56 years before...
A boy stood among the other boys, dead from hunger, in one of the darker corners of the city of Mesopa. His eyes, hollow and sunken, stared at the lifeless bodies as the stench of death filled the air. Clutching a stale piece of bread, he whispered, "Too bad... the bread's gone."
"But... I'm hungry..."
He looked at his dead friends' bodies and murmured, "Leidwin... Kummerich... Gramulf... Trübhelm... Elendsfried..."
He considered what he could do to feed his hunger, the thought gnawing at him. But as his hand reached out, something deep inside stopped him—an instinct, a flicker of humanity, holding him back. He couldn't do it. Not yet. The boy sank to his knees, hunger still consuming him, but a new weight pressed upon his chest—a choice he wasn't ready to make.
He and his friends had a few dogs they used to play with—some were puppies, others were grown. He had a knife, always carrying it with him. Desperation drove him to target the dogs, taking their lives just to ease his hunger. Guilt clung to him like a shadow, and tears flowed naturally from his dusty face.
The seven-year-old boy had suffered too long. He was skinny and frail, his body a canvas of deprivation. He sat, leaning against the narrow paths where he lived, his breathing shallow and uneven.
A man with long hair and a wealthy appearance entered the street. His gaze fell on the boy, surrounded by bones and death. Terror flashed across the man's face as he looked at the boy, as if seeing a demon.
"Boy... what are you?" the man asked softly.
The boy tried to respond. "I'm..." The words caught in his throat, too weak from hunger to speak.
The man glanced at a nearby signboard. It read: "Human,Dumping Area."
He reached out, grabbing the boy's hand. "Come with me, boy."
Acting on instinct, the boy thrust his knife into the man's hand. The man recoiled, eyes widening in shock as blood seeped from the wound. The boy stared, his grip loosening, as the knife clattered to the ground. A mixture of fear and desperation clouded his mind. The man, clutching his bleeding hand, looked at the boy with a pained expression—both wounded and strangely compassionate.
"You have suffered, haven't you?" His voice was filled with deep sorrow.
Present
Shinjiro lay on the ground, his body heavy and still. He saw Yasha walking away, his steps slow and deliberate.
"Yasha... where are you going?" Shinjiro whispered, his voice weak.
Yasha didn't answer. His shoes were different—like he had seen them many times before but can't remember
Shinjiro tried to reach out, but his body wouldn't move. Panic gripped his chest as Yasha kept walking, disappearing into the fog.
His hand reached out, calling, "Wait!" But Yasha didn't stop. He kept moving forward.
Shinjiro woke up.
In a panic, he looked around. The room was empty—silent and hollow. No one was there.
Then it hit him—Yasha was gone. He would never see him again.
The thought wrapped around his heart, squeezing tight. Tears blurred his vision, slipping down his cheeks. Loneliness settled in like a shadow, quiet and unrelenting.
Shinjiro's mind flashed to that face—the captain's smug, twisted grin. Just thinking about it made his blood boil.
His fists clenched, teeth grinding as anger bubbled up inside him. His breathing grew heavier, every muscle tense.
"You could smile while taking my dearest," Shinjiro muttered, voice low and furious. "Like you enjoyed the pain."
His eyes burned with pure hatred. "I'll chase you to the ends of the earth! To the darkest corner! I will come for you!"q
The words hung heavy in the air, filled with a dark, unbreakable resolve.
The door opened.
"I knew rescuing you was the right thing," a voice said calmly.
Shinjiro, now alert, asked, "Who are you?!"
The brown-skinned man said, "Come outside."
Shinjiro had no knife or weapon with him, leaving him vulnerable if the man had ill intentions. Still, he stepped outside.
As he opened the door, bright light flooded his face. There were around a 22 3³hundred brown-skinned men gathered outside.
The leader among them greeted him with a smile.
"Greetings, friend."
Shinjiro asked, "Who are you people?"
8 Hours Before
Washagan City rested in a rare calm.
Children clung to their mothers' hands. The wind whispered peace.
Adults in formal suits laughed over drinks, savoring the illusion of safety.
No one thought about death-not here, not now. Just good food, good drink, and the fleeting warmth of a crowded city.
