This world was never ruled by kings or emperors, not really. Power didn't belong to bloodlines or some fancy noble house. It belonged to the people who could hold it. Those chosen by divine beings or devilish fiends. The ones who stood at the top weren't there because of some birthright. They were there because they earned it, because they had the strength to take it. Laws? They didn't mean much. They changed every time some stronger bastard came along and rewrote them. Some called that order, others called it chaos, but in the end, it was all the same. Strength was the only thing that mattered.
In the cities, the Blue Order tried to put a leash on it, licensing warriors like they were selling fish in the market, handing out permits like they could actually control who got to be strong. Out in the wastelands, the Unbound Brotherhood made their own rules, settling disputes with blades and coins, selling their strength to whoever paid the highest. And then, there were the ones hiding in the cracks, in the old places; the ruins, the mountains, the temples buried under time. They still whispered about the old ways, about how strength wasn't just something you took, but something you had to understand.
Power shaped everything. Governments, borders, the rise and fall of those who dared to claim authority. It dictated the rules of survival, carved civilizations from chaos, and, just as easily, shattered them. There were those who tried to control it, those who sought to exploit it, and those who simply wanted to understand it. But in the end, strength was not something that could be leashed, only wielded.
Shinra Yusei had grown up believing in strength.
Not the kind measured by coin or dictated by bureaucrats, but the kind that carried purpose. The kind that separated knights from killers, warriors from butchers. Honor, duty, and control. These were supposed to be the pillars of his life, the foundation of the future he had been groomed for. But this wasn't the future he was meant for. Not anymore.
Now, he was here. A security officer on an island facility far removed from the world's battles, watching over things he wasn't allowed to question, wearing armor built for a war he wasn't allowed to fight.
And tonight, the silence was different.
It wasn't the usual humdrum he'd experienced this past week. It was the kind that came after the fighting was done, when the dust had settled but the blood hadn't dried. The kind of quiet that clung to battlefields and execution grounds, to places where people still thought they had a chance.
Until they didn't.
The facility was built off an island of the main continent made as an off shoot research center to study ability users, but the usual guards weren't standing in front of its gates, and the gates themselves were wide open.
The facility had been built to withstand war, reinforced against siege and sabotage alike. War had never set foot here. There had been no battles, no bombings, no desperate last stands. And yet, the doors just stood open. Not forced, not blasted apart. Just open, even swaying slightly with the breeze, like they had been left that way.
The guard post beside the entrance was silent, its monitors still active but displaying nothing but routine check-ins. A cup of tea sat on the desk, long since gone cold, the surface of the drink undisturbed. Nothing knocked over. No blood. No signs of a struggle.
Just absence.
Shinra stepped through the entrance, his movements precise, measured. His boots barely made a sound against the reinforced flooring. The air inside was thick and heavy in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the facility's filtration system. It was the kind of quiet that pressed down on a place, like a weight on his chest.
Above him, the lights flickered, just once. A brief, shuttering light. But nothing else moved
The overhead lights flickered again, this time lingering in darkness for just a breath longer before stabilizing. Shinra slowed his steps. The air felt wrong. Not stale, not heavy with dust or decay, but something else—something deeper.
His gaze swept the corridor ahead. No movement. No signs of a struggle. No sound. That was the part that sat uneasily in his gut. A place like this should hum with life—the distant sound of personnel, the occasional footstep, the rhythmic beeping of terminals running diagnostics, and scientists speaking in hushed tones hurrying room to adjacent room. But there was nothing. Not even the static crackle of an unattended radio.
It was too still.
Shinra moved forward, past the first intersection. Over the week, he'd learned that to his left was the research wing, the right led to the locker room and security control area, and straight ahead lay the experiment rooms. Usually, this hallway would be packed with people doing jobs far beyond his interest—scientists, engineers, analysts.
He liked the new experimental armor he had been allowed to test on his third day here. It worked well with his powers, synergizing with his antique sword in ways the standard Blue Order suit never could. That had been one of the few things that interested him about this place. The rest? Just another facility, just another assignment.
But now, there was no one.
The first streak of blood was barely noticeable, a dark smear against the pristine floor just past the security control entrance. Another step forward, and he saw the second. Then a third. Thin, deliberate, like something had been dragged.
His eyes tracked the trail. It led to a doorway, half-open, the interior drenched in shadow.
Something was in there. Or at least it had been.
Shinra exhaled through his nose, steady, controlled. He had been trained not to let emotions cloud his judgment, but the wrongness of this place sat heavy on his chest. His gaze flicked to the blood again. It wasn't pooling, it had been dragged, moved.
His fingers flexed, instinctively brushing against the hilt of his sword. Not standard issue for Blue Order security, but they had let him keep it. A relic of an older time. Just like him.
This wasn't what he was supposed to be.
He had been meant for something greater. His training, his discipline, it was all meant to shape him into an ideal knight, a protector of law and order. Instead, he was here. A glorified security guard in an isolated research outpost, stripped of everything except his duty.
And now, duty demanded he go forward.
The blood led to a half-open doorway, the room beyond shrouded in shadow. Something waited inside, and so as the knight he envisioned himself as.
He stepped forward.