The room was dark and still, the faint sound of crickets filtering through the window. Haruto lay in bed, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind restless. He stared at the wooden ceiling, struggling to will himself into sleep. Gradually, the pull of slumber overcame him, and the world faded to black.
But peace didn't follow.
He found himself standing in a vast, open field. The ground beneath his feet was soft, as if soaked with rain, but the dampness was thick and red—blood. The scent of iron hung in the air, suffocating and sharp.
The sky above was a deep crimson, streaked with swirling clouds. A low hum vibrated through the air, not a melody but a primal force, resonating so deeply that it rattled his bones. It was more than sound—it was the heartbeat of something ancient, something that could not be ignored.
Far off, figures moved, advancing in waves—faceless, indistinct shadows. They stretched across the horizon, their synchronized movement almost mechanical, like a force of nature rather than people. A shiver ran down Haruto's spine. They were coming for him, he felt it, but his feet were glued to the bloody ground. He tried to move but couldn't, a weight bearing down on him.
"No… I have to—"
The roar of an unseen force drowned out his voice, reverberating through the field. His eyes snapped toward the source of the sound. His stomach twisted as he saw the bodies—broken and lifeless—scattered across the battlefield, pools of blood swallowing them whole.
It wasn't just bodies. Faces lingered in his mind, but they were like half-formed memories, just out of reach. A woman with dark hair, a man with a booming laugh. Haruto's chest ached at the familiarity, but the faces dissolved before he could grasp them.
"Who are you…?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The ground shook violently, sending a jolt through his body. The hum intensified, now a deafening roar, like the pulse of something dark and far too powerful.
A figure loomed on the battlefield, towering above the chaos. Its silhouette was cloaked in shadow, but its eyes—they burned like embers in the darkness. It didn't walk; it glided, and its mere presence weighed on the air. Haruto's heart raced, his body frozen. The figure's hand slowly lifted, and then, with a deliberate motion, it pointed directly at him.
The faceless soldiers surged forward. They moved faster, distorting as they came closer, their shapes warping like shadows.
"No!" Haruto's voice broke free. He tried to run, but the shadows enveloped him, and his world turned black.
He bolted upright in bed, gasping for air, his body slick with sweat. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting faint light in the room, but the oppressive darkness felt heavier now, like it was closing in on him.
His heart hammered in his chest. The nightmare was still so vivid in his mind—the faces, the burning eyes, the overwhelming sensation of dread.
"What… was that?" he whispered, his voice shaky.
He glanced at the window, the familiar chirping of crickets now sounding foreign, jarring in contrast to the vision he had just experienced. His body trembled as his mind reeled.
"I've been having nightmares about that place… about that battlefield," he muttered. "But this… this one felt different. It was so real."
The faces haunted him, fragments of memories—faces he almost recognized. And that figure, with its burning eyes… Haruto could still feel its gaze upon him. He couldn't shake it.
After a long moment, Haruto wiped his brow and swung his legs off the bed. The cool wood of the floor grounded him, but his mind still raced. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his thoughts back.
"I have to figure this out," he murmured, staring at the floor.
Morning arrived quietly, bringing the usual sounds of farm life—roosters crowing, leaves rustling, and the soft clatter of pots in the kitchen as Kazuki prepared for the day. Haruto moved through his morning chores mechanically, his mind occupied by the nightmare. It gnawed at him, but there were things to be done. His movements were automatic as he tended to the animals and checked the crops.
Finally, he walked over to Kazuki, who was stacking crates by the barn.
"I'm heading into town," Haruto said, his voice steady, though his mind was anything but.
Kazuki looked up, concern flickering in his eyes. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah, just need to pick up some supplies."
Kazuki didn't press, though his gaze lingered on Haruto. "Don't stay out too long. We've got work to finish here."
Haruto nodded, grateful for the simple instruction. It felt like normalcy in a day that had already felt unnervingly strange.
The town was lively as usual, bustling with merchants and the laughter of children. Haruto passed through the market, his mind still heavy with the images from his nightmare. He stopped at a few stalls, buying bread and dried meat to restock their pantry. Vendors greeted him warmly, some commenting on his growing strength from the farm work, but Haruto's smile felt strained, distant.
At the fountain, a commotion caught his attention. Two men were sparring, their movements swift and practiced. The crowd cheered, some placing bets, but Haruto felt no real interest. Instead, he watched with a detached curiosity, an odd sense of recognition flickering in his chest. Their movements reminded him of something—something he couldn't place. He shook the thought off, turning away.
He continued his walk, heading for the bookstore at the corner of the square. The shop was quiet, a reprieve from the chaos outside. He pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly. The shopkeeper, an older man with round glasses, looked up with a smile.
"Back again, Haruto? What can I get for you today?"
"I need something more advanced on mana control," Haruto replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The shopkeeper's eyes sparkled. "You've been making good progress. Let me see what I have."
Haruto wandered the shelves, his fingers trailing over the spines of various books. He picked up one thick volume and flipped through it absently, the diagrams swimming before his eyes. His mind kept drifting back to the dream—the blood-soaked field, the burning eyes, the figures marching in sync. He didn't understand it, but the pull to learn more was undeniable.
The shopkeeper returned with a large, leather-bound book. "This might be what you're looking for: The Principles of Mana Manipulation. It's more advanced, but still accessible."
Haruto examined it closely, his brow furrowing as he scanned the pages. The diagrams and explanations resonated with something deep inside him. Something he couldn't quite grasp, but something that felt like it was tied to the images in his mind.
"I'll take it," Haruto said.
The shopkeeper smiled. "Keep at it, Haruto. Focused minds always find their way."
Haruto tucked the book under his arm and left the store. As he walked back, the day was fading. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the town, the air cool and crisp.
His nightmare lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, and when he passed by the forest at the town's edge, he couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching him. The trees seemed to sway unnaturally, their branches creaking like old bones. He stopped, staring at the shifting shadows. There, beyond the trees—he thought he saw something.
A tall figure, cloaked in darkness. Its eyes, glowing faintly, pierced through the gloom. For a moment, Haruto froze, his heart racing. But when he blinked, the figure was gone.
A chill ran down his spine. Shaking off the unease, he hurried home, his mind a whirl of fragmented memories and foreboding thoughts. As he neared the barn, the familiar sounds of home grew distant. The air around him felt too still, too quiet.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice steady despite the tension building in his chest.
Silence answered.
But then—just as he was about to turn away—a flicker of light caught his eye. Two gleaming eyes, watching from the shadows by the barn.
Haruto stood still, his body tense. The shadows seemed to shift again, as though they were alive.
And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.