Six years had passed.
Winter had claimed the Land of Night with ruthless precision. Snow clung to the ground like hardened glue, making every step an ordeal. The cold wasn't just felt—it was endured.
At the front of a heavy wooden carriage, two older men sat hunched against the wind. One was an elf, sharp-eyed and frost-worn. The other, a human with a scruffy beard and half-lit pipe.
Elf: Man, the snow ain't gonna lift anytime soon, it seems.
Human: What a pain in the ass.
Behind them, in the rear carriage, about twenty passengers were crammed shoulder to shoulder—bundled in layers, their breaths visible in the frozen air. Every race was represented: orcs, goblins, beastkin, elves, and more. A rare sight, even in these times.
But one stood out.
A boy, about thirteen. Crimson-red hair that practically glowed under the dim lantern light. One eye a gleaming red, the other an unusual violet. His coat was heavy and well-made, tailored for the harsh cold—but it wasn't his appearance alone that drew attention.
It was his presence.
Orc Boy: Hey... you're the one they call the Crimson Red Hair of Destruction, right?
The boy glanced up calmly, his expression unreadable.
Crimson-Haired Boy: Yes. That would be me.
The cabin stirred.
Passenger 1: W-Woah... it's really him?
Passenger 2: Incredible...
Passenger 3: Think I could get his autograph?
Passenger 4: Don't be stupid.
The boy gave a faint smile and leaned back, as if used to this sort of attention.
Orc Boy: U-Um... may I ask why you're here? Are you leaving the Land of Night?
Crimson-Haired Boy: I was given a mission by Eros. It requires me to travel to the Mytus Continent.
Gasps swept through the carriage.
Passenger 1: The Monarch?!
Passenger 3: What kind of mission sends someone like him to Mytus?
Passenger 4: Isn't that place in the sky?
Someone leaned forward with another question.
Passenger 1: What's the mission?
Crimson-Haired Boy: I'm afraid I can't reveal that to—
CRACK—
The carriage jolted violently.
Passenger 3: What the hell was that?!
Panic broke out. Heads whipped toward the front as the carriage screeched to a halt.
BOOM.
A sharp explosion echoed—not far. Close enough to shake snow from the carriage roof.
Young Woman: I-I'm going to check it out!
A girl sitting near the door stood up, trembling. Against the warnings of others, she reached for the latch and began to pull the door open.
Slowly...
SHING—
PLOP.
The only sound that followed was the metallic ring of a sword, and the dull thud of something soft hitting the snow.
Silence.
Crimson-Haired Boy: EVERYONE, GET BACK NOW!
His command struck like lightning. Those who had witnessed the girl's beheaded body collapse into the carriage screamed and stumbled backward. The Crimson-Haired Boy stepped forward without hesitation, hand tightening around the hilt of the black sword at his waist.
He exited the carriage, boots crunching snow as he scanned the scene.
The front.
The drivers.
Crimson-Haired Boy: Tch...
Both were already dead—heads severed cleanly, their bodies slumped in the blood-smeared snow.
CRUNCH.
Snow shifted behind him.
CLASH!
Crimson-Haired Boy: ?!
Steel met steel in a burst of sparks as he instinctively raised his sword, blocking a blow aimed straight for his neck.
???: Heh!
A shadowed figure grinned at him from behind a steel mask, blade pressed hard against his own.
???: So... you're the one they call the Crimson Red Hair of Destruction. Shiebe Zackaria.
Shiebe held his stance, eyes narrowing.
Shiebe: What are you?
???: Me? Heh... can't ya tell?
The weight of the figure's presence... the unnatural aura bleeding from his body. The boy could feel it crawling across his skin.
Shiebe: A... Z-Mon?
???: Correct!
The Z-Mon darted forward again—faster this time, wild and relentless. Their swords collided once more, echoing through the frozen forest like thunder.
Shiebe: A Z-Mon… I've heard you're the scum of the world.
Both Shiebe and the Z-Mon were pushed back by the violent clash of their blades. Snow flared up in the aftermath, swirling around them.
Z-Mon: The world hates us because it refuses to understand the truth. The tragedy is upon you all.
Shiebe's eyes narrowed as he raised his sword. The grip tightened in his palm, a flicker of determination in his gaze.
