The land of Eukeia comprised of four distinct nations: Fotia, Akasa, Blutenheim, and Verdetierra. Kisatsu's hometown lay in Blutenheim, the first territory to fall under seige by invaders from beyond the barrier. Each nation was governed by its own autarch, with four in total actively ruling.
Far From Home
Kisatsu slowly regained consciousness.
He lay on a bed, half of his body covered with a duvet, his vision blurry. As he glanced at the wooden ceiling, a fleeting sense of unfamiliarity crossed his mind, and for a moment, he realized he was in a different abode.
He immediately sat upright, a spike of pain coursing through him from his bandaged bruises, making him wince slightly.
"Oh, you're finally awake," a lady uttered, her voice unfamiliarly soothing.
Kisatsu turned toward the source of the voice and saw a demure lady standing in the doorway.
"Where am I?" he asked.
The lady glanced at him, her gaze soft and steady, touched with a hint of pity.
Then, in a velvety voice, she spoke:
"You're in our home, dear." She paused briefly, stepping forward—quick but not rushed. "Are you feeling well now?"
Kisatsu's gaze lingered on her, a wave of pain stabbing through his wounds as he tried not to move too much.
"What nation is this? Blutenheim?" he asked wearily, his eyes still groggy from sleep.
The lady's forehead tensed slightly with sorrow as she gently shook her head—the only response she could give. Her amber eyes lingered on him, and for a moment, a hint of condolence flickered across her expression.
Kisatsu's eyebrows drew together in thought and disbelief. He was in another land? Or was this just a dream?
But the situation felt too real—too tangible to dismiss. Images of what had happened earlier resurfaced in his mind, vivid and undeniable, each detail pressing against his thoughts like an unshakable weight. A multitude of questions swarmed his mind—so many that he didn't know where to begin, his uncertainty only deepening with each passing second.
Then, barely above a whisper, he asked:
"Who are you?"
"I am Anneliese Vurgemond." A pause, a faint smile forming on her lips. "You're Kisatsu Ashira, am I right?"
Kisatsu nodded weakly, his gaze slowly drifting to the ground, thoughts swirling in quiet turmoil.
"We've heard about you from your father. He's a close friend of ours," Anneliese said, her voice brightening as she pulled a nearby chair and sat before him. "I know you have a lot of questions, but take it easy. I'm here to answer what I can."
He pondered for a moment, barely registering her words. Confusion clouded his mind, and the room steeped in a hushed stillness—dense with uncertainty, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing in like a tangible force.
"How did I get here?" he asked at last, his gaze shifting to her with care, wary of his bruises.
"Someone sent you to us as a refugee," she answered, her voice gentle and sincere. "You shouldn't be moving too much—your wounds are still fresh."
Compassion laced her countenance—something familiar to Kisatsu, easing his guard he had kept up since being in the priest's presence. He gathered his thoughts, trying to register the events before he was thrown into a stupor.
Right... Someone wearing a cloak knocked me out. Was I saved?
Then suddenly, something passed through his mind—Ryurei.
"M-My brother—where is he?!" Panic surged within him, his once-measured movements now frantic. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something he already knew wouldn't be there. "Where is he...?"
His voice wavered on the edge of despair, pain searing through both mind and body. He winced, but no scream left his lips.
"Shhh, calm down," Anneliese cooed—the only thing she could offer as comfort. "Everything will be alright."
Yet, she didn't smile. It wouldn't be right, and she knew it.
You were the only one sent here—words that almost left her lips, but she held them back, waiting to see if the moment truly called for them.
Suddenly, the scene—the gut-cherning moment—resurfaced in Kisasu's mind, forced and unbidden.
Abruptly, he pushed himself up from the mattress and hurried to the bathroom, as if it had called to him, sparing him the need to search. He couldn't hold it any longer. The image became tangible—he could feel it, smell it. And, sickeningly, taste it.
"Where are you going?" Anneliese asked, slight confusion in her voice as worry etched itself onto her face.
"To the bathroom. I'm going to puke," he said, casting her a brief glance before rushing off.
She followed, and once there, she watched as he vomited. She wasn't disgusted, nor did she wonder what had stirred such revulsion. She simply understood—or at least tried to.
Inside Kisatsu's mind, the image of Ryurei's skin being stretched and torn apart brutally replayed over and over, making him retch even more.
Enough! Enough! he thought, desperately trying to replace it with a wholesome image—but failing. Crying. Crying was the only thing he could think to do, yet perturbation surged through his body, rendering him incapable of even expressing emotion.
"There, there."
A soft murmur came, accompanied by a gentle, comforting pat on his back. Kisatsu's body was rigid—but he felt it. The solace. The reassurance.
