The sky didn't rise that day.
There was no dawn, no light, no color.
Even the wind people were used to hearing every morning had stopped.
In the villages, people stepped out of their homes, staring at the gray sky, searching for a sun that no longer existed.
In the technological cities, electricity went out, flames died, and the water in wells froze for no reason. Even the sound of the earth changed, as if it was breathing heavily after a long sleep.
Then everything began to shake.
Buildings cracked, trees broke, and children screamed as they watched the ground slowly swallow the streets. No one knew what was happening… but everyone, at that very moment, felt one thing only:
this was no ordinary darkness.
At the heart of the continent, inside a small wooden house built in the old Japanese style, a boy lay on a simple futon, covered with a pale blanket. His messy navy-blue hair fell over his sleeping face, the front strands hiding half of his features in shadow.
He suddenly opened his golden eyes. A faint light reflected on them from the strange metal clock beside him—a circular device surrounded by tiny symbols that looked like ancient runes. It had no hands, only glowing rings slowly moving around a black center. He reached toward it lazily, frowning.
It showed six in the morning, but when he looked out the window, there was no light. No sun, no reflection, no shadow. Only a thick gray darkness devouring the horizon. He brushed his hair off his forehead, revealing a thin lightning-shaped mark glowing faintly on his skin. His golden eyes blinked slowly, stunned by the stillness around him.
He sat up and murmured as if talking to himself,
"Impossible… did the clock break?"
But the fault wasn't in his clock—it was in the world itself.
The boy stepped carefully out of his room, dragging his feet across the wooden floor that creaked faintly in the heavy silence. He ran his hand along the wall, searching for the switch. He pressed it several times, but nothing. No light, no sound, only darkness swallowing everything.
He called out hesitantly,
"Dad?… Are you awake?"
No answer. He kept walking, stumbling, bumping into a small table before feeling his way to the living room. His fingers brushed the rough surface of the couch—familiar. On it, he found something else he knew well: his sleeping eye mask.
He picked it up and placed it on his forehead, lifting his hair slowly until the lightning mark showed again. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused all his thoughts on it. Then… the light appeared.
The mark flared in a golden glow, spreading across the room like a wave.
For a moment, the house seemed alive again—but the light was unstable, flickering like a terrified heartbeat, as if the power within him had only half awakened.
Just as he exhaled in relief, the ground shook violently. Not a normal tremor—something massive moved beneath the house. Pots crashed to the floor, books fell from shelves, and the air filled with choking dust. The boy staggered, trying to grab the wall, but his small body was tossed around like a doll in a storm.
The lightning mark vanished from his forehead, and darkness swallowed everything. Then came terrifying sounds from nearby rooms—his parents and sister, Murasaki, screaming amid the cracking of wood and collapsing walls.
He shouted with all his strength,
"Earthquaaaake!!"
He stumbled toward the hallway, crashing into doors and walls, groping his way through the chaos. Then, a man's voice echoed through the corridor:
"Akio! Use your lightning to light the place!"
He froze for a second, chest heaving in panic, then thought quickly:
'Right… how stupid of me to forget!'
Akio raised his hand shakily and closed his eyes, gathering what little energy he had left. Sparks began to flicker between his fingers—weak and broken at first—then gathered into a small sphere of glowing yellow light. It grew brighter and brighter until it illuminated everything around him.
Through the dust and rubble stood a tall man at the shattered doorway. Broad-shouldered, still in his sleepwear, with short violet hair flying wildly with each tremor.
Then, the next door burst open. A woman rushed out, her soft features standing out despite the chaos, long pink hair flowing wildly through the dust, her violet eyes reflecting the trembling lightning light. Behind her was a slightly older girl, with the same hair color but shorter, her pale face frozen in fear.
The mother cried out, voice trembling,
"Vanco! Akio! What's happening?!"
The whole house shook, the ground itself groaning with a deep, living sound. Akio raised his voice over the noise, trying to sound strong despite the terror in his eyes,
"Hold on to me, all of you!"
The light in his palm vanished, replaced by the mark on his forehead—now blazing with vivid yellow light. Its lines spread across his face and neck like veins of energy. He moved quickly through the dust, grabbing their hands one by one—his father's, his mother's, then his sister's, who was struggling to keep her balance.
Their steps were slow and unsteady, rubble crunching beneath their feet as they made their way to the door, clinging to Akio as if he were the only lifeline in this nightmare. The door handle shook in his father's grip, then burst open—releasing a blast of hot ash and dust-filled wind.
They froze.
The world outside was collapsing.
Houses crumbled into one another. People ran and screamed—some trapped under debris, others dragging their children through the chaos, faces smeared with blood and ash. The sky was pitch-black, void of light, as if it had swallowed the moon and stars whole.