Shiebe: Ignite, Flames of Destruction!
His blade suddenly erupted with black flames, swirling and consuming the steel.
He swung the blade downward, slamming it into the ground.
CRACK!
The earth beneath them trembled, fissures beginning to tear through the frozen ground like veins of destruction.
Passenger 1: What's happening out there?!
Passenger 2: We're under attack—by who?! Why?!
Orc Boy: I-Is he fighting it alone?!
Panic spread like wildfire. Some passengers tried desperately to break open the back of the carriage, while others huddled together, shivering with fear.
Elder Elf (Passenger 3): Stay down! If we open the back, we'll freeze—or worse.
Passenger 4: That boy… he's really fighting a Z-Mon?
The orc boy clenched his fists, his face hardening.
Orc Boy: We're safe… we're in the hands of the Crimson Red Hair of Destruction... Shiebe Zackaria himself!
The Z-Mon leapt back, just barely avoiding the rising cracks and flames.
Z-Mon: I'm afraid that's all the time I have.
Shiebe: What?
With a mocking grin, the Z-Mon launched himself onto a snow-covered tree branch, his cloak fluttering in the wind.
Uno: The name's Uno. Remember it. The tragedy will be upon us all.
Your time is short. Judgment is coming—and there's no escaping it.
Before Shiebe could respond, Uno vanished into the white blur of the falling snow.
Silence returned.
Shiebe:The Tragedy…
Eros trained us for a reason. To prepare us for the Z-Mons.
…Could this be what he meant?
He looked down at the crack he'd made in the earth—blackened and smoldering—then up at the quiet trees once more.
Something much darker was coming.
The door of the carriage creaked open.
Passenger 1: W-Whoa…
Passenger 2: He… He did it. The Z-Mon's gone!
One by one, the passengers cautiously stepped out into the snow. When they saw no threat, only the smoldering ground and the crimson-haired figure standing tall with his sword lowered, the tension broke.
Cheers erupted.
ALL: RED HAIR! RED HAIR! RED HAIR!
Some clapped. Others raised their fists in celebration. Even the orc boy looked like he was going to cry from relief.
Shiebe, still catching his breath, sheathed his sword. He turned to face them, offering a small, tired smile.
Shiebe: …Thanks.
But his eyes weren't on them. They were on the dark horizon ahead, where Uno had vanished into the snowstorm.
Shiebe (thinking):Tragedy… Is that what's coming next?
Shiebe pushed aside the swirl of thoughts in his mind.
Right now, only one thing mattered: getting these people to safety.
Shiebe: I'll take the reins. We're heading to Unova City.
Passenger 3: You heard him—let's move.
One by one, the passengers reentered the carriage. Before doing so, they tended to the fallen woman. With somber hands, they laid her to rest just off the path, covering her with snow and placing a single flower beside the grave.
No words were spoken—but the silence said enough.
Shiebe climbed onto the driver's seat.
He gripped the reins.
Shiebe (quietly): Let's go.
The carriage cracked forward
As the carriage crested a final ridge, the snowy horizon gave way to shimmering towers and glowing crystal spires—Unova City, heart of the Reina Continent, and a place where syreums and civilization danced in perfect synchronization.
Suspended lights floated in the air like fireflies, illuminating cobblestone roads etched with glowing runes. Buildings twisted upward into elegant, spiraling forms—constructed from stone, marble, and arcane glass. Floating platforms carried passengers across streets, while elemental golems maintained order, sweeping snow from the roads with bursts of wind or fire.
The city gates were marked by twin statues of draconic beasts, mouths open, casting invisible wards that shimmered when the carriage passed. A soft chime echoed as they entered.
Shiebe took it all in with a quiet breath.
Orc Boy (wide-eyed): I've never seen this many people before…
Mage-guards in cerulean robes strolled the streets. Elemental familiars—fiery wolves, water serpents, stone birds—perched on corners or danced through the ground.
They approached the center of the city, where a crystalline tower reached toward the heavens—The Skyroot Spire, also known as Unova Launch Pad. Dozens of levitating balloons, powered by wind and aether runes, rose and descended in perfect rhythm, ferrying travelers between continents.
