The village of Barangay Saliksik lay at the edge of the wilderness, far from the safety of the towering Empyrean Shields that guarded the wealthier regions. It was a Level 0 settlement, with no schools, no fortifications, and barely enough resources to survive. The community relied on barter, hand-me-downs, and the resilience born of hardship. Yet, even in the darkest corners of Bathalumea, hope flickered like a stubborn ember.

The villagers had gathered around a makeshift platform beneath the sprawling canopy of a centuries-old balete tree. The elder stood at its center, his tattered robes fluttering in the breeze. Around him sat the community's youth—dozens of eager faces filled with equal parts fear and excitement. Today was their departure day.

"Children," the elder began, his voice crackling like dry leaves. "You carry the dreams of this village with you. Where we have struggled, you will thrive. Where we have fallen, you will rise."

The crowd murmured in quiet agreement. Behind the children, their parents and neighbors stood huddled together, their faces lined with exhaustion but softened by hope. Months of scrimping, bartering, and begging had finally borne fruit. They had gathered just enough funds to send their brightest youngsters to a Level 1 settlement—a village with a school, better security, and a chance at a future.

The elder pointed a gnarled finger toward the horizon. "There, in Kabunlawan, you will find opportunity. Knowledge. Safety. But do not forget where you came from. Do not forget Barangay Saliksik. For even if this place is poor, it is rich in its people."

The children nodded solemnly, their eyes reflecting the weight of responsibility. They would be leaving behind their families and the only home they had ever known, venturing into a world they could scarcely imagine.

"Before you go," the elder continued, "let me tell you a story. A story of who we were—and who we could be again."

He paused, letting the silence settle like a blanket over the gathered villagers.

"A thousand years ago," he began, "this land was not like this. It was Bathalumea, the cradle of sovereigns. Our ancestors wielded Haraya—the power of the soul, unmatched by any other. They could command the winds, calm the seas, and ignite the stars themselves. Bathalumea was not poor or forgotten. It was the heart of Auralis, the promised land."

The children leaned in, captivated. Even the adults, who had heard the story countless times, found themselves drawn in by the elder's words.

"But power invites envy," the elder said, his voice darkening. "Other nations feared Haraya's might. They conspired against us, driving our land to ruin. And now, Bathalumea is but a shadow of what it once was. Our bloodline, our power, lies dormant."

His gaze swept over the crowd, his eyes glinting with a fierce light. "But do not think it is lost. Haraya waits. It sleeps in our veins, in the soil beneath our feet, in the whispers of the wind. One day, it will awaken. And when it does…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

The crowd stirred as a pair of rusted wagons pulled up to the edge of the village, drawn by weary draft beasts. The drivers, mercenaries hired to escort the children to Kabunlawan, exchanged grim looks. Traveling between Level 0 regions was dangerous—monsters often prowled the wilderness, drawn by the faint residue of human emotions.

The children climbed into the wagons, their belongings tied in bundles. Parents pressed farewell kisses to foreheads and whispered hurried prayers. Some cried. Others smiled bravely, hiding their fear behind hopeful eyes.

As the wagons began to roll away, the elder raised his hand in a solemn blessing. "Go forth, children of Saliksik. Carry our hope with you."

Night fell quickly over Barangay Saliksik. The villagers returned to their homes, the day's emotional goodbyes leaving them drained but proud. They had done the unthinkable: given their children a chance to escape the cycle of poverty and fear.

But the peace was short-lived.

The first warning came as a faint tremor in the ground. Then, a distant roar shattered the quiet. The villagers froze, their faces pale with dread.

"They're coming!" someone shouted.

From the darkness of the forest, glowing eyes appeared. Dozens. Then hundreds. Creatures of shadow and bone, twisted by the corruption of negative emotions, surged toward the village. The Negation Obelisk at the center of Saliksik sputtered weakly, its energy reserves depleted from years of neglect.

The villagers scrambled to defend themselves, grabbing anything that could serve as a weapon—farming tools, kitchen knives, even rocks. The elder stood at the center of the chaos, his frail frame somehow unshaken.

"Hold the line!" he shouted. "Protect each other!"

But the monsters came in waves, overwhelming the village's flimsy defenses. The sky was ablaze with fire and screams, the air thick with the stench of fear and blood.

In the distance, the wagons carrying the children disappeared over the horizon, oblivious to the carnage unfolding behind them.

As the elder faced the oncoming horde, a flicker of gold appeared in his eyes. He raised his arms to the heavens, shouting one final plea.

"Haraya, if you still live—awaken!"

And then, everything went black.