200 Years of Deep Slumber

“No… no, no, no!” Ryumi’s voice cracked as panic surged through her. “How am I in Dwarika?!”

Shinzo bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, still catching his breath from the chase through the mines. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked at her. “I… I told you,” he said between breaths. “You were in there for two hundred years.”

Her head snapped towards him.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head as if denying the words could erase them. “That’s not possible. I—I was supposed to be with Hiroshi. We were in Hong Kong. We were going to end the Seven Tyrants together.”

Shinzo straightened slowly. His expression softened, but there was no way to lessen the blow. “That… happened two hundred years ago,” he said quietly. “The good part is… six of the seven Tyrants are dead.”

The words barely finished leaving his mouth before Ryumi’s legs gave out.

She dropped to her knees on the stone floor, fingers digging into her hair as if trying to hold her thoughts together. Her breathing turned uneven, sharp, her mind refusing to accept what her ears had heard.

Two hundred years.

For her, barely minutes had passed. One moment it was the year 2196—she had been alive, fighting, laughing, planning a future.

And now… it was 2396.

Her head throbbed as the weight of it pressed down on her. What had happened in those two centuries? What had the world become? What had she lost?

Fragments of memory began to surface, uninvited.

Hiroshi, Krimson, Bajuro… and her—standing together, smiling and convinced that they could change everything.

Hiroshi and Ryumi walking through a park, the moonlight reflecting in puddles after the rain.

Krimson and Ryumi bickering endlessly over who mattered more to Hiroshi, their arguments always ending in laughter.

Hiroshi’s arms around her, warm and reassuring, as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

Her fingers tightened against her scalp.

Those memories felt so close—so painfully close—yet impossibly distant.

Two hundred years had stolen those moments away from her.

And she was the only one left behind to remember.

The memories flashed through Ryumi’s mind in a violent rush—too fast to hold, too heavy to endure. Faces, laughter, warmth… they surfaced for only an instant before dissolving into the ache in her chest.

Then a familiar voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unmistakable.

“Oh well,” the voice said casually. “Look who’s back from a two-hundred-year slumber. Ryumi, the pink-haired sorceress.”

Ryumi froze.

Her head snapped toward the speaker, confusion flashing across her face as she staggered upright. “Toko?!” she blurted out. “How are you here?! And why are you calling me that?”

Toko looked genuinely amused. “We only met once, and you still remember me? That’s impressive.” He shrugged lightly. “And this is where I live—so of course I’m here. As for the name… why shouldn’t I call you that? The tales describe you exactly like this. The pink-haired sorceress, Ryumi Sedzuga. The last descendant of the Sedzuga family.”

Ryumi stared at him, utterly baffled. “What’s with this ‘tales’ thing?”

Before Toko could respond, Shinzo spoke up, his brows furrowed in equal confusion as he looked at Ryumi. “Can you tell me what’s with the ‘sorceress’ thing?”

Ryumi turned sharply toward him. “Can you tell me what has happened during this ‘two-hundred-year slumber’ thing?”

Shinzo threw his hands up. “Dude, Toko, what are all these things?!”

“I’ve got a better question,” Ryumi shot back, her voice rising. “How are all these things?!”

“And I’ve got an even better one,” Shinzo snapped, frustration boiling over as he clenched his fist. “Why are all these things?!”

Toko let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. “I will explain,” he said, trying to keep his composure. “So—who do I answer first?”

“First tell me about those tales,” Ryumi demanded.

“No!” Shinzo countered immediately. “First explain the sorceress stuff!”

“No—first explain this two-hundred-year thing!” Ryumi shot back.

They glared at each other like rivals, tension crackling in the air as if sparks might fly from their eyes.

“CALM DOWN!” Toko shouted, cutting through the chaos. “I’ll explain everything—one by one.”

He exhaled slowly, straightening his posture as his tone shifted from irritation to seriousness.

“Firstly,” he said, “about the two-hundred-year slumber.”

Ryumi’s attention locked onto him.

“The portal you just came through,” Toko continued, “is one of seven such portals scattered across the globe—one on each continent. All seven of them lead to a single place.”

He paused deliberately.

“A place called the Hell Prison.”

Ryumi’s breath caught.

“Gorokko put you there,” Toko went on. “Inside the Hell Prison. and he sealed you within a cryogenic chamber—something I believe Shinzo already explained to you.”

