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, trying to will himself to sleep. Eventually, the pull of slumber overcame him, and the world faded to black.
But peace didn't follow.
He was standing in an open field. The earth beneath him was wet and soft, like mud soaked with rain. Only, it wasn't water—it was blood. The scent of iron was thick in the air, sharp and nauseating.
The sky was a deep crimson, streaked with ominous clouds that churned and roiled. A low hum filled the air, vibrating through Haruto's chest. It wasn't music, nor was it a sound he could place. It was more primal than that, a resonance that made his very bones ache.
In the distance, he saw them—figures advancing in waves, a mass of faceless shadows that stretched across the horizon. Their forms were blurred, indistinct, but their movement was unnervingly synchronized. They marched as one, an unstoppable tide of darkness rolling forward.
Haruto's breath quickened. His body refused to move, his feet rooted to the bloody ground. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he struggled against the invisible force holding him in place.
"No… I have to—"
His voice was drowned out by a deafening roar. He whipped his head to the side, and his stomach churned at the sight. Bodies littered the field, broken and lifeless. The blood pooled around them, flowing like rivers into unseen crevices in the ground.
It wasn't just bodies. It was people—faces he almost recognized. Friends. Family. A girl with dark hair and a bright smile. A man with a deep, hearty laugh. Their features were hazy, but they sparked a hollow ache in his chest.
"Who are you…?" Haruto muttered, his voice trembling.
Before he could get an answer, the ground shook violently. The hum turned into a roar, louder and more oppressive, like the heartbeat of some monstrous entity.
A figure appeared on the battlefield, towering above the chaos. Its silhouette was cloaked in shadow, but its eyes burned like embers in the dark. It didn't walk—it glided, its presence filling the air with a suffocating weight.
Haruto wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything, but all he could do was watch as the figure raised its hand. With a slow, deliberate motion, it pointed at him.
The soldiers surged forward, faster than before, their faceless forms stretching and distorting.
"No!" Haruto shouted, finally finding his voice.
The shadows consumed him.
Haruto bolted upright in bed, his breath ragged and his body drenched in sweat. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the window, but the darkness felt oppressive, like it was closing in on him.
His heart pounded against his ribs, the echoes of the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, trying to steady himself.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
He glanced at the window, where the faint chirping of crickets was the only sound. The normalcy of it felt jarring, as if the dream should have spilled over into reality.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool wooden floor. His hands trembled as he raked them through his hair.
"I've been having nightmares about that place… about that battlefield," he muttered. "But this… this was different. More real."
The faces haunted him. He didn't recognize them fully, but the faintest sense of familiarity tugged at him, like a distant memory just out of reach. And that figure—the one with the burning eyes—it left an impression that refused to fade.
Haruto sat there for a long time, staring at the floor and trying to make sense of what he'd seen. But no answers came. Eventually, the chill of the night reminded him to lie back down. He didn't sleep again, though.
The morning sun brought with it the sounds of farm life: the distant crow of a rooster, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the occasional clatter from the kitchen as Kazuki prepared for the day.
Haruto moved through his morning chores on autopilot, the nightmare lingering at the edges of his mind. After he finished tending to the animals and checking the crops, he approached Kazuki, who was stacking some crates by the barn.
"I'm heading into town," Haruto said, keeping his voice steady.
Kazuki looked up, his brow furrowed.
"Everything all right?"
"Yeah, just need to pick up some supplies."
Kazuki studied him for a moment before nodding. "Don't stay out too long. We've got work to finish here."
Haruto nodded and set off toward the town.
The market square was as lively as ever, filled with the chatter of merchants and the laughter of children darting between stalls. Haruto walked through the crowd, taking in the sights and sounds.
He stopped at a few stalls, buying bread and dried meat to restock their pantry. The vendors greeted him warmly, some commenting on how he was growing stronger from all the farm work. Haruto responded with polite smiles, but his mind was elsewhere.
As he moved through the square, a commotion caught his attention. A small crowd had gathered near the fountain, their voices raised in excitement.
Haruto's curiosity got the better of him, and he edged closer to see what was happening.
Two men were sparring in the open space, their movements quick and precise. It wasn't an official duel, just a friendly match, but the skill they displayed was impressive. The taller of the two landed a sweeping kick, knocking his opponent to the ground. The crowd cheered, some placing bets on who would win the next round.
Haruto watched for a moment, his expression unreadable. The movements of the fighters stirred something in him—a faint memory of watching battles, of being in them.
But he shook the thought away and moved on.
Haruto's next stop was the bookstore. The small shop was tucked into a quieter corner of the square, its wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze. He pushed the door open, and the familiar bell jingled overhead.
The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter, his face lighting up with recognition.
"Ah, back again! What are you looking for today, young man?"
Haruto offered a small smile. "I'm looking for more books on mana control. Something more advanced."
The shopkeeper nodded, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"You've been making progress, then? Good, good. Let me see what I have."
As the shopkeeper disappeared into the back room, Haruto browsed the shelves, his fingers trailing over the spines of books. He pulled one out and flipped through it absently, the diagrams and text blurring together in his tired mind.
The shopkeeper returned with a thick, leather-bound book. "This one might be what you're looking for: The Principles of Mana Manipulation. It's a step up from the basics but still approachable."
Haruto examined the book, his brow furrowing as he scanned its contents. The detailed diagrams and explanations caught his attention, and he nodded. "I'll take it."
The shopkeeper rang up the purchase, chatting amiably as he wrapped the book in brown paper. "You've got a sharp focus, young man. Most your age don't have the patience for this kind of study."
Haruto shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I guess I just have a lot I want to figure out."
The shopkeeper chuckled, handing him the wrapped book. "Keep at it, then. You'll get there."
Haruto walked back from town with steady steps, the wrapped book tucked securely under his arm. The air was cooler now, with the sun dipping lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and gold. The chatter of the market square had faded behind him, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the faint chirp of birds.
The weight of the nightmare lingered in the back of his mind, like a shadow he couldn't shake. Each step brought questions he couldn't answer. What was that battlefield? Who were those people? And why did it feel so real?
As he neared the edge of town, his gaze drifted toward the distant forest that lined the horizon. A faint breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it a strange sense of familiarity. Haruto stopped, staring at the swaying branches. His brow furrowed as a memory, fragmented and hazy, teased at the edge of his consciousness.
For a moment, he thought he saw a figure among the trees—tall and cloaked in shadows, with burning eyes that pierced through the gloom. Haruto blinked, and the figure was gone, the trees swaying gently in its place.
A chill ran down his spine. He picked up the pace, telling himself it was just his imagination.
He looked up toward the barn. The light from the house barely reached that far, leaving the edges of the yard in shadow. He squinted, his hand instinctively tightening around the book.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest.
The only response was silence.
Then, just as Haruto began to doubt himself, a faint glint of something—a pair of eyes, perhaps?—flickered in the darkness beyond the barn.
He stood slowly, his body tensed, as the shadows seemed to shift and ripple. Something—or someone—was watching him.
And then it moved.