Upon contact, he neither stiffened nor found his acute uneasiness assuaged. The silence spoke for him, and suddenly, the grisly image stopped bearing down on his mind.
Anneliese stood before him—calm, unshaken. Her amber eyes lingered on him, a flicker of familiarity crossing her visage.
"You should rest for a few more days," she said, pausing as she looked at him purposefully, her hand gently returning to her side. "I'll try to explain what I've been told—and what I'm only allowed to tell."
Kisatsu didn't respond. He simply stood there—still, no longer vomiting. Despair was emblazoned across his countenance, and his eyes mirrored acceptance.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Then, at last, he nodded—weakly, unconvincingly.
Several minutes passed. Kisatsu sat back on the bed, sinking into the mattress—soft, but never truly comforting. It yielded beneath him, yet the weight in his chest remained, unmoved.
Anneliese entered the room, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a bowl of soup. She set them on the bedside table with quiet precision, her expression unreadable.
"Thank you... for all this." Kisatsu's gaze, when he spoke, remained locked onto the ground—not soft, not determined, not even a trace of vengeance in it.
She noticed his expression and—subconsciously—smiled at him warmheartedly, as if it were the only response she could offer.
"There's no need to thank me. You must have gone through a lot these past couple of days."
Couple of days? he mused, brows furrowing in puzzlement.
"How long was I asleep?"
"You were sent here unconscious two days ago."
"By who?"
Anneliese paused for a moment, though her gaze held steady.
"A trusted friend asked us to look after you. According to him, your hometown—Blutenheim—had already been invaded, and the entire nation was in dire need of help."
A pause, a flicker of hesitation in her, but she knew there was no reason to hide anything from someone who had nothing left to lose.
"I don't know the other details yet, but the land's emperor must have dealt with the invaders by now."
Another pause, then—
"As for your father, Xavior..."
"I see..." Kisatsu murmured, as if he already knew the answer. "So I'm the only one who made it out—"
"Is the boy awake now, Liese?" a voice came from the doorway, accompanied by the clatter of approaching footfalls.
A shirtless man appeared, a straw hat slung behind his neck like an accoutrement. His gaze flickered toward Kisatsu, his expression galvanized at the sight of the awakened refugee.
"How are you feeling, young lad?" he asked, an animated smile stretching across his lips.
Anneliese glanced between him and Kisatsu.
"He is Dalsdair Vurgemond—my husband. This is our home, and from now on, you'll be under our care." She paused briefly, her expression as tender as before. "Will that be okay with you?"
Okay with me? But... I still want to go back... I-I can't...
Kisatsu stiffened at her words. It felt like too much—not because he didn't want to live with them, but because he couldn't just bring himself to call this place home. Not yet. Not when he had just woken up after two days, as if nothing had happened—though that's how it all seemed to him.
A tear slid down his cheek—he didn't even realize it. Memories of his family flashed before him, almost as if he were on the brink of death. After all, a different home—for a thirteen-year-old like him—felt like an entirely different world.
"I'm sorry..." he murmured at last.
Yes. I'm sorry. I should've died back then. But now, I'm just going to become a burden to people I don't evenknow. Kisatsu's expression held steady—unreadable, unmoving.
Anneliese embraced him tightly—without a hint of hesitation. Her hand rubbed his back comfortingly, fingers gently swaying over his clothes with an inaudible susurration. Her embrace—without a single word—said, There's no need to apologize. If cruelty exists, we're dwelling in a distant realm.
The Following Day
The house nestled within a strawberry farm. Kisatsu stood in the front yard, the landscape stirring a familiar feeling within him. He glanced around and saw Anneliese holding a basket of ripened, vibrant strawberries—strangely so, despite the overcast sky and brisk winds—as she helped Dalsdair pick them.
It had been a day, which meant the raid had occurred three days ago—yet it still felt like it was just yesterday. My fears haven't subsided, and it doesn't seem like they will—at least not easily. So far, these people—Anneliese and Dalsdair—don't act toady. They don't even seem to be hiding anything from me. Yet... why do I still feel uneasy?
Kisatsu's brow furrowed with uncertainty, and then a familiar person popped into his mind—the priest.
Right! All these unsettling thoughts are because of him. But... did it really teach me not to trust people that easily? No. He's an outsider—that explains it!
In an attempt to brush off the flurry of thoughts, his gaze raked deliberately over the two.
Am I the only one feeling cold here? Kisatsu muttered to himself, disbelief flickering in his thoughts. He was bundled in a thick, warm jacket—convenient, perhaps even excessive—yet Anneliese and Dalsdair moved comfortably in clothes far too thin for the ruthless cold. Maybe he just wasn't used to the place.
