Near Windswept, nestled between rolling fields and dense woods, lay a small town. Farmers sold their harvests to the city, while others reveled in the rare peace the village offered. A young boy played with his wooden sword, his bright blond hair and emerald eyes brimming with unshaken hope. The villagers took a liking to him—his laughter, his energy, the simple joy he carried.
Life was good. Peaceful. Happy.
A rarity in this world.
But such things never last. Not here. Not ever.
It began with a sound—a ringing in the air, faint at first, lingering on the edge of hearing. Over the next few days, it grew, swelling into an unbearable screech that drowned out voices and shattered the stillness. Some fled, sensing the weight of something unnatural pressing down upon them. Most stayed, clinging to denial, to routine, to the desperate hope that this was temporary.
Then came the pain.
Each breath sliced through their lungs like razors. Each step became an unbearable burden.
The sky whispered:
You are watched.
The weak fell first—elders and children crumpled, never to rise again. The rest tried to run, but it was already too late. The wailing from above burst eardrums, crushed lungs, left them writhing in agony as blood filled their throats. One by one, they collapsed, choking, drowning in crimson silence.
The boy, barely clinging to life, lifted his gaze.
The sun had turned black.
The sky bled red.
And standing before him was a man in a tattered robe, a sword hanging from his waist.
The boy awoke in a cave, the flickering firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. Across from him, the man sat, his face lined with deep scars, his black hair tied back in a loose bun. His voice was cold, emotionless.
"I saved you. But I will not care for you. You have two choices: learn the way of the sword and aid me in escaping this hellhole, or die a pitiful death outside."
The boy shivered, his voice trembling.
"W-where are we? D-did you see my dad?"
The man's gaze hardened.
"Listen, kid. Your old life is over. This is your life now. You either adapt, or you die."
"B-but… Mom… Dad… Mister Baker… the post lady… they're all…"
The man hesitated…
"Sorry, kid."
Silence. Then, tears. The boy sobbed, his cries echoing through the cave—until a hand clamped over his mouth.
"Shut up. Not too loud.
They will hear us."
A deep, guttural rumble came from outside.
The boy turned, heart pounding, as something moved in the darkness beyond the cave entrance.
A pulsating mass of flesh, bone, and hair crawled forward, grotesque and unnatural. Its face was hidden behind an off-colored mask of fused bone.
The man muttered under his breath.
"Shit."
His sword flashed as he moved—too fast for the boy's eyes to follow. Steel met flesh, but it was not enough. A monstrous hand swung, and the man was sent flying, crashing near the fire.
Snarling, he grabbed a burning ember with his bare hand and hurled it at the creature. The glowing coal sizzled against its body, and it let out a screech that pierced the boy's skull.
The man's sword was embedded in the stone wall. No time to retrieve it. He grabbed a stick meant for the fire and threw it like a spear.
It should have done nothing.
But the unsharpened wood pierced straight through the monster's body, as though guided by an unseen force.
The abomination convulsed. Then, it fell, lifeless.
The man stood, breathing heavily, seemingly unbothered by the wounds that should have shattered his ribs. He pulled his sword from the rock and turned to the boy.
"If you ever do something like that again, I'll kill you on the spot."
The boy swallowed his fear, saying nothing. He barely understood what had just happened.
The man sheathed his sword.
"So… will you learn the sword?"
The boy hesitated, then nodded.
"Good. Sleep. Training starts tomorrow."
But sleep did not come. The ringing in his ears remained, the screams of the village clawing at his mind.
What he thought was morning came, though no light reached the cave.
The man extended his hand toward the boy.
"Can you feel this?"
A strange warmth coursed through the boy's body, like liquid fire, yet not painful.
"This is aura. Or Qi. Or mana. Depends who you ask."
The boy's eyes widened.
"Mana… like the mages in the stories?"
"Yeah… Now, there's a safer way to learn this, but we don't have time. I'm going to force it into your body. You stabilize it, or you die."
"W-wait—!"
The man didn't wait.
A flood of scorching energy surged through the boy's veins. He screamed, his body convulsing as it felt like his blood was boiling from the inside out.
"Focus."
The man's voice was sharp.
"Don't let it take over. Guide it from your blood to your heart. Form it into a sphere."
Through the agony, the boy obeyed. He fought against the raging energy, guiding it, shaping it, forcing it into order.
Then—suddenly—the pain dulled. His breathing steadied. The warmth remained, no longer chaotic but controlled.
A hand pressed against his back. The man was helping him.
And finally, the boy did it. The aura condensed into a stable sphere within his heart.
The man exhaled in something close to disbelief.
"Hah… never seen someone do it that easily. Maybe escaping this hell isn't such a distant dream after all."
The boy slumped onto the cold rock, exhausted but… different. The ringing in his ears was gone. The air, once suffocating, no longer burned his lungs.
The man nodded.
"Now you can survive outside this cave. But we can't stay here. We need to move. It's never safe to remain in one place for too long."
Something had shifted in his tone. Perhaps the boy's potential had changed his perception of him—made him more useful in his eyes.
The boy hesitated before speaking.
"C-could you tell me where we are? Before we leave?"
The man sighed. Then, he explained.
This place was called The Red Horizon.
A dimension parallel to their own. At times, the two worlds overlapped, merging briefly. That was what had happened to the boy's town.
Everything in this realm was hostile. Even the air was a silent killer. Without aura, no human could survive here. That was why his village had perished.
The man had been trapped here for twenty-seven years. When the town was pulled into the Red Horizon, he had hoped to use it as a gateway home—but he had failed.
There was one hope left.
He had mastered a technique capable of slicing through dimensions. He had found a tablet in a ruin. The words etched in the stone—ancient, worn—held the key. The way to wield the dimension-splitting blade. But even at the weakest point of the superposition, he lacked the power to cut deep enough. Alone, he was too weak.
But two swordsmen, working together…
The boy stared at him, disbelief and fear in his eyes.
"S-so we're stuck here…?"
"Did you not listen? I told you there's a way."
"I… I could never do something like that…"
The man smirked.
"Don't let it go to your head, but… you're the most talented aura user I've ever seen."
A nervous but proud flicker crossed the boy's face.
The man stood, securing a small bag over his shoulder.
"Now, enough talk. Time to go."
He crouched.
"Get on my back. I'm too fast for you."
The boy obeyed.
Seconds later, the forest blurred as they vanished into the trees.