The sky above the Waste City was always gray. The sun, if it still existed, never managed to pierce through the thick layers of smoke and dust hanging in the air. The wind blew softly, carrying the stench of rotting garbage piled high in every corner of the city. The river, once the lifeblood of the land, now flowed as a black sludge, toxic to anything that came near.

Amid this desolation lived a young man named Godan. He shared his days with other children of the city, scavenging through the endless mounds of trash. His body bore scars from years of sifting through the debris, searching for scraps worth trading for a drop of water or a crust of stale bread. He never complained, though his heart was filled with bitterness for a life that seemed devoid of hope.

But that night was different. Beneath the poisoned sky, the wind turned cold, carrying with it a faint whisper he had never heard before. A voice called out to him, speaking his name as though it came from a past long buried.

"Godan..."

He stood still, his gaze drawn toward the ruins on the edge of the city—a forbidden place no one dared approach. Far off, under the shadow of a crumbling tower, a faint blue light flickered, dim yet strangely captivating.