Chapter 0: The Tale My Mother Could Never Finish

The lamplight flickered softly, casting warm strokes of gold across the small wooden room. Night pressed against the windows, the muted wind whispering through the cracks in the walls. A mother sat beside her young daughter, who clung to a blanket as though it could protect her from the shadows beyond the walls.

“Do you want a story tonight?” the mother asked, her voice gentle yet weary, as if the day had been heavier than she wished to admit.

The little girl nodded, crawling closer.

The mother opened an old, weathered book. The spine was torn, pages yellowed with age, the ink faded. It looked more like a relic than a children’s story.

“Then listen carefully… This tale is ancient. Older than our world. Older than all the stars we see at night.”

She took a slow breath.

“Long ago, when humanity teetered on the edge of extinction, monsters crawled out from an ancient portal. They devoured cities, swallowed kingdoms, and left only ashes behind. People prayed to the Gods. And the Gods answered… by choosing a single young man.”

The child blinked.

Not a hero. Not a king.

“He had no crown. No sword. Just a heart strong enough to bear everything the world had forgotten. They called him the Unifier.”

The mother’s voice softened, becoming almost reverent.

“With his compassion, the Five Heroes gathered around him. Not because he commanded them… but because he believed in them when no one else would.”

The little girl whispered, “Were they strong?”

“Stronger than legends. They sealed away the monsters with the Unifier guiding them. People believed the nightmare was over.”

The mother hesitated.

“But even the strongest hearts can fracture. Fear twisted them. Jealousy poisoned their bonds. And ambition devoured what remained. The Five Heroes—those who once fought side by side—raised their weapons against one another.”

The child’s voice trembled.
“Then who saved them… Mama?”

The mother’s fingers curled tightly around the book.

“No one. The Unifier disappeared. And without him, the world lost not just its heroes… but its hope.”

The lamp dimmed, as if the shadows themselves were listening.

The child reached for her mother’s hand.
“Mama… what happened to him?”

The mother looked away, toward a place far beyond the bedroom walls. Her eyes glistened.

“Some say he died. Some say he vanished. Some believe he fell into a long sleep, burdened by a sorrow no one else could understand.”

Her voice cracked for a moment.

The child frowned. “Mama… why are you crying?”

The mother forced a smile, but tears betrayed her.

She closed the book, her hands trembling.

“Because some stories… hurt more when you know they were real.”

She blew out the lamp.

Darkness fell, swallowing the room whole.

And in that darkness, something ancient stirred.

Rain clouds hung low over the neon-lit streets. The smell of concrete and cold wind drifted through the sprawling Adventurer District. People hurried past—hunters, mages, mercenaries—each carrying weapons or relics.

In the middle of the crowd stood a young woman with long, flowing white hair and soft red eyes.

Hoshizora Miyuki.

A beginner healer.
A support no one valued.
A role considered outdated.

She pressed her glowing hands against the wound of an exhausted adventurer slumped against a wall. Her healing light flickered—soft, trembling, but sincere.

“It’s okay… This won’t take long,” she whispered.

The man winced. “You healers… always trying so hard. Doesn’t pay much these days.”

Miyuki bowed her head.
“I know. But… I want to help.”

He scoffed, though not unkindly.
“Help? With healing this weak? Kid, the world’s changing. We need power, not bandages.”

The words struck, but she forced a smile.

When she finished, Miyuki stepped back, her hands trembling with exhaustion.

Why does it feel like I’m failing at something I should already know?

She looked at her palms—the faint traces of white-blue light disappearing.

Why does healing feel like… remembering? Not learning?

A gust of wind swept across the street.
A chill ran down her spine.

People whispered around her.

“Another portal opened in Shibuya.”
“Monsters again? But we sealed the last one yesterday—”
“No, these ones are different. Stronger.”

Miyuki felt a strange pressure in her chest.

Like a forgotten heartbeat.

Like something… calling to her.

She hugged her bag tightly and stepped into the dim street, heading toward a towering building at the far end of the district. Its stone structure was old, preserved from the time when adventurers were still a rarity.

The oldest guild in Tokyo.

The Ashen Trail.

A place where only the desperate or the determined would tread.

Thunder rumbled faintly above her.
The clouds swirled—dark, heavy, foreboding.

Rain threatened to fall at any moment.

As Miyuki reached the guild’s massive doors, the wind howled behind her.
Her red eyes widened.

A tremor—small but unmistakable—shook the ground.

Then another.

And another.

She froze.

A whisper—faint, ancient—brushed past her ear.

You are late…

Her breath caught.

The doors of The Ashen Trail creaked open from the inside.

And a shadow stood waiting.

As her mother once said:

“War is a mirror that reveals the darkest face of humanity. In it, the ones who survive are not the strongest… but those who learn how to forget.”