Shinzo nodded faintly.

“Bajuro,” Toko said, “used his magic on the prison itself. He created the traps—measures meant to keep outsiders away from you. That chamber kept you imprisoned… but alive… for two hundred years.”

Toko’s voice grew heavier.
“And during those two hundred years, humanity made no progress. Only regression. Technology decayed. Varkonian oppression spread. Entire generations lived and died under that shadow.”

Ryumi’s fingers trembled.

“Many people you once knew are gone,” Toko said quietly. “But their bloodlines remain. Shinzo—the descendant of Krimson. And Krooke—the descendant of Bajuro.”

Ryumi opened her mouth, trying to speak—

“And no,” Toko cut in firmly, not giving her the chance. “Hiroshi is still alive.”

Her heart skipped.

Toko’s gaze shifted toward Shinzo.
“And now,” he said, “let’s talk about the sorceress matter.”

Ryumi stiffened.

“There exist several grimoires,” Toko explained, “ancient descriptive texts that document the latent world of magic. They record the nature of magic itself—and the beings capable of wielding it.”

He clenched his fist.

“Magic, as a force, has vanished. Corruption spread across the world and erased it. But the casters…”
He looked at Ryumi.
“They still live.”

“The casters are known as Mages and Sorceresses,” Toko continued. “And as of this moment—right now—only two such casters exist.”

Silence.

“Krooke,” Toko said. “And Ryumi.”

Ryumi and Shinzo exchanged stunned looks.

“Uh…” Ryumi muttered. “What? Me? A sorceress?”

“And hold on,” Shinzo interrupted, brow furrowing. “If magic doesn’t exist anymore, then how does Krooke have powers?”

Toko froze.
“…Wait,” he said slowly. “Krooke has powers?”

Shinzo hesitated. “I—I mean… yeah. Some kind of red powers.”

Toko’s expression darkened.
“Red… powers…?”
“This is what Majuro warned me about...” he thought. “Maybe Krooke’s powers are finally surfacing…”

“Toko?” Shinzo called out. “Hello? We’re talking to you!”

Toko snapped back to reality.

“O-Oh. It’s nothing important,” he said quickly. “We’ll discuss that later.”

He cleared his throat.
“Continuing—Ryumi belongs to the Sedzuga family. The lineage of Sorceresses. Unfortunately, there is very little recorded history about them compared to the Torojima family.”

“Why?” Shinzo asked.

“Because there exists a hidden book,” Toko replied. “A sacred tome of the Sedzuga family. One we have yet to find.”

He paused, then spoke again.
“Lastly… about the tales.”

Toko’s voice softened.
“There is a book known as The Chronicles of Magic: World of Sorceresses. Within it are several legends. One tale speaks of a prophecy about a great sorceress—one who bears pink hair and eyes like cherry blossoms.”

Ryumi’s breath trembled.

“The prophecy says that she will be the one to pave the path to universe’s true freedom.”

Toko released a long sigh of relief, as if a burden had finally been spoken aloud.

“So,” he asked, looking between them, “are all your doubts clear now?”

Ryumi stared at them blankly, her brows knitting together.

“It would require me at least three more goes,” she said slowly, “to properly understand all of that.”

Shinzo let out a dry breath and rubbed his temple.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing upward for a split second before looking back at them, “it’s always rough when there’s a two-hundred-year time gap and someone decides to explain everything in one go. Feels like someone dumped an entire history book into a single chapter.”

Ryumi shot him a confused look, then shook her head.

“Well,” she said, exhaling, “now that the explanation is over… can I go meet Hiroshi?”

Silence.

Not the awkward kind—
the heavy kind.

Toko’s mouth parted, then closed. Shinzo’s expression stiffened, his eyes shifting away.

Ryumi noticed immediately.

“…What happened?” she asked, her voice tightening. “Why did you both go quiet the moment I mentioned him?”

Toko hesitated. “Well… uh… the thing is… Hiroshi is—”

“He’s unconscious,” Shinzo said quickly. “Maybe even… in a coma.”

Ryumi’s breath hitched.
“WHAT?!”

“No—no, it’s not that simple,” Toko said hurriedly.

Shinzo turned toward him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Toko swallowed.
“It’s… It's even worse than coma. I just came from Krooke’s house. He was examining Hiroshi in his medical room.”

Shinzo blinked. “He has a medical room in his house?”