Through the busy streets, soldiers pushed Shinjiro and the other children forward.
One muttered, "Man, the captain's one crazy dude."
Another grunted, "Keep moving unless you wanna end up like Zackly."
The third stayed silent, face pale, haunted by memories of friends left behind on the battlefield.
Now, he was stuck hauling the next generation to that hellhole-Nishya Camp.
They pressed through the crowd. Some people glared, one spat on the ground, another just shook his head. No one dared interfere.
Then, like shadows, they appeared.
The brown-skinned Harbingers materialized on the rooftops-silent, calm, as if they'd always belonged there. One moment the rooftops were empty; the next, they watched from above, unmoving.
The attack began without warning.
A Harbinger leapt, sword flashing, cutting down a soldier before being gunned down in turn.
"Activate anti-Nishya mode!" a Zandarian shouted. Weapons hummed as switches flipped, but the Harbingers pressed forward.
Gunfire erupted. Soldiers dropped. "For every man who falls, we take two more!" a Harbinger roared, blade slicing through the chaos.
Washagan dissolved into panic.
People screamed, running in every direction. Shops were abandoned.
Some civilians were knocked down and trampled in the rush to escape.
Mothers tried to shield their children, but the crowd's terror claimed them too.
Those who tried to help were swept away. The street, once alive, became a graveyard.
Despite heavy losses, the Zandarians tried to hold their line.
"Form up! We can still win this!" an officer barked, but the Harbingers' relentless assault shattered their hope.
Within minutes, bodies littered the ground-soldiers and civilians alike.
Shinjiro, unconscious, knew nothing of the chaos.
The battle raged.
The Harbingers, relentless and bloodthirsty, pressed deeper.
"Don't stop!" one shouted, voice cutting through the gunfire.
The Zandarian soldiers fought back, but their numbers thinned with every volley.
"For the Zandara!" an officer bellowed, firing until his rifle clicked empty.
"We can't keep this up!" a soldier gasped, reloading with shaking hands as another Harbinger lunged.
A bullet tore through his shoulder, but he fired back, dropping his attacker.
Still, the tide turned.
Gunfire and steel clashed. Bodies piled up.
Desperation set in.
Those who could still move scrambled for cover.
The rest lay dead or dying.
The Zandarians tried to retreat-but the Harbingers were everywhere.
"We can't outrun them!" a soldier shouted. "They're everywhere!"
The last six soldiers dashed for a rooftop. Only three made it.
The Harbingers followed, swift and silent.
Their leader reached the rooftop in a single leap.
The remaining Zandarians, knowing their fate, They charged.
From the shadows, the Harbinger leader's voice rang out:
"You fight well. I'll give you that. But you will fall all the same."
He fired at an oil tanker, black liquid spilling across the rooftop.
He slid across the slick, leaping to the next building, then fired again.
Flames erupted. The rooftop became an inferno.
The soldiers screamed as fire consumed them, trapped by the blaze.
The Harbinger leader stood motionless, watching the flames.
"This is how it ends," he muttered.
He roared, "Power of Nishya screams through Harbingers!"
He looked down at the carnage.
Bodies everywhere-soldiers, civilians. No difference now.
Then he saw them:
The four children the soldiers had carried, lying motionless on the ground. Eyes closed. No breath.
His eyes widened, shock washing over him.
Then, through the haze, he saw Shinjiro.
The Nishya power let him sense another-Shinjiro was still alive.
Then he looked at Shinjiro. Thanks to his Nishya power, he could sense others with the same ability—a unique trait of Nishya. He could see it clearly—Shinjiro was still alive.
The leader looked at Shinjiro. "So that's what happened…"
Shinjiro nodded, his eyes burning with hatred for the Captain. "Yeah… and thanks for that." He started to walk away, steps heavy with rage. "I have other things to do now…" His mind was clouded with anger and confusion-he didn't even know where he was headed, just that he needed to move.
The man who'd come to see Shinjiro stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes. "How dare you disrespect Leader Virendra!"
Virendra's voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. "Shinjiro, you want the head of that Zandara Captain, right?"
Shinjiro's eyes narrowed, fury still burning. He spoke through clenched teeth. "You know about him?!"
