Smoke clawed at the sky like dark fingers grasping for escape.
Koda ran.
His feet thundered against the old stone roads, lungs burning with every breath. Around him, the world descended into chaos—screams, the unmistakable clash of steel, the ringing of bells too late to stop anything.
The outer ring burned.
Ash fell like snow, turning the sun's blood-red glow into a full inferno as homes crumbled under the weight of fire and fear. The slums, always so full of life despite their ruin, now echoed only with panic.
And something else.
A stench.
Putrid and thick—like rotting meat left in a swamp, soaked in bile and death. It twisted in his nose, sharp enough to sting his eyes, thick enough to taste on his tongue.
Then he saw them.
Crawling from the shadows, slithering through smoke like nightmares made flesh—
Goblins.
But not like the old drawings or children's stories—these were worse.
Their skin was a lumpy, porous green, sickly and wet, with veins that pulsed black beneath the surface. Each step they took was uneven, as though their bones fought against their muscles. Their fingers—long, twisted and swollen—looked more like rotting roots than hands, swollen at the joints like the knuckles of the elderly. Their mouths were too wide, lined with tiny, needle-like teeth that clicked with anticipation, their eyes bulbous and glowing dull yellow in the dusk.
Some held jagged iron blades, chipped and crusted with old rust and new blood. Others carried no weapon at all—relying instead on claws that ended in blackened, split nails curling like hooks.
There were dozens, pouring through a breach in the outer wall like a tide of decay.
Koda didn't stop.
He slammed into one, shoulder first, sending it careening against a wall. It screeched—a shrill, insectile noise—as he twisted past it, eyes locked forward.
The orphanage stood like a silhouette in the smoke, its front yard littered with broken crates and scorch marks. The door hung ajar, one hinge snapped.
Inside, chaos.
The main hall had been turned into a battlefield. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and the fallen limbs of goblins tangled with the bloodied, still-breathing forms of older children—barely more than teenagers—who had tried to fight back with brooms and rusted kitchen knives.
And in the center of it all—
"Maia!" Koda choked.
She knelt near the far wall, back pressed to the nursery door, her arms wrapped around two small children, shielding them with her body. Her once-white dress was streaked with ash and crimson, one sleeve torn open, revealing a long scratch from shoulder to elbow. Her face was pale—eyes locked wide in frozen horror.
Across the room, the matron—old, sturdy, trembling—stood between the remaining children and two approaching goblins. Her only defense was a fire poker, held like a sword, knuckles white.
"Stay back!" she screamed. "Stay away from them!"
The goblins laughed.
A wet, rattling chitter, like bones grinding in mud.
Maia's arms trembled, but she didn't loosen her grip on the children. One whimpered beneath her chin, a tiny, choked sound—terrified but trying to be brave. She pressed her lips to their soot-smeared foreheads, her own heart thundering against their small bodies.
The goblins were closing in.
Their steps were uneven, twitching with inhuman anticipation. Their clawed feet scraped against blood-slick floorboards. One licked its teeth. The other raised its blade.
Maia didn't move.
Not out of fear.
But something deeper.
A stillness.
Not a voice, a feeling, a wish for the world—quiet and warm like a memory:
"Let them rest. Let them feel safe."
She exhaled slowly.
Her blood cooled. The scream in her mind quieted. The panic in her lungs gave way to breath. A light flickered—soft and golden—barely visible at first, like the last rays of sun slipping through a shuttered window.
Then it grew.
From her chest, it pulsed outward—veins of light winding along her arms, reaching the children she held. Their trembling eased. The boy clutched her hand. The girl stopped crying, eyes fluttering closed in sudden calm.
The goblins faltered.
They staggered, blinking those strange, jaundiced eyes as if the glow stung them. One hissed. The other shook its head, the blade dipping.
The matron gasped. "By the Guide…"
Maia whispered to the children in her arms.
Still calm.
Her voice came quiet, but carried like a hymn.
"You are safe here."
The words hung in the air.
And for a moment—a brief breath of time—the world listened.
The children, scattered and bloodied, stilled. A boy with a broken leg stopped screaming. A girl clutching a wooden spoon dropped it and began to sob, not in fear, but in release.
The goblins took a step back.
Even they felt it.
Sanctuary.
Then—
CRACK.
The window shattered behind Koda as another goblin emerged, crawling through the wound with unnatural flexibility. Its stomach scraped the sill, skin tearing open as it hissed, unbothered by the wound.
Koda didn't hesitate.
There was no time.
He snatched a broken chair leg from the ground, spun, and brought it down on the first one's skull with a primal roar. Bone gave way with a sickening crunch.
Another goblin lunged. He twisted, the jagged wood splintering against its chest, tearing it open—but the goblin didn't fall. It clawed his arm, drawing blood.
He shouted in pain.
"Koda!" Maia's voice broke through the haze. "More are coming!"
He turned—
The hallway to the nursery swarmed with silhouettes. Shadows writhing toward them.
Too many.
The chair leg broke in his hand.
He stumbled back, teeth clenched, and heart pounding.
No weapon. No skills. No patron.
But they needed him. SHE needed him.
But then—
A voice.
Not from the room. From somewhere deeper. Inside.
"Would you sacrifice?"
Time slowed.
The flames seemed to hush. The goblins halted mid-charge, as though bound in wax.
Koda's body screamed from blood loss. His eyes blurred. But he didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Even yourself?"
A heartbeat. Then—
"Yes."
And then, light.
No—not light. Something else.
A low, humming glow—not silver or sapphire or any known divine hue.
It was black.
A dull, heavy black, like the shadow of a star. It poured from his chest in slow, rippling pulses. The world trembled with its presence.
The goblins froze, mid-lunge. Their grotesque bodies recoiling, screeching in agony as they turned to flee—but it was too late.
The room detonated with presence.
And just before he passed out—
A system screen appeared, broken, glitching—but still legible.
[ERROR – CONNECTION NOT FOUND]
Searching…
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED]
THE ETERNAL GUIDE
WARNING: SYSTEM CONDITIONS UNIQUE
You are the First.
You are the Last.
You are the Future.
Welcome, Chosen of the Eternal Guide.