Despite her fear, the mother rushed forward toward the nearest injured person, shouting,
"Oh God!!"
Murasaki, seventeen years old, watched everything with sharp focus. She grabbed her mother's arm to stop her from rushing forward and said firmly,
"Mom, don't go too far! We'll help them, but we need to find a safe place first!"
They exchanged quick glances as the shaking grew stronger. The lightning mark on Akio's forehead flashed again, reflecting its glow on all their faces. In that instant, they realized that what was happening wasn't just a natural disaster… but the beginning of an age no one was prepared for.
Far away, on another part of the continent—beyond the mountains and cities—there was an island surrounded by raging waves crashing violently against the shore. The sea rose high enough to flood the streets, wooden houses splintered and drifted away with the current. The air itself had turned salty and heavy, suffocating anyone who tried to breathe.
On top of a slanted red-tiled roof stood a teenage boy. His messy red hair whipped in the wind, and his black jacket clung to his lean, strong frame. He gripped the roof's edge tightly so the storm wouldn't throw him off, while the water surged around him like a furious beast trying to devour him.
His face was cold as stone, showing no fear or emotion. His eyes stared into the sky as if searching for meaning in the chaos. He tried to focus on the color of the heavens but saw nothing at all.
He muttered softly, barely audible under the roar of the sea,
"The full moon was supposed to rise tonight…"
He raised his right hand, and a small flame ignited in his palm. Its flickering light danced in the rain pouring from the swollen clouds, as though defying the dark sky. The orange glow lit his face, revealing sharp, hardened features and gray eyes that didn't waver even amid the storm.
When the fire illuminated his surroundings, the scene below came into view—and it was a vision no one should ever see.
Beneath him was an open hell.
Tilted houses had collapsed into one another. The alleys were filled with mud and filthy water. Barefoot children ran through the chaos, screaming for their families, their small bodies pulled away by the foul current.
A little boy tried to climb up the wreckage, but a massive wave struck him, tearing his arm from his body. His scream was cut short before it could finish. Another child dragged his drowned mother, slapping the water with his small hands as he cried mindlessly, until a whirlpool of mud and bloodstained water swallowed him whole.
The wind carried the stench of torn flesh and rotting seawater.
The red-haired boy stood motionless, only watching from above with lifeless eyes. Then he raised his hand again and lit a cigarette between his lips. His face didn't change—no emotion, no fear—as if he had seen this scene before… as if it was something familiar.
When he exhaled the first breath of smoke, a piercing scream tore through the sound of waves and thunder:
"Fatheeeeeeeeeeer!!!"
The smoke caught in his throat. His gray eyes widened, as though that cry had pierced something buried deep inside him. He gasped sharply, the cigarette falling from his lips into the water pooling below. His body trembled, his hand shook, and the flame in his palm went out.
The wind slapped his face hard, rain mixing with the sweat on his forehead—but what froze him wasn't the cold. It was a memory returning without warning…
a memory of another scream, from another child…
on another night just like this one.
He leapt from the roof with stunning agility, his body moving through the chaos as if it knew the path by instinct. Wind and ash surged around him, but he landed steadily on the wet ground, crouched, then rose to his feet. His right hand still burned with orange fire, vaporizing raindrops before they could touch him.
Behind his back, a long sword was revealed—its black sheath gleaming faintly like dull metal. He reached back with his left hand, gripping the hilt with a natural motion, and drew the blade with a sharp metallic sound that sliced through the storm. He began to move with deadly calm, cutting through falling debris with precision.
Wood, rock, broken roof tiles—nothing slowed him. Then he noticed something strange. Amid the rain and wind, tiny black particles began to move unnaturally, like living ash. They gathered, vanished, then appeared again. He reached out to touch them, but they passed through his hand—still, he felt a burning sting, as if the ash itself was alive inside him.
He lifted his gaze to the dark sky. The wind struck his rain-soaked face. This time, he could see the clouds twisting slowly—then splitting open to reveal a glowing violet line stretching from the horizon up into the heavens.
It hadn't been there a moment ago. Total darkness had covered everything. But now… that luminous crack tore through the air like an open wound in the body of the world, pulsing with a strange light that grew stronger by the second until the waves themselves began reflecting its purple hue.
He stepped back, eyes wide in rare shock. The air grew heavier. Inside his mind, a voice echoed between disbelief and awe:
"Has the Wall of the Continent… the barrier that separates us from the world… finally broken after three hundred and seventy-five years?!"
At that instant, a distant explosion thundered from the sea, followed by a long echo like the continent itself groaning. Dark violet ash began to fall from the sky like slow snow—melting before it reached the ground.
And so, the boy realized—without knowing how or why—that this night was not merely a disaster…
it was the beginning of the collapse of the world he was born into.