The first light of day pierced through the thin layers of morning clouds, painting the eastern sky in soft gold. Gentle rays of sunlight kissed every blade of grass, every silent stone on Dawn Island—where the sun rose earlier than anywhere else in Enel.
A breeze swept across the vast fields, carrying the faint scent of distant flowers. Birds soared and sang, filling the sky with their cheerful songs, as if welcoming another peaceful day on this sacred land.
At the edge of a high cliff stood Karl—still and silent. His black cloak fluttered in the wind, and the conical straw hat concealed most of his face. Beneath its brim, his lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile.
For a moment—just a fleeting one—shadows crossed his mind: fire, screams, blood, and hands reaching up from the abyss of memory. But they vanished quickly, scattered by the dawn like mist chased away by sunlight.
"Another day begins," Karl whispered, his voice low, like the wind through the mountains.
He turned and walked away from the cliff's edge. His figure slowly melted into the landscape, leaving behind only the rising sun—and a world about to stir once more.
Dawn Island—a land people called the origin of light. But to Karl, it was more than that. It was the last place where peace still clung like dew to morning grass, untouched by the flames that once engulfed the world.
He walked slowly along a narrow mountain trail, his eyes scanning the familiar landscape, as if searching for fragments of memories long buried.
"Enel used to be magnificent…" Karl murmured. "...until it was nearly drowned in blood two centuries ago."
Two hundred years ago, the Demonfolk rose from the Abyssal Rift, bringing with them a storm of fire and shadow. They slaughtered, burned, and consumed kingdom after kingdom. In just a few years, half of Enel had fallen.
And then—when all seemed lost—a group of warriors rose up. Their real names are long forgotten. History remembers them only as "The Last Ones"—those who defied death to preserve a fading hope.
Karl was one of them.
Now, two hundred years have passed. For most people, the war has become little more than myth. The scars of Enel have healed, and life has returned. But beneath the surface, Karl knows—the demons never truly vanished. They're only sleeping. Waiting for another dawn… to rise once more.
The wind brushed past the old stone roof hanging over the cliff, carrying with it the scent of frost flowers and dry earth. I lay on my back, eyes fixed on the deep blue sky above the summit of Mount Eternia. Another day gone.
"Life… is boring."
I muttered. No one answered, of course. No one ever does. How long has it been since I had a real conversation?
Night birds started cutting across the sky, their wings flapping like the ticking of time itself. I closed my eyes, trying to feel the still heartbeat of the earth. Everything seemed fine… or at least unchanged.
"I wonder if the people down there, on Dawn Island… are still living in peace."
I asked again—just for myself to hear. Maybe they are. Maybe they're not. Enel never stays the same. It turns like a wheel of fate. I've seen its cruelest face—the bloodstained spears, the cries of the dying, and the hollow eyes of those who gave up.
I sighed.
"Well… it's none of my business anymore."
I don't want trouble. I don't want to wield the sword again. I don't want to see blood.
"It's always trouble… everything ends in trouble."
I turned over, lying on my side, letting the sun slip behind my back. Its light doesn't feel warm anymore.
"Unless someone knocks… I won't open the door."