The sky above the ancient city was a bruised purple, heavy with the promise of a storm. Towering spires of stone and rusted iron pierced the clouds, remnants of a civilization long buried in dust and legend. The wind howled through broken windows and collapsed halls, carrying whispers of secrets lost to time.
In this world where the old gods were forgotten, and machines hummed faintly beneath cracked cobblestones, a new war was beginning.
Beneath the vaulted ceilings of a hidden cathedral deep within the mountains of Japan, four boys knelt on cold stone floors, their breaths steady, eyes closed in quiet resolve. They were bound not by blood but by fate—marked since birth by a power neither fully understood, and guarded by the Ministry Church, a secret order sworn to protect them from the world's cruelty… and from the shadow of the Vatican.
The Ministry believed these boys were the last hope against an ancient evil. The Vatican saw them as threats to their iron grip over faith and power.
A sudden gust swept through the hall, snuffing the candles and plunging the chamber into darkness. From the shadows, a voice echoed — low, calm, and commanding.
"The world remembers what it fears. You four carry the storm within you. But remember—power is a blade. It cuts the wielder as deeply as the enemy."
One by one, the boys opened their eyes.
First stood Kaito, his black hair whipping around his sharp, focused face. In his hands gleamed a sword etched with swirling wind runes. His control over the air was seamless; the wind was an extension of his will, flowing around him like a living shield. Calm and disciplined, Kaito was the master of blade and breeze.
Beside him was Ren, a firebrand with a devilish grin and reckless eyes. Twin pistols hung at his hips — relics that harnessed his blazing pyromancy with deadly precision. He could melt steel with a glance, but the flames in his heart burned far hotter — a tempest barely held in check by cocky jokes and bravado.
Next was Haru, the silent strategist, whose pale gaze held visions of what was to come. His ability to foresee moments ahead made him the ultimate tactician and the coldest of warriors. His combat style was fluid and economical — he fought not to win, but to survive what his foresight could not prevent.
Finally, towering over the rest, stood Daiki, earth itself seemed to hum beneath his feet. His fists cracked stone, his presence steady as a mountain. Gentle in nature, fierce in battle, Daiki's power to shape and command the very ground was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
The air thickened with unspoken tension. The Ministry's elders had gathered to deliver a final warning — the Vatican's jealousy had turned deadly, and the four were no longer just protected wards; they were targets.
"Your bond will be tested. Trust only in yourselves, and in each other," the voice warned. "For soon, both Heaven and Hell will come hunting."
The boys exchanged glances — a mixture of fear, determination, and a spark of humor in Ren's smirk.
"Well, I say let them come," Ren said, cocking a pistol with a loud click. "They haven't seen hell yet."
Kaito cracked a rare smile. "Then we give them a show they'll never forget."
Outside, the storm broke. Lightning ripped the sky apart as the cathedral trembled on the edge of an ancient war reignited.
The Four stood, not as children anymore, but as the last flame between humanity and oblivion.