At the entrance of a vast temple, its towering walls of black stone and dark, ashen wood a man staggered inside. A half-mask, carved from the same shadowy wood as the temple itself, covering the upper part of his face. It was shaped like a demon, with twisted horns curving menacingly and its scowl filled with rage. A crown of feathers rested atop his head, His body, battered and bloodied. He stumbled forward, his legs giving way as he tripped and fell to the ground. He made no attempt to rise, his muscles burning with pain,
unable to summon the strength to stand.
An olive-skinned man loomed above him, a towering mountain of muscle in Hiro's weakened state. Casting a shadow over Hiro as he lay on the ground. With a mischievous grin, the olive-skinned figure leaned down and asked,
"Damn you look terrible, how'd you get this pummeled up"
Hiro smiled softly
"That a- good question"
***
Hiro was barely seven when the first assault from the Dread Knight army struck. His family, renowned for their invincibility, had never known defeat, and so Hiro remained untroubled.
Hiro knew his clan was among the strongest—an ancient, nearly immortal race whose members lived for centuries. To them, death was little more than an inconvenience and a force they wielded with perfect mastery as both weapon and tool.
In the months that followed, thousands of the Dread Knight army's forces were slain, their lives lost in a relentless tide of conflict.
But then they received the first casualty from Hiro's side
It was a reconnaissance unit that had been ambushed. It was a team of 5 people and 1 of them had died
One death might not seem like a major concern; it could even be seen as cause for celebration. But for Hiro and his clan, it signified something far more alarming—the enemy had discovered how to kill them.
Another month had passed, and more members of Hiro's family had fallen.
So much so that there was merely a few dozen people left even less to fight
- - -
On a lonely night, Hiro overheard his parents arguing—something he had never witnessed before. They never fought, so the tension in the air took him by surprise.
But what shocked him even more was the subject of their argument.
Hiro's parents were arguing about what to do next.
"We need to head north—abandon this town," his father insisted.
"No! We can't leave, not this place, It's the last remaining town we have. We can't abandon it so easily."
Hiro's mother retorted
Her voice trembled with a mix of fear and resolve.
It was true—every other town in Hiro's clan's domain had already fallen. The last stronghold, the Night Castle, was sacred to the demon clan. Yet Hiro understood the weight of his father's words. Every day, they were attacked, and more warriors fell in battle.
Eventually, it seemed—the town would be lost, and with it, the last hope for his people. Hiro realized that the only chance for survival was to head north,
"And besides, the northern territory belongs to the goddess. We have no idea how she'll react," his mother said, her tone weighted with concern.
"We'll negotiate with her,It's our only option. We leave in a week—inform everyone to prepare."
Hiro's father was visibly tense, and rightly so. He bore the burden of not only leading battles but also overseeing the welfare of those who couldn't fight—a heavy responsibility as the monarch of the clan.
- - -
A week later, Hiro was prepared for the journey away from the Night Castle.
His father had scouted a location in advance, a trip that had taken him four days to complete.
For Hiro, however, the journey to the campsite would take an entire week due to the sheer number of people being transported.
Yet, Hiro didn't mind.
- - -
Hiro arrived safely at the campsite, though the journey hadn't been without its challenges. A few beasts had crossed their path, but none too strong. Hiro could have helped fight them, but his father had refused to let him intervene.
Despite the occasional tension, the trip had been relatively peaceful for Hiro.
Even so, he felt relieved to finally stand on solid ground after the long trek.
He stretched his body, feeling the weariness settle in. He hadn't slept the night before, his mind restless with thoughts of how he could contribute to the caravan's efforts.
'What should I do? I still don't know'
It took Hiro's caravan two additional days to establish their camp. Hiro had contributed significantly to the effort, and he felt a sense of pride in being helpful.
Today, after his tasks were complete, he was summoned by his father to his tent. Being called upon wasn't unusual, so he wasn't surprised.
On his way, Hiro decided to take a detour to visit a friend in the caravan.
Her name was Rin, a childhood friend whose father served as a commander of the main fighting force. Their parents often interacted, which naturally fostered their long-standing friendship.
After exchanging a few words with her, Hiro resumed his journey to the tent.
The camp was vast, and navigating it took time. After a brief walk of about two minutes, Hiro arrived. His father's tent was not just a residence but also functioned as the camp's de facto town hall—a grand structure bustling with activity.
As Hiro stepped inside, he paused for a moment to take in the scene. Everywhere he looked, people were busy with minor yet essential tasks. He moved purposefully through the space until he reached a partitioned-off section. Behind it sat his father.
Hiro's father was an imposing figure with flowing crimson hair that cascaded over his broad shoulders, thick red eyebrows, and a sharp black beard. His black military uniform, adorned with intricate gold embroidery, added to his commanding presence.
His father's piercing gaze locked onto him, the irritation evident in his expression.