Prologue: The Night of Red Petals
The sky above the Floating Palace did not turn black; it turned crimson.
In the center of the Great Hall, the King of Zenon sat motionless. He didn't reach for his blade when the heavy oak doors splintered. He didn't flinch when the four leaders of the Pentarchy stepped over the bodies of his royal guard.
"The people fear a God," Lord Akuma hissed, his blade dripping with the blood of Zeki's kin. "But they will worship a lie."
The massacre was silent. The "Night of Red Petals" was named not for flowers, but for the way the royal blood blossomed across the white marble floors. By dawn, the High Throne was empty, and the Great Pillar was stained dark.
Chapter 1: The Boy in the Mud
Fifteen years later, the world had forgotten the color of royal blood.
In the slums of the Low Sector, the air tasted like ash and rot. Zeki leaned against a crumbling stone wall, pulling his tattered cloak tighter around his shoulders. Above him, the Floating Palace—the Zenith—glimmered in the neutral daylight, a mocking reminder of everything he was supposed to be.
"Zeki, look out!"
A heavy boot slammed into Zeki's ribs, sending him sprawling into the mud. He didn't groan. He didn't cry out. He simply rolled onto his back and looked up at the three boys standing over him. They were wearing the clean, pressed tunics of House Shiro's low-tier servants.
"The tribute is short, rat," the leader spat, kicking a pile of scrap metal Zeki had spent all morning collecting. "You want to eat? You pay the tax."
Zeki stayed in the mud. His icy-blue eyes were flat, reflecting nothing. Deep in his chest, right beneath the strange, jagged mark on his skin, something hummed. It was a cold, rhythmic pulse, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to a human.
Kill them, a voice whispered. It wasn't his own. It was ancient, heavy, and smelled of sulfur.
Not yet, Zeki thought, his fingers clenching into the cold muck.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. A low, guttural vibration shook the very foundation of the slums. From the Great Wall a mile away, a horn blasted—a sound that signaled only one thing.
Kansei.
The bullying boys froze. Their faces drained of color as they looked toward the wall. A massive, grey hand—thick as a tower—gripped the top of the stone fortification. Then, a head rose over the edge. It was a Kansei Giant, its face a smooth, eyeless void of textured grey flesh. It didn't roar; it just leaned over the wall, its shadow swallowing the slums.
"Run!" the boys screamed, scrambling toward the inner gates.
Zeki didn't run. He stood up slowly, wiping the mud from his face. As the giant reached down, its massive fingers snapping the wooden shacks like dry twigs, Zeki felt the Seventh Seal on his chest burn white-hot.
A wisp of dark blue smoke drifted from his shoulder.
"Return to the earth," Zeki whispered.
The gravity in the alleyway shifted. The falling debris stopped mid-air. The Kansei Giant paused, its eyeless head tilting toward the small boy in the mud. For the first time in fifteen years, the "Nobody" of the slums looked at a monster and didn't see a threat.
He saw a servant.