A village stood at the banks of River Bathynias, north of Constantinople, now modern-day Turkey. Heavy rain pounded the earth, and a violent storm raged on, the wind howling like a beast. But the true danger was yet to come—a flood was approaching.
A 52-year-old man ran desperately, clutching his three-year-old son. The child was dressed in fine Roman garments, but his father wore only a thin layer of straw clothing, torn and soaked from the rain. Yet, on his chest, a single brooch gleamed—royal, expensive, and out of place on him.
Lightning cracked through the sky.
He stumbled. The ground, slick with mud, sent him tumbling, but even as he fell, he held the boy close, shielding him from harm. Panting, he forced himself back up, his eyes darting around as if escaping something unseen.
Then—
A pinkish glow lit up the storm.
Above him, a figure hovered, bathed in a strange glowing aura. His gloved hands raised, his voice slashed through the storm.
"𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘴!", said the figure moving his fingers in air.
Shining moonstones shot towards the man and his child.
The father twisted, using his own body to block the attack. He gritted his teeth as the shards tore through his back, leaving behind thin trails of blood.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
The boy shook his head, clinging to his father.
The man took a deep breath, then thrust out his hand:
"𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴!"
For a moment, nothing happened. But then—a large ball of mud shot through the air, smashing straight into the attacker's chest.
Splash!
The force sent him flying backward.
The father let out a short breath, a smirk forming despite his injuries.
"See ya, Noctis," he muttered before disappearing into the dark forest.
His child clinging to his chest asked, "What was that, Daddy?"
"Magic!", his father replied smiling.
"I want to do magic too!"
The boy clung to his father's sleeve, his eyes wide with curiosity.
The father, still running, and bleeding, chuckled weakly. "You surely will… one day."
Then, the air changed.
The cold was fading.
Even though the rain poured harder, the father felt a strange warmth creeping in.
The boy tugged on his sleeve again. "Daddy… it's getting hot."
The father stiffened.
Footsteps, he heard.
His breath hitched.
"No… not again."
He turned to run in the opposite direction—but froze.
There, standing in the dim stormlight, was—
Lunéviel Noctis.
The boy's grip on his father's leg tightened.
"Don't be afraid, Bastin," his father whispered.
Noctis took a step forward, his piercing gaze locked onto the brooch.
"Give it to me. It's over now," he said flatly.
The father said nothing.
Noctis raised his hand.
"𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘴!"
Shards of the moon flew forward.
"𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘮𝘪!" the father cried out.
A mud-brick wall erupted from the ground, blocking the attack just in time.
Before either could act again—
"Ah, there they are."
A third voice rang out.
"Perhaps you're hungry, Göll and Calcifer?"
"Yes, we are, Master," two voices echoed.
A new figure emerged from the storm.
He wore burning gloves, alive with flickering eyes and mouths. Despite the molten glow, his hands were unscathed. Even the rain failed to put them out.
The father's horror deepened. "Zahir.. ", he muttered.
The boy shivered, his skin pale and clammy.
"What are you doing here, Zahir?" Noctis snapped.
Zahir grinned. "What a coincidence! I was just hunting for trees for Calcifer and Göll—and then I saw this man running through the woods in straw clothes." He chuckled. "Göll loves eating straw, so I figured—why not?"
The boy's voice trembled. "Daddy… what are they saying?"
The father's jaw tightened.
Noctis exhaled impatiently. "He's not leaving before he hands over the Sheem."
Zahir's eyes narrowed. "Wait… you mean this Algorithm has the Sheem?"
"Get out of my way," Noctis muttered.
The father lifted his son, but he could feel the heat radiating from his little body. His face twisted with alarm.
"Don't you dare touch my child!" Father said, as he knew, that Zahir's playing.
"𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴!"
Mud burst from both hands, surging toward both enemies.
Zahir took the hit, but Noctis dodged with a flicker of moonlight.
The storm raged on.
Lightning split the sky.
The father ran.
Bastin's temperature slowly returned to normal—Zahir's spell had failed.
But Noctis reappeared in front of them:
"𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘉𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘦!"
