Prologue:- Echoes of Ember

The city pulsed with a false luminescence, neon signs casting long, distorted shadows that danced with the rising dread. Above, the sky wept a cold, metallic rain, mirroring the chill that had settled deep within Kazuki Arata's soul. He stood atop a crumbling rooftop, the wind whipping at his worn coat, the flickering flames in his hands a fragile defiance against the encroaching darkness.
Fragments of a life he couldn't recall flickered through his mind – a burning city, a desperate cry, a face consumed by shadows. He was a stranger in his own skin, a vessel carrying the embers of a forgotten past. The Academy, a beacon of hope for humanity, was supposed to be his sanctuary, a place to master the volatile flames that danced within him. But sanctuary was a lie.
The Harlequin Order, masked figures with eyes like fractured mirrors, had shattered the illusion of safety. Their betrayal, a calculated strike against the very heart of the Academy, had unleashed a chaos that threatened to consume everything. The stolen Phoenix Wing, an artifact of unimaginable power, pulsed with a malevolent energy, a promise of both salvation and destruction.
Kazuki's flames roared, mirroring the turmoil within him. He was a pawn in a game he didn't understand, a player forced to confront the shadows that lurked beneath the surface of his own existence. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that the Harlequins were merely the first act in a grander, more sinister play.
A whisper echoed through the rain, a chilling promise of fire and oblivion. "Ragnarok," it hissed, a name that tasted of ash and despair. He felt a tremor in the very fabric of reality, a premonition of a darkness that would soon engulf the world. Flames would ignite, not just in his hands, but across the ravaged landscape, a prelude to a war that would scar the very heavens.
And then, a different whisper, a melody that danced on the edge of madness. "Masquerade." A vision flickered – a grand hall, glittering masks, a dance of shadows and lies. He saw a figure, cloaked in mystery, their eyes shimmering with an impossible light. A game of deception, a labyrinth of shifting realities, where trust was a weapon and betrayal a dance.
Kazuki's flames flickered, casting his face in a harsh, flickering light. He was a spark in a world consumed by darkness, a lone ember against the encroaching night. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep within his bones, that his journey had just begun. The whispers of Ragnarok and the echoes of the Masquerade were calling, and he was destined to answer.