Virendra met Shinjiro's gaze, his expression calm, as if Shinjiro's storm didn't faze him. "I know more than you think," he said quietly, his tone heavy with meaning. His eyes hardened, voice dropping to a grim, almost haunted pitch. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. That Captain… he's not human. He's a demon....Destroyer Of Zandara. You think you're prepared, but the moment you see him, it's over. He doesn't give you a chance to fight back. You can't even react. One second, you're standing-next, you're bleeding out before you even see his blade move."
He clenched his jaw, recalling the stories. "They say he doesn't just kill-you don't even realize you're dead until your body hits the ground. It doesn't matter how many you throw at him-he cuts through squads like they're nothing. No hesitation, no mercy. You can't outrun him, and you sure as hell can't outfight him."
Virendra's words hung in the air. "He's survived impossible odds because nothing slows him down. Not pain, not fear, not even death itself. You face him, and you're done. Simple as that."
Shinjiro's anger didn't fade, but uncertainty crept in. "How do you know so much about him?"
Virendra's eyes darkened. He spoke calmly, his voice carrying a powerful weight. "We Harbingers, when we came to Zandara, were 3000 thousand strong. But in a single night, we were reduced to just two thousand… fighting not the Zandara army, but the Captain alone. And now, after months of war, we're down to eight hundred."
The man who'd called out Shinjiro earlier stepped forward. "Boy, we want the same thing. So why run away? You possess the power of Nishya too."
Shinjiro glared, bitterness in his eyes. "So you want to put an end to that smiling bastard?" He spat the words. "Fine! Tell me-how do you plan to do it?"
Virendra shook his head. "Killing the Captain isn't child's play, boy. We've been trying for months, but we know we don't stand a chance."
Shinjiro scoffed. "Then you're all just hopeless fools."
The same man snapped, "Don't take your life for granted!"
Virendra raised a hand, stopping him. "Enough, Devendra. Our words are for Zandara, not Kushen." He turned to Shinjiro. "Come back to me in the evening. You still need rest, Kushen boy. Take your time to decide."
Shinjiro just stared at Virendra. " Whatever you say. I'm going."
Devendra called after him. "Where are you going, boy? You think you're safe in Zandara?"
A breeze swept through, lifting Shinjiro's hair as he replied, "To avenge, of course. I'll put an end to his pathetic life."
Virendra's eyes turned cold, breaking the tension. "This isn't a street fight you're planning, Kushen boy. If you go there, the soldiers will tear you apart before you even meet the Captain."
Shinjiro paused, unclenching his fists. "Fine… Mister Leader" he laughs "can I use your cabin to rest a bit?"
Virendra nodded. "Of course."
As Shinjiro walked toward the cabin, Virendra leaned toward Devendra and whispered, "Take care of that boy. He'll be useful."
Inside, Shinjiro sat quietly. A few Harbingers entered, settling on the floor to rest. Shinjiro's mind raced with anger and doubt. He felt himself becoming a slave to his own rage.
"Akuji… did you feel the same way? The anger?" he muttered.
He was interrupted by a voice.
"Your name?" a young man asked.
"Shinjiro… Kagemura Shinjiro," he replied quietly.
The man eyed him with suspicion. "So you were born in this shitty place, Zandara?"
Shinjiro shook his head. "No. I'm from a village far away… I lived there with my brother and my mas-" He stopped, realization hitting him. He had forgotten about his Master
The man pressed, "Hey! What happened?"
Shinjiro snapped out of it, mumbling, "Oh, it's nothing…"
The man-massive, towering over Shinjiro-crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I'm Neel."
Shinjiro barely glanced at him. "Yeah…"
Suddenly, Neel slammed his hand against the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling. "Oi! What's with that attitude?"
Shinjiro jolted, then relaxed, smirking. "Nothing wrong with my attitude, big guy."
Neel squinted suspiciously.
"So, your name's Neel, huh? I'm Shinjiro Kagemura," Shinjiro said,
Neel frowned. "You just said that."
Shinjiro, deadpan: "Did I? I thought with a head that big, you'd need to hear it twice."
Neel grinned, clapping Shinjiro's shoulder hard enough to almost knock him over. "You're a weird little guy, you know that? But I like you."
