The fog over Oysik never faded. It clung to the land like a living spirit, silent yet restless, watching yet unseen. But tonight, the fog was heavier, darker, and almost… conscious.
Two figures stood within it.
Parth – The Fog-Born
Nineteen-year-old Parth was tall and lean, his frame carved by discipline and survival. Jet-black hair fell to his shoulders in subtle curls. His right eye was deep and dark, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, while the left held a faint crimson tint as if a hidden flame slept behind it. A thin scar traced his shoulder, a reminder of a beast that should have killed him long ago.
He carried a quiet intensity in the way he stood, the kind of presence that could calm storms or start them.
Veer – The Last Loyal Flame
Beside him stood Veer, fifteen, slimmer but sharply built, his muscles taut like a bowstring. His skin was warm-toned, his hair short and spiked, and his grey eyes flickered with nervous determination. He wasn't gifted by bloodline, nor touched by any divine trait. But he had something rarer—unyielding loyalty.
"Brother…" Veer's voice trembled in the fog. "Did everything really begin the way they say? Will you tell me what happened?"
Parth looked at him with an expression that held both mercy and warning, a glance heavy enough to silence heartbeats.
"If I tell you the truth," Parth said quietly, "you'll never see the world the same way again."
Veer swallowed but nodded. "I still want to hear it."
Parth exhaled, the fog trembling around him.
"Then listen."
---
Twelve Years Earlier
The Boy Who Fell
The fog that day felt alive. It moved like a predator, thick and violent. And then, out of the sky, something fell.
A boy. Just seven.
Small, fragile, half-conscious. His unevenly cut black hair whipped behind him as he plunged downward. His blue-grey eyes were barely open, still holding the innocence life had not yet stolen from him.
Blood trickled from his injuries. A single drop drifted into the fog.
And the world ripped open.
A space rift tore across the sky. Something Oysik's natural laws should never allow. A jagged wound in reality.
The boy was pulled inside.
Pressure changed. Air thinned. Darkness twisted.
He thought he was going to die.
Then—
Splash.
The Jade Lake
He fell into a lake so clear it mirrored the heavens. The water glowed jade-green from within, soft light rippling through the depths. His blood dissolved into the surface, tinting it with streaks of crimson.
Warmth wrapped around his wounds.
The pain eased.
For a moment, the boy thought:
Is this heaven?
It wasn't.
This place was a living hell with a beautiful face.
Before he could rise fully out of the water, a low growl shook the air behind him.
He turned.
Blood Wind Wolf
A beast stood on the shore.
Fur threaded with red-black marks.
Eyes storm-blue.
Claws humming with compressed wind, sharp enough to slice flesh and bone in a single motion.
The boy tried to summon mana—
—but agony exploded inside him.
His body convulsed.
"Ghh—KAAHH!"
Blood gushed from his mouth.
The wolf lunged.
Its claw tore across his back.
Scarlet streaks splattered onto the lake.
The boy collapsed back into the jade water, slipping beneath the surface.
The wolf stopped.
It stared at the lake with pure fear.
Hours passed.
When the boy opened his eyes again, the wolf was still there—but weaker, unsteady, barely holding itself upright. Still dangerous enough to kill.
He had never killed anything before.
But if he didn't kill today…
He would die today.
Awakening
His entire body burned.
Mana was gone.
He was empty.
Except for one thing.
A tiny spark.
A flicker of divine mana left inside him like a dying heartbeat.
He forced his trembling fingers to steady. His breath wavered.
His special eyes activated.
Blood streamed from them.
His left eye cracked.
His right eye glowed faintly.
The wolf's weak point shimmered before him.
He struck.
A sharp sound—
an explosion—
BOOM.
The wolf fell.
And from its corpse, a swirl of crimson-black death energy spiraled into the boy's body. Thick. Heavy. Cold.
Nothing like mana.
The opposite of life.
It didn't just enter him.
It was being pulled—
as if something, somewhere, was calling it.
The Watcher
On the ridge above the lake, a silhouette watched him.
Tall.
Calm.
Eyes glowing white-crimson with a liquid mercury sheen.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Finally," the figure whispered.
"You've arrived."
That was the moment Parth's life didn't just begin.
It broke.
And from the cracks, something far darker began to rise.