretched endlessly. His eyes glowed faintly, crimson burning against the night.
And still… the world dares to breathe.
Fade to black.
---
The darkness gave way to sudden light.
A ceiling fan spun slowly overhead. Bright morning sun poured in through a half-open window, casting streaks across a modest little room. Posters lined the wall—Zoro, Ichigo, Guts—all frozen in fierce poses. Wooden training sticks leaned in the corner.
Ryukael, sixteen years old, lay flat on his back. Shirtless, his chest glistened with sweat, his hands wrapped in cloth bandages. His breathing was heavy from training, his chest rising and falling steadily.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes tired but burning with determination.
"…I'll become strong too," he whispered softly to himself. "Strong enough to help any friend who is in need."
Slowly, his gaze drifted toward the posters above him, locking onto their fierce expressions. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"I'll become a warrior too," he said, voice firm now. "And use that power to protect people whom I cherish the most—just like you guys."
With deliberate motion, he reached for a black training band, tightening it around his forehead. His hand grabbed the wooden sword leaning in the corner. He stood, wiped the sweat from his face, and walked out of the room.
---
Birds soared gracefully above a grassy ridge, the morning wind rustling through the trees.
On that ridge, Ryukael trained. His shirtless body dripped with sweat, muscles burning with every motion. His eyes glowed with resolve.
"Faster… stronger… again!" he growled, teeth gritted.
He charged forward, his wooden sword cutting through the air. Slash, step, roll, leap—his body moved like a flowing current, striking with raw momentum. His breath came sharp and fast, but he didn't stop.
Finally, he raised the sword high, ready for one last downward strike.
And then—
Whoooosh.
The wind died. The air stilled.
"Huh!?" Ryukael froze, startled. "What's happening—!?"
A low hum vibrated through the earth. The air rippled, electric energy bursting suddenly around him.
The field glowed. The hum grew louder.
And in that instant—
FWOOOSH!
Blinding light swallowed Ryukael whole. His figure vanished into the radiance.
---
Silence.
The ridge stood empty. The wooden log before him sat half-sliced from his strike.
The wind whispered gently across the grass.
The camera of the world lingered on the shattered log. Then—darkness.
---