Shiebe: That's it… Mytus awaits.
As the passengers disembarked, a few whispered quiet thanks to Shiebe. The orc boy tugged at his coat.
Orc Boy: You'll be okay out there, right?
Shiebe (with a nod): I've made it this far. That's gotta count for something.
The boy grinned and ran to join the others, disappearing into the golden-lit crowd.
Shiebe approached the launch pad. A robed attendant, clearly expecting him, gestured to a waiting balloon. It shimmered with protective enchantments and bore a silver sigil shaped like a gear with wings—the mark of Mytus.
As he stepped aboard, Shiebe took one last look at the magic-drenched city.
Then, with a soft hum, the platform lifted—carrying him toward the clouds, and toward the storm waiting in the skies of Mytus.
Eros sat on his throne. In front of him stood Shiebe, alone.
The air balloon rose higher, cutting through soft clouds like a phantom in the sky. Below, Unova City sprawled out in shimmering blues and golds, its towers shrinking beneath the mist. Above, dozens of other balloons floated in quiet procession—each one on its own path toward the Mytus Continent.
Shiebe sat quietly at the edge of the balloon's basket, arms crossed, his crimson hair drifting with the wind. He closed his eyes.
Shiebe (thoughts): This isn't just another trip. I can't screw this up.
-A Few Days Ago-
Eros: Shiebe, I need a favour from you.
Shiebe: What is it?
Eros: …I received a letter. It says this nation could potentially go to war.
Shiebe: War? With who?
Eros: The Mytus Continent. The king there is a real piece of work. Strong. Very strong.
Shiebe: But you're a member of the Council of Hope. The strongest guild in the world.
Eros: Exactly. And he's an ex-member of the Council. Stronger than me.
Shiebe's expression tightened. He didn't like where this was going.
Eros: I want you to serve as a spokesman on my behalf. Go to Mytus, see if you can dissolve the conflict before it escalates.
Shiebe: Why me? I doubt he'll listen to a kid like me.
Eros: Because you're a Zackaria. Besides, Mona, Julius, and Maz are off in different continents preparing for the Henokai Academy entrance exams next year. You're all I've got right now.
Shiebe: ...Alright. I'll do my best.
Back in the balloon, Shiebe opened his eyes.
Shiebe (thoughts): War with Mytus… a king stronger than Eros… and me caught in the middle.
As the air balloon drifted above the clouds, the world below unfurled like a clockwork painting.
From this high up, Mytus Continent looked less like a city and more like a living engine suspended in the sky. Gears the size of buildings turned slowly beneath its bronze-colored surface, their rhythm steady and loud even from a distance. Great chimneys exhaled steady streams of steam that mingled with the low-hanging fog.
The city was divided clearly—two halves split by wealth and grime. On one side, gleaming copper rooftops, elegant spires, and clean streets sparkled with electric light. Mytus Upper Alley, no doubt. Trams snaked smoothly along elevated rails, and towers sprouted skyward like polished monuments of progress.
But to the other side, where the steam was thicker and the structures darker, lay Mytus Lower Alley. From above, it looked like a maze of rusted metal, overcrowded rooftops, and flickering lanterns barely visible in the haze. Tiny figures shuffled through narrow alleys, while smoke poured endlessly from factories stacked atop one another like decaying bricks.
At the very heart of it all stood the Engine of Life—a massive, gear-choked tower with rotating rings of light and energy pulsing outward. Pipes extended like veins into the bones of the city, feeding life to its cold, grinding heart.
Other balloons surrounded Shiebe's vessel, each one bound for one of the various landing pads that jutted out from the city's edge like iron petals on a mechanical flower. Above, floating surveillance drones hummed gently, scanning each arrival with a blue flicker of light.
Shiebe stood quietly at the edge of the balloon basket, arms folded.
Shiebe (thoughts): This place... it breathes like a beast.
He glanced at the city below once more, the sheer contrast between light and shadow stirring something uneasy in his chest.
Shiebe (thoughts): Eros said diplomacy. But this doesn't look like a city waiting for peace.
The balloon let out a sharp hiss as it began its descent. Below, Mytus turned on, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that a storm was arriving with the crimson-haired boy from the skies.