“Yes,” Toko replied, voice low. “And according to him… Hiroshi won’t be with us for long. Saving him may be… impossible.”

The words hadn’t even settled—

“WHAAAT?!”
Ryumi and Shinzo shouted in unison.

“Krooke is doing everything he can,” Toko continued, “but even he isn’t sure it will work—”

“Take me to him.” Ryumi interrupted.

The interruption was quiet. Too quiet.

Toko stopped mid-sentence.

Ryumi’s head was lowered now, her pink hair falling forward, obscuring her eyes. Her shoulders trembled—not with rage, but with something far more fragile.

“I said,” she repeated, her voice barely steady, “take me to him.”

“I can’t,” Toko said carefully. “Krooke is still trying to—”

In an instant, Ryumi moved.

Not explosively.
Not wildly.

She stepped forward and grabbed Toko by the collar, lifting him just enough for his feet to leave the ground.

Her grip wasn’t tight with hatred—it shook.

Tears welled beneath the curtain of pink hair, dripping onto his tunic.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice cracking despite the threat behind it. “If you don’t take me to my Hiroshi right now… I will forget the fact that you are an elderly dwarf.”

Her fingers clenched.
“And I swear—when I’m like this—I don’t bluff.”

Toko stared at her, stunned. Not by her strength—but by the pain pouring out of her words.

“…Alright,” he said softly. “Put me down. I’ll take you to him.”

Ryumi loosened her grip and gently lowered him to the ground, as if the anger drained the moment she let go.

Without another word, Toko turned and began walking toward Krooke’s house.

Ryumi followed immediately.

Shinzo hesitated only a second—then went after them.

After a short while, they arrived at Krooke’s house—isolated from the other dwellings of underground Dwarika.

The structure was carved entirely from stone and rock, each surface polished until it bore a smooth, almost unnatural sheen. Unlike the warmth of nearby homes, this one felt cold. Quiet. Heavy.

Toko stepped forward and knocked on the wooden door.

Knock.
Knock.
Knock.

They waited.

No footsteps, No reply.

The silence stretched—thick and suffocating.

Then Ryumi moved.

She stepped past Toko, her jaw clenched, her breath uneven. She didn’t hesitate this time.

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

Her fists struck the door not with rage—but with fear, urgency, and a desperation that had nowhere else to go.

The door was opened.

Krooke stood there, a mask covering his face, medical gloves still in his hands. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he lowered the mask slowly.

“I see…” he said quietly. “Ryumi-san. You’re here. Come in.”

Ryumi and Shinzo stepped inside.

Toko remained at the entrance.

“I’ll wait outside.” he said, his voice heavy with grief.

The interior of the house was modest but orderly. Two stone sofas rested against the walls, a bookshelf lined with neatly arranged volumes standing between them. The hall branched into four rooms—kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and at the far end… The medical room.

“Come with me.” Krooke said.

He led Ryumi and Shinzo down the hall.

The medical room was neither too large nor too cramped. A hospital bed stood at the center beneath an operating lamp. An ECG machine hummed softly nearby. A table cluttered with medicines, a shelf stacked with medical equipment, and a long wooden chair—just enough space for three people to sit and wait.

Hiroshi lay on the bed.

His black T-shirt was lifted, six electrodes from the ECG machine attached to his abdomen. The rhythmic beeping filled the room—steady, cruelly calm.

82 BPM
97 SpO₂
38 CO₂
114 SBP / 73 DBP

Ryumi rushed forward—then stopped.

She stood beside him, her hand instinctively pressing against his chest, as if afraid the machine might be lying. Her eyes flicked to the ECG screen, clinging to the numbers.

“…What happened to him?” she asked, her voice barely holding together.

Krooke exhaled slowly.

“He used a form,” he said. “The Berserk form. A transformation meant only for moments of absolute despair.”

Ryumi didn’t look away.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Krooke continued. “But Shinzo died. And that… triggered it. I revived Shinzo shortly after—but by then, it was too late. Hiroshi had already lost control.”

His voice lowered.
“His body demanded an immense amount of energy to sustain that form. Far beyond what it could handle.”

He gestured subtly toward Hiroshi.
“From the outside, he looks unharmed. But inside… erupted blood vessels. Overstrained muscles. Severe internal damage. Extreme energy depletion.”

Shinzo clenched his fists.

“He defeated two tyrants in one day,” Krooke finished. “That alone would’ve been fatal to most.”

