The Shell
In the lingering echoes of what existed before the era of the kingdoms' pride,
along the northwestern shores of the forgotten island, where the Bloody Sea meets the beach, the waves toy with the sand under a gentle breeze.
Amid the white sands lies a figure clad in a black robe stained with blood—silent, cradling a small white cat. Only the sea's murmur shatters the hush, animating the world around them.
Kanami stares in stunned disbelief; he cannot utter a single word, utterly adrift between surges of defeated rage and profound alienation, lost in a place he has never beheld. Everything appears unnatural: the sea's crimson hue; the sky severed in half—one side shrouded in darkness, the other ordinary; the flora and fauna, bizarre and unfamiliar.
At that moment, Kanami's mind ceases to function; exhaustion renders him incapable even of screaming. He has lost everything: his home, his livelihood, his existence, his very self. Now, he is merely discarded in an unknown realm, like a plaything passed from one hand to another, from one ordeal to the next, without a voice.
Kanami hurls Mai aside, though she is no less shocked or drained. He regards her with a vacant expression. The catastrophe has struck them both like a freight train. Kanami surrenders entirely; he summons his weapon. His emotions form a chaotic whirlwind. Gripping the blade, he severs his own head in a desperate arc.
Mai watches him, drenched in blood, so overwhelmed that no thought can process the horror; circumstances spiral only downward, growing ever more dire.
Moments later, Kanami awakens once more, clutching Mai as before. His eyes snap open wide; the agonizing throb in his neck reveals the truth—there is no escape. With a fractured, hoarse voice, he mutters, "No, no, no—it can't be real, it can't be real." He flings Mai away again, summons his weapon, and repeats the act, time after time after time. He returns to the same instant. Mai can do nothing; she is utterly bewildered. Kanami persists in his futile attempts, hoping to awaken from this nightmare.
He continues, met only with torment. Eventually, the excruciating pain overwhelms him; his mind shuts down, plunging him into unconsciousness. Mai, meanwhile, suffers greater misery—she is trapped once more in the cage she was never prepared to confront again, her escape plan shattered just as hope had flickered.
In this forsaken land, following the dreadful curse and sorcery, the terrain split into three distinct regions: the cursed province, the most perilous; where the malediction takes root, rendering survival impossible except for monstrous beings. The middle province is hazardous yet not insurmountable, though none dare inhabit it due to flocks of moderately dangerous creatures. Finally, the unaffected province, home to the Wyvern Kingdom—far more survivable when the cursed hold no dominance and monsters cannot encroach.
Mai gazes at the sea; memories flood back—she is home, after all, ensnared in hell itself. An hour passes; they remain on the sand. Kanami slumbers still. Mai reverts to her true form, hoists him onto her back, and seeks shelter. Traversing the jungle, they discover what appears to be a modest cave, long used by others.
Inside dwells a monster: a cursed wolf. Such beasts are notorious for their insidious nature—they stalk and slay in shadows, never engaging openly. Human-sized, with claws sharp enough to rend through armored layers, their fur blends blue and gray, eyes pitch-black. They inhabit caves, hunting nocturnally—not overwhelmingly threatening in fair combat, but they operate in packs, sometimes numbering twenty or more. Alone, this one poses no significant challenge to Mai.
She crushes its skull before it can react, needing its flesh for sustenance—that alone justifies the thorough destruction.
Within the cave, Mai fashions a simple bed from gathered leaves for the still-sleeping Kanami. Before night falls and the sky unifies in darkness, she establishes camp and prepares a meal. The scene evokes memories of past adventures, camping with her party in dungeons. The surroundings confirm their location: the northwest sector of the dungeon province. It is not excessively dangerous, but concealment is essential; soon, the Wyvern army and wild hunters will scour the area.
She never anticipated such a trap; she lacked the power to rewind time sufficiently. Regret consumes her—how foolish she had been, blind to a spell of this magnitude. The Wyvern Kingdom has grown far mightier. She must devise a strategy. The gravest threat would be the last hero pursuing them; that would spell doom. Kanami stands no chance—physically or mentally; he scarcely clings to the will to live. They require at least a week to formulate a plan.
As anticipated, the Wyvern Kingdom has a vague notion of their whereabouts; with true control, they would have teleported the pair directly into the kingdom for immediate execution. Instead, the transport was random, and their appearances unknown—safety persists so long as no folly occurs.
In the cave, Kanami rests on the leaf bed. Mai tends his physical wounds as best she can, but mental scars defy healing. No one knows when—or if—he will awaken soon. Mai must grant him space to recover from the ordeal; she cannot afford to lose him, needing him in optimal condition.
Mai stays vigilant through the night, guarding the entrance against threats and ensuring solitude. At dawn, she emerges, camouflaging the cave to evade detection, then explores the terrain. After hours of reconnaissance, she uncovers two points of interest.
First, a newly manifested dungeon—one spawned post-curse. Second, what resembles a human village. After a full day's trek, the dungeon captivates her more; she will clear it herself or task Kanami with it. For now, a basic plan suffices.
The strategy is straightforward: integrate into the system to avoid suspicion. Enroll Kanami in a village or guild ranking structure. Thus, she gains essential knowledge and time for her ultimate objective.
Returning to the cave after hunting low-level monsters for provisions, Mai confirms all is stable. Failure is not an option; soon, they must mobilize. She cannot succeed alone.
That night, Mai monitors her companion closely, ensuring no complications. Over two days have passed since their arrival; she has regained most of her strength. Gazing outward, tears well in her eyes. Despite her resilient facade, isolation weakens her; few allies remain. She stares into the darkened sky, where stars and twin moons cast crimson glow upon her face as tears stream down.
Nothing but silence. Who comprehends the agony of returning to hell after tasting hope? What does it mean to lose all but oneself? What purpose serves a life toyed with like a leaf in the gale—visible in flight, yet destined for unknown landing? What is life?