The sunrise over Ukyo was a masterpiece of gold and jade, a cruel irony given the shadow marching toward its borders. In the heart of the Celestial Palace, the air was cold, despite the hearths burning with premium mana-crystals. Emperor Menardius Zephyrin St. Cloud sat upon the Ivory Throne, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the armrest. He was a man of silver hair and eyes that held the weight of a thousand-year dynasty, yet today, his gaze was clouded with an unfamiliar dread.
The heavy doors of the throne room burst open. There was no herald, no announcement. Only the sound of boots dragging across marble and the scent of ozone and burnt blood.
Wan Harrison Fenris-Valkyr, Commander of the Scout Secrecy Assassin Unit, collapsed at the foot of the daisy tree near at the door. His cloak, once the midnight-blue of the elite Valkyr St. Command, was shredded. His armor was cracked, and his Arcane—Spatial Blink—was flickering erratically around him, causing his form to glitch like a ghost in the machine.
"Your Majesty…" Wan rasped, coughing up a mixture of dust and dark bile. "The borders… the South East… it's not just a surge. It's an extinction."
Menardius stood, his presence filling the hall like a rising tide. "Speak, Wan. You have traveled a hundred thousand kilometers in a single night. What did you see?"
"A Rumbling," Wan whispered, his eyes wide with a lingering terror. "I used my radius-teleport to get behind their lines. I was surrounded. Hundreds of thousands of Maiju, marching in perfect, terrifying unison. The earth didn't just shake; it groaned. But at the center... in a perfect circle... were the monsters."
Wan's voice trembled as he described the seven Grotesque Maijus. He spoke of a mountain of iron and bone, a creature of glitching shadows, and a silk-shrouded widow that drained the air itself.
"I heard them, Sire. The Pact of Obsidian. Veynar Umbros stood atop a titan's skull. Their plan is no longer just Limana. They seek the Seven Kingdoms' Collapse. They aren't conquering; they are harvesting. They intend to turn every living sorcerer into a husk to feed their new vanguard."
Emperor Menardius went pale. The "Pact of Neutrality" that had kept Gonaya safe for centuries was a paper shield against a storm of obsidian. "They have turned the children of Limana into the engines of our destruction," the Emperor murmured. "May the gods forgive us for our inaction."
THE GARDEN OF FALLING ASH
A mile away, in a secluded stone courtyard behind the medical wing, the atmosphere was far less regal. It was brutal.
Shinji lay flat on his back, his lungs burning as if he had swallowed hot coals. His skin was bruised, his muscles twitching with exhaustion. Above him stood Redhardt Von Molinhurst, looking as immovable as a mountain. Redhardt hadn't used a single spark of mana. He hadn't used his Arcane. He had used his hands.
"Get up," Redhardt commanded. His voice was flat, devoid of the pity Shinji so desperately craved.
"I... I can't," Shinji wheezed, clutching his chest where the Obsidian Pyre had once burned. "Without my Arcane... I'm slow. I'm weak. I can't even see your movements."
"That is because you are looking for magic," Redhardt stepped forward, his feet moving in a silent, gliding motion. "You are waiting for the 'buzz' of mana to tell you when a strike is coming. You are a child who has lost his crutch and is complaining that he cannot walk."
Redhardt reached down, yanking Shinji to his feet by his collar. He shoved a wooden training sword into the boy's hand.
"The Flowstate: Zero Variant is not about power. It is about the absence of it," Redhardt explained, his golden eyes locking onto Shinji's. "Vaderius took your Abyss Dominion. He took your Yokai. He did you a favor, Shinji. He stripped away the noise. Now, there is only the world, and there is you."
"A favor?!" Shinji roared, fueled by a sudden, jagged spike of rage. He swung the wooden blade with everything he had.
Redhardt didn't parry. He didn't even seem to move his feet. He simply tilted his head two inches to the left. The wooden sword whistled past his ear. In the same motion, Redhardt's palm struck Shinji's solar plexus—not with a punch, but with a gentle, flowing push that sent Shinji flying across the courtyard.
"Momentum Redirection," Redhardt said calmly. "You gave me your anger. I simply gave it back to you. You are fighting like a jagged rock, Shinji. You strike, you hit a wall, and you break. Be the water. The rock cannot break the river; it can only let the river flow around it."
Shinji struggled to his feet, his vision swimming. "I lost my friends, Redhardt. I lost my master. I'm empty."
"Then use that emptiness!" Redhardt's voice finally rose, echoing off the stone walls. "Empty your mind! Be formless! Shapeless! If you are nothing, then Vaderius has nothing to strike! If you have no mana, then his Obsidian Pyre has nothing to burn! You are the only person in this world who can fight him now, because you are already dead in his eyes!"
Shinji froze. The words hit him harder than Redhardt's palms. If I am nothing, he has nothing to strike.
He took a deep, shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the grief, the images of Walther's bow and the Academy's fire. He focused on the rhythm of his own heartbeat—the heartbeat that Walther had sacrificed everything to keep steady.
He raised the wooden sword. This time, he didn't tense his muscles. He let his arms hang loose. He let his knees bend naturally.
"Again," Shinji whispered.
Redhardt smiled—a small, dangerous glint of white teeth. He lunged, a strike faster than any commoner should be able to track.
Shinji didn't 'see' it. He felt the shift in the air. He felt the weight of Redhardt's intent. He stepped back—not a frantic leap, but a calculated glide. The strike missed his chest by a hair's breadth.
Redhardt followed up with a sweeping kick. Shinji didn't resist. He allowed his body to collapse into a roll, using the momentum of Redhardt's move to propel himself back into a standing position.
It was ugly. It was slow. But for the first time in his life, Shinji Saitou fought without a single drop of magic.
THE CALL TO ARMS
Back in the throne room, Emperor Menardius turned to his Commander.
"Wan, take the Command. Go to the kingdoms of Orizon and Valeria. Tell them the Pact of Obsidian has breached the ancient laws. Tell them the 'Rumbling' is coming."
"And what of the boy, Sire?" Wan asked, gesturing toward the training grounds. "The one Redhardt is harboring?"
The Emperor looked out toward the courtyard, where he could see the silhouette of a boy falling and rising, again and again, under the moonlight.
"Let him train," Menardius said, his voice regaining its imperial steel. "If the reports are true, and Class 0-E has been turned into monsters... then we are going to need someone who knows how to kill a ghost. Redhardt is forging a sword out of ash, Wan. Let's hope it's sharp enough to cut through the night."
As the Emperor spoke, a dark, unnatural cloud began to blot out the stars on the southeastern horizon. The Rumbling was no longer a distant threat. The Seven Kingdoms were about to find out that the end of the world didn't come with a whimper, but with the heavy, rhythmic footsteps of a hundred thousand monsters.
Shinji took his stance again, his knuckles bleeding, his spirit screaming. He didn't have his magic. He didn't have his knights.
But for the first time, he was beginning to find his Flow.
[TO BE CONTINUED]