Neel took it as a joke, but for Shinjiro, it was frustration speaking He didn't laugh
Shinjiro stood up. "Don't you talk a lot?"
Neel puffed out his chest. "It's a generational trait. My grandfather, my father, now me."
Shinjiro smirked, gaze sharp. "So, a trait passed down from idiots to bigger idiots… Sounds about right for someone named Neel."
Neel, genuinely surprised and a bit offended, raised his voice in mock anger. "Hey! That's rude…"
Shinjiro started to walk away.
A tall, slim man named Daruk called out, "Hey! New boy, stop acting like a jerk."
Shinjiro just waved a hand, not bothering to reply.
Devendra appeared in the doorway. "Kushen boy, Leader Virendra has called you."
Daruk asked, "What's the deal with this boy…?"
Shinjiro replied, "Already? He said he'd wait until evening." He glanced at the window. "Oh, it's dark already."
49 years before (Mesopia)
It had been seven years since the boy met the man.
The boy sliced through thieves with ease, their bodies falling in pieces around him. The long-haired man stood beside him, watching calmly.
"You've learned how to use the power of Nishya," the man said.
The boy looked at him, silently hoping for some kind of reward.
The man smiled and tossed a piece of bread toward him. The boy caught it and took a bite-not out of desperation this time. He was used to it now. The man had been feeding him, raising him, training him to survive in this cruel world.
"Live!" the man said firmly. "Because that's the only dream worth the hardship. You are strong… stronger than anyone."
Another Three Years Passed
The boy was now seventeen, wandering the streets of Gennus. The man was gone-he had left one day without a word. The boy had learned many things from him, but only one truth remained clear: how to survive.
One day, the boy decided that to fulfill his dream-to reach the highest power-he had to fight not just thieves and beasts, but the system itself. He had to break it.
He stood before a woman, knife in hand. "Give me the money," he said.
He had become someone who knew how to survive in Gennus.
That wasn't the only crime he committed. He killed many, stole from many. To follow his dreams, he learned, he had to fight back-fight against the world.
In the pursuit of survival, he found a strange joy. He had achieved freedom-the freedom to do whatever he wished. His smile never faded after he attained true freedom.
By gaining that freedom, he was free from the dreams that haunted others: the need to survive, the need to rise above those who had touched their dreams. He was above all that
But one day, his freedom was taken.
His entire group was killed. He and his co-leader were captured and handed over to the authorities of Gennus.
The co-leader blamed him bitterly. "It's all your fault. If only you hadn't gotten caught in the Arstana Bank."
The boy watched him cry, but to him, it was like watching a child who didn't get what he needed. He did not fear death.
He saw how people viewed the gate of death differently. The co-leader had accepted his fate, despite his fear. Maybe it was because he no longer felt fear.
He expected screams as they were led to their end, but all were silent-accepting death.
It was very different from the time when he used to rob and kill. Then, people screamed and begged for their lives.
Fighting back hadn't made him free. He realized fighting back didn't bring freedom-it only gave hope that freedom might be possible.
He saw them lynched one by one. Body by body. Life by life. Heart by heart. And he realized: the only thing holding them back from freedom was life itself.
The boy who once wanted freedom began to hate it. He hated the idea of ever being free because it's Cost was beyond where dreams would go
He realized everyone who had died had a dream. He remembered the old man's words: the greatest dream was survival.
But for them, the dream was power, fame, lust, money. They had all crossed the line where survival was the goal.
"Don't execute Number 667! The chief of force has called for him!" one of the executioners shouted.
Boy just smiled....his smile never stopped
He was brought carefully to the chief of police, who looked at him like human trash.
"667, the King of Zandara demands you. You should be grateful."
The boy was surprised. Why would the king of Zandara call for him? Zandara was an enemy country of Gennus.
He was taken to the Zandara royal court by a Gennus air blimp, treated like a criminal.
When his eyes met the king's, he smiled-the same man who had taught him how to live.
He smiled like a madman, frightening everyone in the court.
The king looked at him with the same empathy he'd once shown the boy who had eaten dogs and stabbed him in the hand. But the boy was no longer the same
That day, the boy was reborn-changed by the world and by himself.
"My son… you are so beautiful, aren't you?" the king said.