Anneliese turned around, her gaze flickering to Kisatsu, and she gave a small wave. The sun barely shone, and he figured it had always been that way because of the frigid weather. With nothing else to look at, he stepped back inside without casting another glance.
After several minutes, Anneliese entered the house, carrying the basket of fresh, rubescent strawberries. She placed it on the table with practiced elegance before heading to the kitchen to prepare a warm, hearty breakfast for the raw morning.
Then suddenly—a near startle—a voice spoke from behind.
"How far is the city from here?"
The question jolted Anneliese—she wasn't used to having another presence in their home—and a startled expression flickering across her face.
"The city?" she asked, wondering why Kisatsu would ask about such a thing, but she didn't question it. "Well, the nearest city to us is Hamburn City, though it'll still take you several hours by horse-drawn carriage." She paused just long enough for a soft smile to form on her lips. "Do you want to go there sometime?"
Hamburn City. From what I've read, Vinhurd City is the metropolis of Akasa. So, we're still not close to it, at least.
"How far is the metropolis?" Kisatsu asked.
"Vinhurd? I'm afraid you'll have to move to another region to get there." Her smile softened ever so slightly.
A soft exhale—a hesitant one—escaped his lips. He had to make a move. Fear still etched itself in his mind, but it certainly wasn't the reason he needed to rest. After all, he hadn't considered his brother dead.
And if Ryurei had fallen, and Kisatsu did nothing, then the same fate would soon reach him.
I can't just stay in this place forever while my hometown is getting raided. Sooner or later, those manic priests will find me.
A sudden thought crossed his mind.
Dad... why were they after him? They came from beyond the barriers—meaning they're not from our world.
A beat. An ominous feeling crept into his thoughts.
But... how do they even know about Dad? Did they breach the barrier just to find him? And if they knew he had a family... does that mean they'll come for us too? Will they make sure to do us in as well?
A voice—its purity and warmth just enough to break his flurried rumination—spoke:
"Kisatsu."
Anneliese looked at him, an undertone of reassurance—not irritation at his constant, conspicuous uneasiness—in her mien. Before she could say another word, Kisatsu simply waggled his head, as if attempting to cast aside both his anxiety and her concern.
The Following Month, Hamburn City
Pointed arches, rib vaults, flying buttresses—Gothic architectures circumambient to Kisatsu. He had never seen them before. His countenance—utterly astonished, uncompromisingly stupefied—was reflected in the glass before him, though he wouldn't have noticed.
Walking further, people clad in elegant finery—unfamiliar to his unrefined sensibilities—came into view. Knowing he was in another nation made it feel like a different world, but seeing the customs firsthand made it real.
Mom and Dad never brought me to a place like this before. And if I ever got a glimpse of something this fab, it was only because Ryurei took me somewhere else—holy shit.
Kisatsu glanced at Anneliese and Dalsdair, who were chatting with one of the food vendors—perhaps gossiping about something juicy. A nearby café caught his eye, his gaze flicking toward it. Even from that distance, the rich aroma of coffee reached his nose, laced with the sweet scent of pastries.
His eyes roamed the area until they landed on an emblem emblazoned on a man's cape—its symbol resembling a nonagram, with an eye-like shape embedded at the center.
A weird-looking symbol—and of all shapes, why that one?
He stared at it for a moment—not long enough to draw attention. As a group of people walked past, briefly blocking his view, the mantled man vanished into thin air.
He dipped?!
Anxious, he immediately slipped into the crowd to hide himself, his gaze darting around in search of the man.
Did he notice me?
"Kisatsu!" Anneliese called out—audible, not too conspicuous—as she caught sight of him. Peeking over the moving crowd, she raised her right hand in a flourish to grab his attention.
"By heaven, could you not wander farther? You're starting to worry me," she said, her voice tinged with fret.
Kisatsu didn't tell her what he had seen. He hesitated—for a moment—but then decided it would only endanger her if he did.
Wait—right! The cloaked man who knocked me down before I was sent here! He paused, frowning. No... there wasn't any symbol on his cloak—or at least, I didn't see one. A beat. Could they be related somehow?
At Night
Kisatsu couldn't sleep. The Moon, calm, waxing, peered through the open window beside him. Gentle gusts of wind swept past with a soft swoosh—almost as if the night were calling out to him.
The priests, the cloaked man, Dad's assassination—there hasn't been a single night I haven't thought about them. The symbol earlier—I don't remember seeing anything like it on the priests' cassock. And the man wearing it wasn't even trying to hide it... was it just a costume, perhaps?
