Years had passed since the one once known as the Demon of Calamity vanished from the demon realm. His disappearance shrouded in mystery after the Great War of 3044, left many wondering if he had indeed perished. Yet he wasn't dead. Instead, fate had cast him from the battlefield, sending him crashing into a remote, snowy forest within Sylvanara. The fall, combined with the effects of the battle, had stripped him of his memories, leaving behind only fragments of who he once was. His combat instincts remained, though dulled, and his mana—once a source of fear—was now barely under his control.
"Where… am I..." His voice was weak, hoarse from the butter cold gnawing at his throat. The question lingered in the freezing air, unanswered.
Without memory, purpose, and mana leaking uncontrollably, he became a silent threat to the nearby village of Faelinor. Dense waves of mana radiated from him, causing a sense of unease to settle deep in the bones of those who ventured too close. The once peaceful forest had become an eerie, foreboding place. Villagers who had once relied on its rice resources—particularly its precious wood—now whispered of a shadowed presence. Tales began spreading of a mysterious figure lurking in the wilderness, and the forest soon became a place avoided by all.
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"One Month Later."
The wind howled through the forest, the bitter cold biting at his skin. His once-clean black kimono was now town and strained, the fabric barely clinging to his trembling frame. Hunger gnawed at him, only being able to eat whatever he found lying on the ground, as no soul or beast dared to venture near him; something about the aura he radiated kept all life away from him, leaving only the bitter cold, as fatigue pulled him toward the ground. Yet still, he pushed forward, staggering through the dense undergrowth.
Each breath he took came in short, ragged bursts, each exhale forming clouds that quickly dissipated. He clutched the ragged kimono tightly against his chest, shivering violently. "I… need shelter," he muttered, though his words barely escaped his lips. But as his feet shuffled through the snow, a stray memory flashed before his eyes: a battle, fierce yet too fragmented to piece together. He'd groan, shaking his head to clear the cluttered thoughts as he continued on.
Days turned into weeks, and still, he wandered through the snow-covered forest, his mind blank, his body weak.
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"Three Weeks Later."
The soft crunch of boots pressing into the thick snow broke the eerie silence of the forest. A lone figures moved swiftly through the woods, their fur-lined cloak trailing behind them. This was Ceng-tae, a villager from Faelinor. Long black hair flowed down his back, and a red scarf concealed his face from the biting cold. With the village supplies running dangerously low, he decided to venture into the forest, braving the dense mana waves that blanketed the area.
Hours passed, and the snow grew thicker beneath his feet. Then, in the distance, he saw something: a figure huddled under the largest pine tree in the forest.
Ceng-tae's brow furrowed as he drew closer. The figure appeared frail, curled into a ball, clutching a tattered black kimono. "Is that a… child?" He murmured to himself, cautiously approaching. The immense mana which radiated from the figure sent chills down his spine. "That can't be right… no kid has this much power."
As Ceng-tae reached out to check on the figure, it's head snapped up unnaturally fast. Crimson-red eyes flashed, locking onto him. Startled, Ceng-tae instinctively pulled back, his heart racing. Yet, instead of fear, his lips quirked into an amused smile.
"Well, we'll," he said, his voice carrying a light, teasing tone. "So you're the one causing all this mess. Kinda small for all that mana."
The boy—no older than twelve by appearance—growled lowly, his body tensing as if ready to strike. His crimson eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light, but Ceng-tae simply crouched a few feet away, unfazed. He watched the boy closely, his posture relaxed despite the tension radiating from him.
"You've seen better days, huh kid?" Ceng-tae's voice was casual, almost dimissive of the danger. The boy's eyes flashed red again, a warning growl rising from deep within his chest.
"Oh? Still got some fight in you? Not bad." Ceng-tae chuckled, leaning back against the tree. "Look, whatever you deal is, you're not gonna last out here much longer. That'd be a shame, don't you think?"
The boy—his body battered and weak—tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out beneath him. He collapsed back into the snow, shivering violently. His breath hitched, the exhaustion overwhelming him.
"East there," Ceng-tae said softly, moving forward to steady him. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The boy's visions blurred, his mind racing attempting to make sense of the situation. "You're… not, not father," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, yet sharp with suspicion.
Ceng-tae smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Nope. Just a guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Name's Ceng-tae."
The boy's consciousness wavered as his body finally succumbed to the exhaustion. His vision darkened, the cold and fatigue pulling him under. But before he lost himself to the blackness, he caught one last glimpse of Ceng-tae's sharp, calming eyes watching over him.
"You're not dying here," Ceng-tae's voice was firm, cutting through the haze. "Not on my watch."
With ease, Ceng-tae hoisted the boy onto his shoulder, carrying him as though he weighed nothing. The warmth from Ceng-tae's body seeped into the boy's frozen limbs, looking upwards Ceng-tae noticed a snowstorm closing in fast, as he began to move through the forest.
"Let's get you somewhere safe," Ceng-tae muttered, more to himself than to the unconscious boy. As the storm swallowed them in white, the tracks they left behind were quickly erased by the falling snow.
For the boy, there was only the sensation of warmth and safety as the word faded to black.
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