5 Years Ago.
The stillness of Lyon Village at night was a sacred thing, a silence so profound it seemed the stars themselves had stopped to listen. The gentle murmur of the nearby lake lapped against its shore, the only sound breaking the quiet as though the world held its breath. Within the modest home of Guyu, nestled beneath the ancient canopy of towering oaks, Anami and Asuma sat cross-legged, their faces lit with the warmth of laughter. The air smelled of simmering broth and charred herbs from their simple yet satisfying meal.
Anami recounted her latest mischievous triumph, boasting about the elaborate traps she had devised to outsmart her grandfather. Guyu, stoic and weathered, chuckled softly, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he teased her in return. Asuma, ever the gentle soul, chimed in with his dry humor, prompting another round of laughter. Above, the moon hung luminous and full, its silver beams filtering through the treetops, painting the world in ethereal light. It was a moment steeped in serenity, a fleeting pause in life's chaos.
Then came the knock—a desperate, frenzied pounding that shattered the peace like a stone through glass. The door burst open, and a villager stumbled in, his face ashen, his clothes torn and singed. His voice, hoarse and trembling, carried words that would change everything.
"The village... it's burning! We're under attack!"
Time seemed to fracture. The once-familiar night turned alien, its tranquil blues replaced with the violent reds and blacks of encroaching flames. The acrid stench of smoke curled through the doorway as distant screams pierced the night. Guyu rose, his weathered hands reaching for the woodcutter's axe that rested by the door, a tool now destined to be a weapon.
"Stay here," he ordered, his voice low but resolute.
"No, Grandpa! Let me help!" Anami protested, her fiery spirit refusing to be quelled. Her hands clenched into fists, and her eyes burned with determination.
But Guyu's gaze softened as he looked at her, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. Then, his features hardened. "Not this time, Anami. Protect each other. I'll return."
Before she could argue further, he was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the inferno's glow.
Outside, chaos reigned. The flames crackled hungrily, consuming homes and trees alike, their roar a deafening backdrop to the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded. Guyu fought like a man possessed, his axe carving through the attackers with the precision and ferocity of a warrior who had seen too many battles. His every movement spoke of a past long buried, a legend he had sought to leave behind but could no longer deny.
Through the maelstrom of combat, a figure watched from the shadows. Perched atop the remains of a scorched rooftop, cloaked in darkness, his eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. Astir, a man whose name carried whispers of dread, observed the chaos below with the dispassionate air of a predator surveying its prey.
"That's him," Astir murmured, his voice a silken thread of malice. "The great Guyu. The hero of legend."
Beside him, Jurmon—a hulking brute with eyes like sharpened steel—shifted impatiently. "We've yet to find the girl," he rumbled, his voice low but edged with urgency.
Astir waved a gloved hand dismissively. "Patience. Let the flames flush her out. In the meantime..." He rose, his movements unnaturally fluid, and stepped into the open, "...I'll entertain myself with the old man."
With a leap, Astir descended from the rooftop, his landing sending a shockwave through the village. The impact reverberated through the earth, momentarily silencing the clash of battle. All eyes turned to the figure now standing amidst the flames, his cloak billowing like a shadow come to life.
Guyu turned his grip on the axe tightening as his weathered face twisted into a scowl. The flames cast his features in harsh relief, every line and scar telling a story of battles fought and sacrifices made. "Who are you?" he growled, his voice cutting through the crackle of fire.
Astir's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Ah, the famed hero," he said mockingly, his tone dripping with venom. "Still standing, drenched in blood as always. Tell me, does your rage burn hot enough to recognize this?"
With a flick of his wrist, Astir hurled something small and round to the ground. It rolled to a stop at Guyu's feet, coming to rest in the dirt. The world seemed to hold its breath again.
It was a head.
Guyu's heart stopped. His breath hitched as his gaze fell upon the familiar features, now lifeless, staring back at him with unseeing eyes. It was his son—his only son. The axe trembled in his hands, the weight of the moment threatening to crush him.
Astir chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Good," he said softly, his voice a whisper of malice. "Let that fire consume you. Show me the legend they speak of... or die like the man you've become."
Guyu lunged, the force of his strike hurling Astir through the smoldering wreckage of a nearby building.