“Not two,” Shinzo said quietly.

Krooke turned sharply. “What?”

“Three,” Shinzo replied. “We came to Dwarika right after defeating Gorokko.”

Krooke froze. “…Three?”

Shinzo nodded.

Krooke shut his eyes for a moment.

“…That explains it,” he said grimly. “That’s why I can’t save him. No one can. It would be a miracle if he even survives till tomorrow morning.”

“Bullshit!” Ryumi slammed her fist onto the nearby table.

Medicines scattered across the floor. A scalpel clattered loudly against the stone.

“If you can revive Shinzo,” she said sharply, “you can revive Hiroshi too!”

Krooke turned to her, unwavering.
“Revival does not work like that, Ryumi-san.” he said. “a man of the Torojima family can only revive someone once in his life. And I've already revived Shinzo, and if I try that again, it won't work.”

Ryumi’s breath caught.

Her eyes widened as something clicked.

“Wait,” she said. “We’re in Dwarika. Why didn’t you try a golden amalaki?”

“I did,” Krooke replied immediately. “It didn’t work.”

“But—how?” she whispered. “And don’t forget—Hiroshi defeated one hundred and ninety-five tyrants in the past. Three can’t do this to him!”

“You said it yourself,” Krooke replied softly. “‘In the past.’”

He met her gaze.
“Ryumi-san, It’s been two hundred years. The tyrants have evolved. They’re stronger—far stronger than before. And Hiroshi isn’t even at his full potential.”

Ryumi’s fingers trembled.

“He’s still missing two Blaze Embers,” Krooke continued. “The ones that hold his most important powers—Regeneration and Transformation.”

The weight finally crushed her.

Ryumi fell to her knees, her hands covering her face. Her shoulders shook as tears spilled through her fingers.

“…Is there nothing,” she whispered, “we can do?”

Shinzo stepped forward.
“No,” he said. “There is. We can try something. We can—”

“Shinzo.” Krooke stopped him.

“Please,” he said sharply. “For once—understand. We can’t do anything. Positivity won’t bring him back.”

Shinzo snapped. “And your negativity won’t save him either!”

“Lying can comfort your heart, but it won't save his life!” Krooke blurted out.

“There has to be a way!” Shinzo shouted, eyes locked on with Krooke’s eyes.

“SHUT UP!” Ryumi interrupted.

The room fell silent.

Ryumi stood.

Her eyes were red, burning with tears. Her hands still trembling—but her voice was steady now.

“Krooke,” she said. “There is something you haven’t tried.”

Krooke looked at Ryumi, confusion clearly etched across his face.

Ryumi lifted her head, her gaze steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“You just said something,” she spoke carefully, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “about Hiroshi’s lost powers being sealed inside Blaze Embers. Didn’t you?”

Krooke hesitated. “…Yes.”

“Then have you tried giving those Embers to him?” Ryumi asked softly.

Krooke’s breath hitched.
“N–No,” he admitted. “We don’t have them.”

A sudden realization struck Shinzo.
“Wait,” he said sharply. “I forgot to tell you both—”

He thrust both hands into his pockets.

A faint glow leaked through the fabric—green from one side, scarlet-pink from the other. The glow faintly spilled into the room as Shinzo pulled them out.

Two Blaze Embers.

Krooke’s eyes widened.
“The two final Embers…” he whispered. “How did you get them?!”

“I found them,” Shinzo replied, “near the bodies of Yataro and Jinah.”

Krooke took the Embers from him with trembling hands. One pulsed with a deep emerald glow. The other shimmered with a scarlet-pink light, warm and alive.

“The Regeneration Ember,” Krooke said softly, “and the Transformation Ember…”

Hope crept into his voice.
“These… these might help him!”

He rushed to Hiroshi’s bedside, opening Hiroshi’s palms and placing one Ember in each.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—Hiroshi’s veins lit up.

Green light surged through one arm. Scarlet-pink flowed through the other, tracing glowing paths beneath his skin as the energies were absorbed into his body.

The Embers dulled.

They became hollow—empty glass vessels, their light completely drained.

They rolled from Hiroshi’s palms and hit the floor.

Crack!

Both shattered.

Ryumi flinched, stepping back instinctively.

The ECG machine beeped faster.

82 BPM…
102.
107.
110.
117.

The numbers climbed—then stabilized.

