In an age when chaos ruled the world, humans were subjugated by so-called gods and demons—beings unlike anything ever seen.
The gods carried an imposing presence, with an almost untouchable beauty: eyes that shone like stars, luminous skin, and white or golden garments. Always wreathed in a celestial aura, they inspired both reverence and fear.
The demons bore bodies of many shapes. Some were gaunt, others grotesquely fat. They had sharp claws, lizard-like scaly tails, torn black wings, and horns ranging from one to four.
Despite their differences, the demons shared a common mark: an ouroboros tattoo engraved on the forehead, sign of their origin. They remained in our world for reasons still unknown.
It was in that era that war broke out between the two races, known as the War of Sovereigns—a conflict that lasted about a century, until the mid-nineteenth century.
During that time, two beings—a demon and a goddess—stood against the apocalypse being waged on Earth over a dispute that had nothing to do with humans.
The goddess radiated serenity and kindness. Her skin was delicate like porcelain, and long black hair fell to her waist, dancing in the wind. She fought any form of destruction, always defending the innocent.
At her side stood the demon, so powerful he could alter his very form. He chose the appearance of a broad-shouldered man with a close-cropped beard and straight hair with lightly spiked tips. His black garments billowed like shadows amid the battle.
He carried no weapons. His hands, wrapped in dense, visible magic, were enough to bring down any foe.
Together, they sacrificed their lives to face and eliminate the leaders of the gods and the demons, ending the war. Even so, both races remained on Earth—a mystery that endures.
---
One day, following dry, dusty trails toward the hospital, Kenji Tatsuya let his thoughts drift between memories and worries. With every step, the weight of reality grew heavier, mixing fear with longing.
The village, hidden among mountain valleys and hemmed in by dense forests, resisted as best it could in devastated times. The cobbled streets showed a fringe and center of grass, worn into two grooves by the back-and-forth of food wagons, ore carts, and transports.
Wood-and-stone houses weathered by time kept their sloped roofs and straw patches. Scars from the War of Sovereigns still split walls with cracks and holes.
Adults walked in silence, with slow steps and heavy eyes.
Amid it all, Kenji moved in his simple yet striking look. Practical leather clothes in earthy tones bore dust and the sweat of labor. His messy black hair fell to ear length, with a ragged fringe that framed his serious gaze. Around his neck, a cord held a blue crystal that glinted faintly—something he kept close to his heart.
As he walked, he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the road, among old stalls covered with yellowed cloth.
“Hey, Kenji!” said Ryota Tatsumi, waving with an easy smile.
His childhood friend was recognizable for hair as white as snow, falling slightly above his eyes in lightly spiked strands. His eyes, a translucent and intense white, resembled cut ice.
Even in the heat he wore thin, light long-sleeved tops—as if the cold were part of him. His natural gift was the manipulation of ice, something his body had carried since childhood.
Like Kenji, he wore tough trousers and leather boots. What stood out most was the leaf-shaped earring on his ear—the symbol of the Tatsumi lineage.
“Everything okay with you?” Ryota asked. He glanced at the basket in Kenji’s hand and smiled. “Where are you headed today?”
“Hey, Ryota,” Kenji answered with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m going to the hospital to visit my sister.”
“It’s been a few days since the last time, hasn’t it?”
“Four days, to be exact.”
In the brief silence between them, a flash cut across the sky beyond the ridges and flared in silence for a heartbeat. Then came the dry tremor, shaking dust from eaves and making the market tarps snap. Chickens fluttered in their yards, and a few children swallowed their cries.
“Did you see that?”
“Must be a demon wrecking another farm out there.”
“Good thing we’re protected in these mountains.”
“Protected… for how long?”
Ryota lifted his head. Kenji tightened the cord at his neck and forced his shoulders to relax, setting the basket back in place.
Ryota glanced at it, as if trying to steer his friend’s mind elsewhere. “Are you still working for Mr. Tomoji?”
Kenji looked away for a second before replying. “He’s getting on in years and needs help with the heavy ore… and I need the money to pay the hospital, remember?”
Tomoji, owner of the ore-separation works that supplied the government, had given Kenji a grueling but steady job.
Worried for his friend, Ryota sighed, but respected the choice. “All right, just be careful, okay? Since you didn’t want me to ask my dad to find you something, there isn’t much more I can do.”
Kenji let out a small sigh, not wanting to burden him. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“Haha, no problem. Well, I’ll get going. See you—take care, okay?”
“Will do. See you!”
---
On the way to the hospital, Kenji crossed one of Gokayama’s most devastated quarters, where the scars of the War of Sovereigns lingered. Ruined houses, broken walls, and rubble everywhere set the scene.
Twisted trees grew where gardens used to be, and the air seemed to carry remnants of an ancient energy. There he spotted a barefoot child in torn clothes, visibly hungry. Without hesitation, he took an apple from the basket and handed it to the girl. She smiled and thanked him, a timid light in her eyes.
The village bell tolled twice and died on the wind. Market stalls shivered, steeped in the smells of warm bread and damp leather. Old men spoke in low voices, as if the sky were listening.
“They say the footprints had three toes.”
“Liar!”
“My cousin saw black smoke near the river.”
“The attacks are closer every week.”
Kenji walked past with the basket against his hip. The cord with the blue stone tapped his chest. He pretended not to hear. Work first, feeling later. Tomoji’s voice hammered in his head.
A sharp crack ran along the cobbled street. A child stumbled out of an alley, dust ground into his skin clear up to his eyes.
“Somebody help! They took my parents!”
No one answered. The baker lowered his awning. The seamstress pulled her daughter by the arm. The boy tripped and fell to his knees on the rough ground.
“Please!”
Kenji stopped. His stomach turned. He looked toward the factory up ahead. If he arrived late, he’d lose the shift. If he lost the shift, he’d lose the pay. If he lost the pay—the hospital.
The child lifted his face. “Mister, can you help?”
Kenji’s tongue went dry. Quick images cut through his mind: his sister’s white bed, the bill doubled, Mr. Tomoji stern behind the counter.
“Find the guard at the north gate. They know the path to the river.”
The words came out small. The boy ran off alone. The market’s murmur sank into an awkward silence. Kenji stood one second longer, hearing his heart beat behind the blue stone. Then he walked. Each step weighed like a lie.
Not today, Kenji thought. *Forgive my lack of courage…*