Astir, however, was no ordinary foe. As a master of Magic, he recovered effortlessly, rising with a sinister smile. With a graceful motion, he extended his hand toward the lake, pulling forth a spear of shimmering water. The liquid weapon surged with power, extinguishing the flames that danced around Guyu's fists.
The clash between the two warriors shook the ground beneath them, a battle of elemental forces. Guyu's Fire God techniques burned with primal fury, each strike accompanied by the roar of flames. But Astir's waterborne counters were precise and relentless, their cold touch sapping Guyu's strength with every blow. Around them, the villagers fled in terror, their screams mingling with the crackling of fire and the clash of steel and magic.
"You're not the warrior you once were," Astir sneered, landing a brutal punch to Guyu's ribs that sent him staggering. "You're a relic, a shadow of a legend. Barely capable of standing, let alone protecting anyone."
Guyu snarled, spitting blood onto Astir's pristine cloak. "If my son's life was the price of your arrogance, then you will burn for it," he growled, his voice ragged but resolute. With a roar that echoed across the battlefield, he gathered his remaining strength, summoning the forbidden power he had long vowed never to use again.
"Fire Magic: Fire God Palm!"
A fiery wave erupted from Guyu's outstretched hand, a blaze so fierce it scarred the earth itself. The inferno consumed everything in its path, obliterating Astir's minions and leaving the battlefield silent. When the flames cleared, Astir lay motionless, a gaping hole burned through his chest.
Guyu, bloodied and broken, turned toward the remnants of his home. Each step was a battle against his failing body, his vision blurring as pain coursed through him. The world around him seemed distant, the screams and smoke fading into a dull hum. He could think only of Anami and Asuma, praying he could reach them before it was too late.
When he stumbled through the doorway, his battered form cast a terrifying silhouette against the ember-lit sky. "Grandfather!" Anami and Asuma cried, rushing to catch him as he collapsed to his knees.
Anami clung to his arm, her voice trembling. "Grandpa, who did this? What happened?" Her fiery spirit, so unshakable moments ago, now wavered with fear.
But Guyu's breath came in ragged gasps, and words failed him. He reached out to grasp her hand, but before he could speak, a shadow fell across the doorway.
The dark figure stepped inside, his towering form exuding malice. Jurmon's cruel smile widened as he surveyed the scene. "So, the great Guyu survived," he mused, his voice a low rumble. "Impressive. But it seems the hero has nothing left to give."
Before anyone could react, Guyu launched himself at Jurmon with a hoarse cry, his broken arm raised in defiance. Jurmon caught him mid-air, gripping his shattered limb with ease, and drove his sword through Guyu's stomach. The sickening sound of steel meeting flesh echoed in the small home, and Guyu slumped to the floor, pinned like a ragdoll.
"Grandfather!" Anami screamed, her voice cracking with despair. She and Asuma lunged at Jurmon, but he swatted them aside like insects. Asuma hit the ground hard, dazed and struggling to rise. Anami, tears streaming down her face, pushed herself to her feet, her defiance unbroken. "You won't take him from us!" she cried, standing between Jurmon and her fallen grandfather.
Jurmon's eyes glinted with amusement as he regarded her. "Such fire," he murmured, almost admiringly. "You have his spirit, girl. But fire alone won't save you." With a swift motion, he struck her down, her unconscious form crumpling to the ground.
With chilling calm, Jurmon lifted Anami over his shoulder. He glanced down at Guyu, who lay gasping, blood pooling beneath him. "Rest easy, old man," he sneered. "You protected the princess well."
He turned to leave, but not before delivering a final blow to Asuma, ensuring the boy could do nothing to stop him. As Jurmon disappeared into the smoke-filled night, Asuma clawed his way to Guyu's side, his trembling hands reaching for his grandfather's lifeless one.
"Grandfather..." Asuma's voice cracked as he choked on his sobs. The dawn broke over the village, its light revealing the devastation left in the wake of the attack. Asuma's tears fell freely, mingling with the blood-soaked ground. "I swear... I'll bring her back. I promise."
The promise lingered in the air, carried on the morning breeze as the embers of Lyon Village smoldered, the first rays of sunlight illuminating a world forever changed.