A giant glowing bubble began to form around them—
But before it could fully trap them—
"𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘝𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯!", Zahir Appeared.
Zahir's fist, burning with flame, smashed through the spell, popping the bubble in a burst of steam.
The two turned on each other.
"Dhatt! You brat!" Noctis snarled, raising his hand:
"𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘶s!"
The father didn't wait to see what happened next. He grabbed his son and ran into the storm.
Under a massive tree, they finally stopped to rest.
The boy, exhausted, curled up, playing with a hanging vine. His father watched in silence.
Then—
BOOM.
A blinding explosion tore through the sky.
The father's face darkened. He turned to his son and placed a hand on his head.
"Bastin… stay here. I'll be back soon."
Bastin smiled. "Punish them well, Dad!"
A tear welled up in the father's eye.
He hesitated.
Then, he removed his brooch and fastened it onto his son's clothes.
"You look smart," he said, smiling weakly. "A gift from Daddy." Then he turned away.
He didn't look back. Because he already knew—
He would never return.
Hours passed.
Bastin sat alone beneath the tree, watching lightning tear through the stormy sky. The wind howled, the rain poured, but nothing drowned out the silence.
"197th flash," he whispered. "When will Daddy come?"
He hugged his knees.
The battle had stopped long ago—the roaring magic, the crashing spells, the shouting. Everything was gone.
Anxiety gnawed at his chest.
He stood up. "I shall go check on Daddy."
His small feet splashed through the mud as he walked forward. The storm blurred his vision, but then—
He froze.
Scattered in the dirt—burned straw.
His father's straw clothing.
A nervous smile flickered on Bastin's lips.
"Daddy must be nearby."
He followed the trail, his tiny steps quickening.
Then, he saw him.
His father lay face down in the mud.
Bare. Bleeding. Motionless.
His back was pierced by shards—glowing fragments of Lunéviel's moonstone magic. His stomach bore a gaping, burnt hole, as if something had eaten through him. His once-strong arms lay twisted and lifeless, his face buried in the dirt.
His body was cold.
The light inside him was gone.
Bastin's heart shattered.
His tiny hands shook as he crawled forward.
"No… no, no, no."
His fingers touched his father's arm.
It was stiff.
"Daddy?"
No response.
He shook him harder. "Daddy, wake up!"
Still nothing.
Tears streamed down Bastin's face, his tiny shoulders shaking. "Daddy! Get up! We need to go!"
The rain pounded against his back, drenching him, mixing with his tears.
He grabbed his father's arms, trying to drag him.
"Come on, Daddy… you said you'd be back…"
But his small hands weren't strong enough.
His father wouldn't move.
His father would never move again.
Bastin collapsed beside him, his body wracked with sobs. His cries blended with the thunder.
Then—His blurry eyes caught something.
A tree,
The bark was carved—the letters rough, uneven, as if written in a rush.
Bastin sniffled, wiping his tears. He crawled toward it.
His fingers ran over the words.
"Qajar swain mainche broncharniye tu e tejajnesiya gwawas kape. Lunéviel Noctis og Zahir-Shamranuddin-Ahfzek Jene tu izez min suan."
His father's last message.
His hands trembled as he sounded out the words:
"Noctis and Zahir… are bad people. Keep away from them, my son."
Tears welled up again.
A final warning. A final goodbye.
His father had written it before dying.
Bastin bit his lip, clutching his father's cold hand.
"Why didn't you run with me, Daddy…?"
His small frame shook violently, his sobs muffled against his father's lifeless body.
Then—
A monstrous sound.
A roaring crash behind him.
His breath hitched.
The flood.
It came rushing from the River Bathynias, a towering wall of water carrying debris, wood, stone—destruction.
Bastin turned back, his eyes widening in terror.
"Daddy, we have to go!"
He gripped his father's arm again.
The water rushed closer.
The ground shook.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
He pulled with all his strength.
But his father wouldn't move.
A deafening roar—
And then—
Poosh!
The flood engulfed them.
His father's body was ripped from his grasp.
Bastin screamed, flailing as the current swallowed him whole.
Darkness.
And the flood raced toward Constantinople.
Would he survive?
Or was this… the end?