The world had been at war for thirty years.
Long enough that no one remembered what the sky looked like before it broke. Long enough that ruined cities were no longer tragedies, only names on maps people avoided. Long enough that children like Annyie didn't ask when the war would end.
They asked where to hide.
Kenecilia was one of the cities that still existed.
Not alive. Just… standing.
Its buildings were cracked and hollow, its streets quiet except for the wind and the distant echoes of things that should not exist. The Shadow Realm hovered beyond the northern horizon, an endless tear in the world that had never closed.
Annyie walked beside her father through the ruins.
Grant moved ahead of her, sword in hand.
He walked like someone who knew the city too well — when to slow down, when to stop, when to listen.
His body was covered in scars.
Some thin. Some deep. Some old enough that the skin around them looked dead. Burn marks stained his right hand, darker than the rest.
Annyie had asked about them once.
He told her they were from fighting a lowly shadow.
She didn't believe him.
Lowly shadows didn't leave bodies like that.
"Stay close," Grant said.
Annyie nodded and tightened her grip around her sword. She wasn't good with it, but she knew the basics. How to stand. How to swing. How to run without dropping it.
That was enough to survive.
Or so she thought.
The air changed.
It became heavier. Thicker. Like the city itself was holding its breath.
Grant stopped walking.
"…We're being followed."
Annyie felt it immediately — that crawling pressure behind her eyes. The kind that meant shadows were nearby.
They emerged from the mist.
Not the weak ones.
Tall figures with distorted limbs. Crawling shapes with glowing eyes. Their presence made the ruins feel smaller, more cramped, as if reality itself was folding inward.
High-class shadows.
Grant exhaled slowly.
"Annyie," he said without turning around. "If anything happens… you run. Don't look back."
Her throat tightened.
"What about you?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he smiled.
A tired, gentle smile.
"I'll be right behind you."
The mist parted.
Something stepped forward.
It was tall. Human-shaped. Too still.
The other shadows stopped moving.
Even they kept their distance.
"Human."
The voice didn't echo. It didn't travel through the air. It simply existed inside their heads.
Grant's face went pale.
"…Veranosa," he whispered.
Annyie felt the pressure then — like invisible hands pressing down on her chest.
"Dad… what is that?"
Grant didn't answer.
He turned around and looked at her.
Really looked at her.
"Annyie," he said quietly. "You always trusted me, right?"
She nodded.
"Then trust me one last time."
He shoved her backward.
"RUN."
The world shattered.
Something invisible struck the ground. Annyie was thrown into the rubble, her head slamming into stone. Pain exploded behind her eyes.
She screamed.
When she looked up—
Grant was gone.
Not wounded.
Not fighting.
Gone.
Veranosa stood where he had been.
The shadows closed in.
Annyie ran.
She didn't remember the streets. Only the sound of her own breathing, the blood in her mouth, the image of her father vanishing without even a scream.
She ran through broken alleys. Through collapsed buildings. Through parts of Kenecilia she had never seen before.
Her legs burned.
Her vision blurred.
She collapsed against a broken wall, shaking, sobbing, unable to process what had just happened.
Grant was dead.
Not heroically.
Not meaningfully.
Just erased.
Her head throbbed violently. Warm blood slid down her face, soaking into her dark blue hair.
Then she felt it.
A burning sensation on her neck.
Not pain — something deeper. Like a symbol being carved into her from the inside.
She reached up with trembling fingers.
A glowing mark pulsed beneath her skin.
Her breath hitched.
"I… what is this…?"
Her vision blurred further.
The world tilted.
Her body felt cold.
Then she heard voices.
Not shadow voices.
Human voices.
Boots against stone. Metal clinking. The low hum of unfamiliar weapons.
Through fading vision, she saw them.
Figures in dark armor.
Helmets. Guns. Blades. Strange symbols carved into their gear.
Armed soldiers.
For a moment, fear surged again.
Are they real?
One of them knelt beside her.
"Found her. She's alive."
Another voice, quieter: "…She has a mark."
The soldier hesitated before touching her.
"Easy," he said gently.
"You're safe now."
Annyie tried to speak.
No sound came out.
The last thing she saw before darkness took her was the symbol on his uniform.
And the ruins of Kenecilia fading away.
Then—
Nothing.