A heavy silence fell over the ruins of the battlefield.
Dust drifted slowly down, mingling with shards of melted ice and the lingering heat of dying flames.
Rastaban was panting, his coat in tatters, his fists still trembling from the impact.
In front of him, Harvey was on his knees — unconscious, trapped within a layer of cracked frost.
> "It's over," Rastaban muttered, his hoarse voice carried away by the wind.
The man in the yellow hood stepped forward, observing the scene without a word.
His eyes — calm, almost luminous — swept across the desolation before he spoke softly:
> "This way."
He pushed aside a mound of rubble, revealing a metallic hatch hidden beneath.
A cold mist seeped from the opening.
Without a word, Arata supported Efa, and together they descended.
The metallic groan of the hatch closing behind them echoed like a sigh.
Below stretched a dim corridor, faintly lit by makeshift torches.
Rastaban climbed down last, followed by the hooded man.
> "He really messed you up, Ban," the latter said, his tone mixing irony with concern.
Rastaban forced a painful grin, wiping the blood from his lip.
> "Yeah… that damned ice freak didn't hold back."
The man placed a hand on his shoulder.
> "If you're still standing, you're not done yet."
A distant rumble echoed above them — soldiers' voices, getting closer.
> "We need to move," said Hastur, pulling his yellow hood over his face.
"Before more guards show up."
He advanced into the tunnel, his footsteps resonating through the silence.
Arata followed, still helping Efa, while Rastaban brought up the rear.
They descended deeper beneath the city, to where the world's light no longer reached.
Only their footsteps against damp stone broke the silence.
Water dripped from the ceiling, reflecting the trembling torchlight in Hastur's hands.
The air smelled of rust and old dust — and something else.
Something ancient. Sleeping.
Arata, clutching his bandaged shoulder, finally spoke up:
> "Who are you? And what do you want from us?"
Hastur didn't answer immediately.
His steps were slow, deliberate.
Then, without turning, he said calmly:
> "For now… think of me as the one who watches over the lost."
Arata frowned, unsatisfied with the answer.
Then suddenly, his eyes widened — a memory flashing back:
the golden light that had burst forth earlier, halting Harvey's frost as if the world itself had stopped breathing.
> "Wait… that light! What was that?
What you did up there — that was magic, right?
Can I learn to do that too!?"
Silence followed, broken only by the faint cracking of stone.
Behind him, Rastaban let out a quiet, rough laugh.
> "You never change, Arata… Almost die, and you're already dreaming about playing hero again."
But Hastur stopped in his tracks.
He turned slightly, and from beneath the hood, a gleam of golden light flickered in his eye.
> "Magic…?"
"That word belongs to another age."
"What you saw up there was Anima."
"And believe me…"
"It can't be learned. It chooses you."
A cold draft swept through the tunnel.
Arata froze, the word echoing in his mind.
Golden fire burned — without heat.
Efa, Arata, and Rastaban stood transfixed, watching that strange flame that cast no shadow.
Hastur approached it, raised a hand above the fire, and declared:
> "You want to know the truth about this power, don't you?
Then listen carefully… and remember this:
Everything begins with a light."
His tone was deep, ritualistic.
The flame responded — and spectral images appeared in the air:
a golden palace, an empty throne, and a sky splitting open.
🜏
> "Anima — The Light of the King in Yellow."
He closed his eyes, as though reciting a forbidden legend.
---
🕯️ Cosmic Origin
> "Thousands of years ago, during what we call the First Resurrection,
a golden wave erupted from the Royal Palace.
It wasn't an explosion. It was… a birth."
The King in Yellow — a being older than reason itself —
released a fragment of His vital breath into the world.
That light swept across mountains, seas, and kingdoms.
It's said even the sun dimmed that day.
And when silence returned, the entire world was bathed in golden radiance —
the Light of the Anima.
The walls of the tunnel quivered gently.
Efa whispered:
> "A living wave…?"
> "Yes," replied Hastur.
"A conscious energy."
"It seeped into every stone, every beast, every human soul."
"Since that day, nothing alive can exist without it."
---
🩸 The True Nature of Anima
> "But don't be mistaken," Hastur continued, his tone grave.
"Anima is not a gift… it's a will imposed upon us."
"Every fragment of it carries a piece of the King's own mind."
> "Every time someone uses Anima, they draw from His power —
and in return, surrender a piece of their own will."
He turned to Arata, eyes sharp.
> "You don't use the Anima.
The Anima uses you."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Even Rastaban looked away, as though the words cut too close.
---
⚙️ Its Mechanism
> "Anima changes depending on its bearer," Hastur went on.
> "In peaceful souls, it nourishes creation, healing, and light.
But in tormented hearts… it breeds madness, distortion, and death."
> "The more one is ruled by emotion, the stronger the King's hold becomes.
Until, eventually, He manifests through His host."
Efa shivered.
> "So those who use it… slowly become puppets?"
> "Exactly," Rastaban murmured.
"And believe me… I've seen what happens when the King reclaims what's His."
---
🜲 The Echo Bearers
Hastur raised two fingers, tracing a glowing symbol in the air.
Golden silhouettes appeared around them — Harvey, Rastaban, and himself.
> "We… are called Echo Bearers.
Beings born in the regions touched by the Golden Light.
Our souls resonated with the King's.
We inherited fragments of His essence… His memories."
Arata frowned.
> "So you're… connected to Him?"
> "Yes," Hastur replied.
"And that's our greatest curse."
"The more we grow, the closer our essence drifts toward His —
until we reach the Yellowing."
"When your body and mind are consumed by light… and you cease to be human."
---
🩶 Anima and the Theatres
> "You've probably heard of the Theatres, Arata," Hastur continued.
"They're zones where reality itself bends to the will of one of the King's Vassals.
Each of them holds a pure fragment of Anima, channeled directly from the Royal Palace."
> "Their realms are sustained by the King's breath."
"Each Theatre… is a golden cage."
---
⚔️ Rastaban and Harvey
Hastur glanced at Rastaban.
> "You, Ban… you're different.
Your Anima doesn't obey the King's law.
You're an anomaly — a reversed Echo."
"Instead of submitting to His will… you send it back."
Rastaban smirked faintly.
> "And Harvey's the opposite.
His Anima is a perfect reflection of the King's.
His frost isn't just cold —
it's order itself. The desire to freeze the world in eternal silence."
---
Hastur's eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness.
> "But some of us learned to resist His influence.
To wield the Anima… without losing our souls."
> "Like me. Like Rastaban."
> "But remember this — whoever seeks the light of the King…
will always end up burned by it."
---
The flame flickered once… and went out.
The silence that followed was almost sacred.
Arata clenched his fists, whispering:
> "So this power…
it's both our weapon… and our curse."
Hastur nodded slowly.
> "Welcome… to the true theatre of the world."