His eyes partly closed, drowsiness slowly welling up in him—accompanied by the urge to resolve it all the next day, though with no guarantee he could. Then, he slept, as if the only thing waiting for him that night was slumber—if not death.
The Following Morning, City Park
The sky—dazing like before, no longer exuding the ambience of home—transfixed Kisatsu's gaze as he sat on a run-down bench.
It's getting closer and closer.
He squinted at the barely discernible, distant object seemingly plummeting from the sky, flashing with intermittent glints that briefly dazzled his eyes. The moment he blinked, a resounding bang struck the city, and commotion quickly followed.
"What the hell's happened?" Dalsdair muttered, his eyes flitting toward the source as he stepped forward. Anneliese had already rushed toward Kisatsu the moment black smoke began to billow from across the park.
A small crowd moved toward the fallen object, which appeared to be a defective aircraft. Confused murmurs spread among them—the only thing resembling silence before the true storm.
This Rage— A rush of panic surged through Kisatsu—either instinctively, or because he had sensed something beforehand.
"Aunt Anneliese, let's move!" he urged, gripping her hand tightly as his gaze flicked toward Dalsdair. "Unc—"
Suddenly, the screams of people being slaughtered pierced the air, sending those nearby fleeing in panic. Something nimble—almost invisible due to its imperceptible speed—was slicing through the crowd. Whatever it was, Kisatsu couldn't even consider it human.
"Where's the bloody corps?! What's taking them so damn long?!" Dalsdair bawled, forcing his way through the chaos, his voice rough with impatience.
Soon, the bloodthirsty entity reached the park. A Partian—resembling a humanoid wolf—came into view: unwelcome, unwanted. Its very appearance radiated profound horror, and the Rage it carried began to spread across the city like a contagion.
As the sanguinary Partian bolted toward the flurrying crowd, a barrier descended from above, enclosing it like an unseen border. It clawed at the forcefield—cutting indiscriminately at anything durable—with sharp rasps screeching through the air.
A knight arrived—slightly late. He stood before the barrier that now caged the Partian, a whiff of condescending triumph on his visage. Medics followed close behind, surrounding the area and tending to the wounded.
"Evacuate the city. It won't take long before this wretched creature breaks through the protective barrier," the knight commanded, pulling out his handheld radio. "Thanduin, from the Fifty-Seventh Section. The Partian has been successfully subdued in Hamburn City, Satra region of Akasa."
Inside the barrier, the Partian went berserk, unleashing a raucous, grating bellow—almost as if daring him to step closer.
"You're quite a bugbear. Seems like an exploding aircraft isn't enough to bring you down, huh?" A resigned huff escaped his lips as he stared at the creature, his gaze unreadable. Then suddenly, a subtle tingling sensation crept across his skin—something he was sure wasn't from the smoke... but from something else entirely.
The air feels amiss—is this beast the one causing it?
That brief distraction dulled his Rage output, if only slightly. But even that small lapse was enough—the barrier flickered, destabilizing in response.
In a flash, the Partian broke free, is claws effortlessly shattering the weakened shield.
Shit! How did this—
He tried to cast another barrier around the Partian, but it reached him first. Its claws swiped at him, but his superior speed let him dodge and retreat unscathed.
Tch! If someone from a lower division had shown up instead, they'd have floundered in an instant!
The strange sensations—something unprecedented, perhaps some form of energy—didn't subside. It kept spreading across his body, and his protective cover began to melt, as if acid had been poured over it.
The Partian finally sensed it too, turning its attention toward Kisatsu—strangely—who wasn't far off. Without warning, it hurtled toward him. Its speed carved a massive furrow across the park, shockwaves rippling over Thanduin's skin.
His gaze snapped to its target—a child—and he wasted no time, shooting forward with deft precision
Oh no, you don't! He raised his arm and aimed it at the Partian charging at high speed, preparing to hit it with a Rage beam. Please hit.
As Kisatsu ran, he felt something hurtling toward them. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder.
"Aunt Anneliese!" he cried, pushing her away—quickly, but not forcefully—as the Partian closed the distance. At point-blank range, it was ready to slash through them.
Shit! Thanduin panicked. Time seemed to freeze. The sight of bloodshed was about to loom before him—again. All because he was slightly late.
Then, unexpectedly, the Partian was crushed by immense pressure just before it could strike. Its body was utterly compressed—like paper effortlessly crumpled—by Rage pressure, until only blood remained on the ground.
Pressure?!
Thanduin had planned to cast a Rage beam at the Partian. Rage Pressure was out of his arsenal, and he certainly didn't have the potential to wield such power.
Had someone from the first division arrived?!