The boy began to work for the king, fighting wars for Zandara. Perhaps his work was only for the king.
He no longer hoped for anything Except for Life
One day, on the battlefield, the captain of Zandara, Swapnavahana a Vartan fell.
He told his comrades that included The boy, "My will shall pass on."
That was the first time the boy saw dreams that passes on.
It had been twenty-two years since the boy joined the Zandara forces.
The king-his father-rarely spoke to him. In all those Twenty two years, he was always silent, troubled by something
Present
It was about to rain
"Have you made your decision Kushen Boy" Virendra Asked
Shinjiro just stared at him "I'm not sure yet"
Devendra replies "Boy! You can't keep thinking forever"
Virendra Calmed Devendra then said to Shinjiro with warmth "isn't it Weird that We never introduced to Each other have we?"
He put his hand forward for handshake "I'm Virendra and you are?"
he calmly said "Shinjiro.... Shinjiro Kagemura" he shaked the hand
Virendra moved his face backward looking at the sky
"Shinjiro I can understand"
Devendra Understood what he was going to Tell
The wind was cold Because weathered felt rainy but Shinjiro Was froze like it was snow storm
"We Bringers Come from Varatan...Our country is filled with poverty when I was a child i always wanted to contribute to Country that's why I joined Varatan Military I was promised that I would save the
country Varatan but They fooled us when I was 40 I had Gained the position of one Lieutenant of the Varatan but I wanted something more"
Shinjiro asks
"What did you wanted?"
Virendra replies "My dream....to rise Varatan To the Greatest of Power,It was Dream of My Ancestors and My father"
Devendra breaks in "It is dream of all of us!"
It starts to Rain....Virendra and Devendra both used nishya Armour so they don't get wet but Shinjiro didn't
"Why are you telling me this?" Shinjiro asks
"The dream I have for Varatan is where The country of Varatan looks for all"
"So that's Great ...." Shinjiro just said without reacting much
make it sound like a mysterious and Grand
Certainly! Here's a version that emphasizes mystery and grandeur, with a tone that evokes ancient secrets and immense power shrouded in legend:
also mention after hearing the book zandarian started to gain power of nishya too
Certainly! Here's how you can incorporate the detail that after Zandara obtained the book, their people began to gain the power of Nishya too, adding to the legend and raising the stakes:
"I do not wage war against Zandara out of spite, nor do I chase empty dreams of conquest. My cause is older, deeper-rooted in shadows that stretch beyond the memory of any living soul.
I fight for a relic shrouded in legend-a book forged by Great Virata, the first of our line and the architect of Varatan's destiny. Some say it is a source of limitless power
But Zandara stole it, locking it away in the heart of their Palace.....They think it is a prize, a symbol of their triumph. Yet they do not understand what they possess.
For since the book fell into Zandarian hands, something changed. Their people-once untouched by the gift of Nishya-have begun to awaken to its power. The legend grows: some now believe the book holds the very secret of Nishya itself, the origin and key to a force that shapes nations and bends fate.
To reclaim it, we must pierce the heart of their stronghold, unravel the enigmas that guard it, and seize what was lost. For within that book is a truth that predates kings and empires-a truth that could give us the Great Power!.
This is why I fight. Not for crowns or vengeance, but for the secret that sleeps within that book-a secret that, once awakened, could change everything and possibly bring Vartan to its glory that's all I have,hope!"
Shinjiro replies "is that so? you are looking for a imaginary Book?!"
Virendra eneraged a bit but try to calm himself
"This Book is part of My family Tradition Don't you dare Mock it"
Shinjiro then asks with straight face
"And what if I do? Would you kill me right here?"
Virendra then repeats "No.....Varatans do not believe in Violence no one kills anyone unless it's for a reason"
Virendra then replies "Tell Shinjiro what do you want? wealth?"
He remembers what he was truly here for then replies
"What can you give? I need a supply of food to my Village Niyati,can you give that"
Virendra smiles a bit
"A food supply to your village....i believe I can talk with the High Minister to do that when we written but until then Shinjiro Help us to let Rise Of Vartan"
Shinjiro still couldn't believe whether to trust this people
Shinjiro uses his Nishya Armour to cover himself from the Rain at last
"Fight for us Shinjiro...You are Different" His eyes sparkled with determination "you are our Chance"
## 22 Years Before ( Zandara Royal area)
General Smith called for the boy.
