Far in the depths of Lunafry Forest, the trees and magical beasts stirred from their long slumber. Winter had just ended. The snow was melting, and the trees slowly regained the lush green they had shed in autumn.
Beneath a lone pine, Zephyr lay resting, a fallen log serving as his pillow, nothing but the open sky as his shawl. His shoulder-length black hair faded to white at the tips, framing his tired face. He looked up at the heavens, his sky-blue eyes half-closed with weariness.
"Winter is over," he murmured, smiling in quiet relief.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer beneath the pine. He now stood in an endless field of golden wheat, stretching farther than sight could carry. In the distance, he caught a sound.
"Humming? That tune…"
His heart quickened. He began to run—through the swaying wheat, chasing the familiar melody. At last, he saw her.
She stood among a flock of birds, her hands clasped behind her back, fingers entwined. A brown woolen blouse and a long purple skirt draped around her form. Her long orange hair, neatly braided, danced in the breeze as she hummed an ancient lullaby.
Zephyr's eyes blurred with tears. His legs trembled.
The woman's voice rose in song:
"When the clouds shall block the light,
When darkness spreads and hope is gone…
Then shall the shadow and his army rise,
Kings for themselves, knights for pride,
No hope shall remain.
But fear not, my child.
For when the sun crowns the tip of Mount Lunafry,
The Crimson Heroes will come.
Heroes with hearts of gold,
Knights of justice,
And kings of the people.
The people shall rise,
Knights shall stand,
Heroes shall awaken…
Because the Crimson Soul has come."
As the last words left her lips, she extended her hand toward him. Slowly, she turned, revealing eyes as sky-blue as his own.
"Zephyr," she whispered, her smile radiant. "You've grown so much."
A loose strand of hair fell across her face.
"Mother!" Zephyr cried. Without hesitation, he rushed into her embrace, falling to his knees as tears streamed down his cheeks. He clung to her, burying his face into her shirt. She gently patted his head, then lifted his face with her hand and looked into his eyes, as though gazing straight into his soul. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Zephyr, my dear child… our meeting will not be long now. Bear with me a little longer. But for now—you must wake."
At her words, he jolted upright from the dream. His eyes were damp with unfallen tears. Looking skyward, he listened to the birdsong, but their cheerful chirping only deepened the ache in his heart. He rose slowly, letting out a weary sigh.
"Hah… nothing but a dream. Mother… Father… where are you?" he said, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"I'd like to know that myself," a voice intruded.
From the shadow of a tree stepped his brother, Masamune. His long brown leather Victorian coat billowed in the wind, fastened at the waist by a black belt with a golden buckle. But it was his striking features that drew the eye—his fiery orange hair, their mother's gift, and those piercing golden eyes.
"Masamune…" Zephyr huffed, placing a hand on his hip. "How is it you always wake before me?" His sky-blue eyes met his brother's golden ones in a playful challenge.
"Please. Waking before you is no feat," Masamune replied with a confident smirk. "I could throw snow on your face, and you'd sleep right through it."
As he strode closer, his calf-length boots pressed into the soft green grass.
"Ha!" Zephyr scoffed. "Lies!"
"Really? Then take a look at your shoulder," Masamune said, pointing.
Zephyr turned his head, only to find a large brown smear across his cloak. His confident expression melted into sheer horror.
"Wait—this isn't… dung, is it?" he stammered, his face twisting in disgust.
Masamune erupted in laughter, his voice carrying through the trees.
"MASAMUNE!" Zephyr screamed, his cry echoing from the forest all the way to the mountains.
Zephyr froze like a statue, staring in horror at the mysterious gunk smeared across his shoulder.
"What… in the world is this thing?" he muttered, eyes wide as if he'd just discovered a cursed relic.
Masamune was already doubled over, clutching his stomach with laughter. "ka ha hahaha !"
Zephyr ripped off his coat as though it were on the floor, frantically scrubbing it with water—once, twice, five times, then ten, each wash more dramatic than the last.
Masamune could hardly breathe, tears running down his face. "You… you do know it's just mud, right?" he finally managed, wheezing between laughs.
Zephyr froze, his expression sliding into a dangerous mix of crimson embarrassment and simmering rage. Without a word, he scooped up a hefty handful of earth and launched it at Masamune's face.
The mud hit its target with a wet splat. Masamune stood still, silent, mud dripping down his cheek. Slowly, theatrically, he wiped it away with his hand. The laughter was gone. The air grew still. Even the birds seemed to sense it.
"Oh… it's war now."
The trees groaned, the wind hushed, and the brothers rose to their feet like duelists in some ridiculous epic.
Zephyr's hand slid to his longsword. When he drew it, the black-and-white blade hissed as though it cut straight through the warmth of the air. A strange frost rolled out from the steel, curling like ghostly mist. Its guard, adorned with a silver lily, and the pale rose etched into the hilt, seemed almost alive—delicate beauty hiding lethal promise.
Masamune smirked and unsheathed his weapon in reply—a katana with twin ridges running down its spine like the fangs of a beast. The blade glowed faintly, whispering heat into the air, while its golden guard caught the light like fire. Even standing near it, the forest felt warmer, as if the sword itself had pulled summer into the clearing.
The earth between them held its breath.
Two brothers. Two blades. And one very stupid argument about mud.