119 BPM.

Shinzo leaned forward, eyes wide.
“His heartbeat just shot up. By a lot.”

Ryumi swallowed. “Is… is that good or bad?”

Krooke stared at the monitor—then suddenly laughed.

A quiet, disbelieving laugh, filled with relief.

“It’s good,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Very good. His metabolic activities are increasing. His body is responding—trying to recover.”

He exhaled deeply.
“If it stays stable like this… he might survive!”

Ryumi and Shinzo both let out breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding. They glanced at each other—and for the first time in a long while, allowed themselves a small, shaky chuckle.

“Both of you should get some rest,” Krooke said. “I’ll stay with Hiroshi.”

Ryumi shook her head immediately.

“No. I just woke up after two hundred years. I’m not sleeping anytime soon.” She glanced at Shinzo. “He should rest. I made him run around too much.”

Shinzo smirked faintly. “Nah. I’m staying up.” He paused. “By the way… what time is it?”

Krooke checked his wristwatch.

“9:12 PM.” He removed his gloves and mask. “what would you guys like? Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.” Ryumi said without hesitation.

“Coffee for me too.” Shinzo added.

Krooke placed the gloves and mask on the table.
“I’ll brew some. You both relax.”

He left the room.

Shinzo moved to the long wooden chair, sitting down and leaning back. He clasped his hands behind his head and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Ryumi pulled a small, round metal stool closer to the bed and sat beside Hiroshi. She leaned in, resting her head gently near his, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And for now—

He was still here.

[A few minutes later]

A few minutes later, Krooke returned to the medical room, carefully balancing a tray in his hands. Two white cups and one red cup sat neatly atop it, steam rising gently.

“Coffee time~!” he announced in a light, almost singsong tone—trying, perhaps, to keep the heaviness of the room from swallowing them whole.

Ryumi reached out and took the red cup.

“Thanks.” she said quietly.

Shinzo took one of the white cups. “Thank you.”

Krooke placed the tray down and shifted closer, sitting beside Shinzo on the wooden chair.

For a while, no one spoke.

There was no awkwardness in the silence—only tension, fragile and unspoken. The faint beeping of the ECG machine filled the room, steady and rhythmic, as if reminding them that Hiroshi was still holding on.

They sipped their coffee slowly.

Waiting.

Hoping.

And while they waited, far away from that quiet room—

Hiroshi drifted deeper into unconsciousness.

He found himself in a place, which didn't feel real. It maybe was a dream, or maybe something else.

[In Hiroshi's Dream]

The first thing he felt was weightlessness.

When Hiroshi opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by clouds—endless, soft clouds stretching in every direction. There were no walls. No horizon. Only white beneath him and white beyond him, as if the world itself had been erased.

He was lying on the ground.
No—on clouds that felt solid beneath his body.

Above him, a vast blue sky shimmered gently, untouched by war, fire, or blood. A calm wind brushed past him, cool and strangely comforting.

He groaned weakly and tried to move, but his body felt distant—heavy, unresponsive, as though it no longer fully belonged to him.

Then—

A voice.
Soft. Warm.

It echoed faintly in his ears, like a memory struggling to surface.
“Hiroshi.”

He stirred slightly, brow furrowing.

The voice came again.

“Hiroshi…!”

The echo began to fade, the sound growing clearer, closer—no longer distant.

“Hiroshi!”

His eyes flew open.

He gasped sharply, sucking in air as if he had been drowning moments before.

“W–wait—” his voice came out hoarse. “What… where am I…?”

“Shh,” the voice said gently. “Calm down.”

Hiroshi turned his head.

Beside him sat a woman.

Her form was there, unmistakably human, yet her face was obscured by a soft haze—as if the clouds themselves refused to let him see her clearly.

“Who are you…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman smiled faintly.
“I am Mei,” she said. “Did you forget me, son?”

Something inside him trembled.

Slowly, the haze lifted.

Her face came into view.

Scarlet-red eyes—identical to his own—gazed back at him with warmth and sorrow intertwined. Her skin was fair, her black hair falling gently around her shoulders, swaying slightly in the unseen wind.

For a moment—

Hiroshi froze.

His breathing stilled.

The world around him felt unbearably quiet.

Then, as if the truth had forced its way past his lips before his mind could stop it, a single broken word escaped him.

“M–Mo…”

His voice shook.

“…Mom..?”

To Be Continued...