"The King has summoned you to his chambers, soldier!"
The news had already spread: the King was dying. His time was almost over.
The boy entered the King's room.
"My son…"
The boy reacted with a laugh,then fell silent.
"My fake father… I've wanted to ask you for a long time: what made the King of Zandara teach a piece of Gennus trash how to live? Why did you give up your kingdom for ten damn years?"
The King replied calmly,
"My father taught me how to live. He wanted me to raise Zandara to its greatest heights, to become the greatest of kings. It was his dream, not mine. I never asked him to pass any dream to me, but I was expected to rule Zandara. The day I met you, I was on my way to sign the Meghana Treaty.....it made me feel free from dreams"
The boy scoffed.
"I could care less about your love for me. Is this all you wanted to say at the end of your pathetic life?"
The King continued,
"To follow my father's dream, I killed my eleven brothers and twenty sisters so no one could threaten my power. My father was impressed. I thought it was my greatest achievement. But now, looking back…"
The boy interrupted,
"Yeah, yeah, now you feel guilty. Get to the point."
Tears welled in the King's eyes.
"I only ever had one child, my eldest son, so this wouldn't happen again. But now, I have a daughter-she'll be born in two months. I'm certain my son will kill her as soon as she's born, just a child."
The boy's curiosity flickered smirking
"So, do you want to end the prince?"
The King shook his head, voice trembling.
"How could you say that? I love them both."
The boy looked at the King's weary face, searching for a trace of sincerity.
The King finally spoke,
"Take her to the Nishya Camp in Gennus. There, they call it Elyvir. She'll be safe."
The boy frowned.
"Are you out of your mind? That's enemy territory. You love your daughter so much you'd send her to a camp where she'll be tortured to unlock Nishya power?"
The King coughed, voice weak but steady.
"She's no ordinary Zandarian. Her mother is Varatan. Varatan people are born with power-they are warriors of Nishya. She'll become a Gennus soldier, because she'll awaken her power soon enough. She'll live a good life there." He managed a faint smile.
The King looked the boy in the eye, determination burning through his frailty.
"I will grant you the title of Captain. With that power, you can enter the Royal Palace When it will be needed, steal her away, and take her to Elyvir Camp. If you can, run away and raise her. Leave your duties behind and fulfill my last wish."
The Captain's expression hardened.
" Well a cozy title of captain will work for me even though it matters very little for me but
Forget about the last part. I won't be trapped in your dreams but,if you wish I can do the first part as payback for your favour."
The King smiled, calm despite the pain.
"I don't like it either-the passing of dreams from parent to child, teacher to student, king to successor, warrior to warrior. I hate it. I don't want her to carry my dream. But…"
The Captain smirked.
"But? So you still have a dream for her? To save the world? To change it? To bring Zandara glory? Or to destroy Gennus from within?huh!"
The King shook his head.
"I'll impose just one dream on her
King spoke with smile on his half dead face
" to live and thrive. To live a good life."
Captain Smirk turned to a soft smile
"Is that so? Dreams don't end,they are infinite aren't they?"
He knew his time had come. He looked at the boy he'd once rescued, the boy who'd survived when all his friends had died of hunger.
For the first time, the Captain spoke to his father with warmth.
"I never asked…but hey old man can you tell me your Dumb name"
The King smiled.
"Darrius. And yours?"
The Captain's eyes widened in shock his smirk coming black
He whispered, "Darrius."
The King laughed And Captain Laughed,They laughed and laughed till King had fallen on his bed
Two months later, the boy-now Captain of the Zandarian forces-broke into the room where the King's daughter and her mother were held. He killed the mother and stole the newborn girl.
He did the unexpected: he raised the child himself for 4 years, determined she would not become a heartless, manipulated tool like those in the Nishya Camp in Zandara he saw
The Captain wasn't hollow, not even in the absence of freedom or lofty dream
When he finally left her with the Elyvir Camp authorities, he knelt and whispered,
"You are strong… Stronger than anyone."
As he walked away, he spoke one last truth:
"Survival is the greatest dream."