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A New World
The rustling of leaves accompanied Altair's steps as he walked through the dense forest. The cold air pierced his skin—so different from the scorching heat of the underworld he had called home for years.
"Are you just going to keep walking aimlessly like that?" Roniver's voice echoed in his head.
Altair grumbled. "I don't know where to go."
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
Altair touched his stomach, which had been growling for some time. "Of course," he hissed.
"Then start by finding food."
Altair looked around. This world felt so vast, so full of color, yet also unfamiliar. In the underworld, food had to be hunted or picked from bitter Scrimson trees. Here, everything felt more... calm.
"Alright, Roniver. Teach me."
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Survival Lesson
"First, look for edible fruits."
Altair stepped toward a tree with round, red fruits. He picked one and examined it.
"Can I eat this?"
"That's an apple," Roniver replied. "The first bite might taste strange to you, but go ahead."
Altair bit into the apple. Sweetness and a slight tang exploded on his tongue. He was shocked—used to bland, tough food from the underworld.
"It's... not bad," he said softly.
Roniver chuckled. "Of course. This world has a lot more for you to enjoy."
After satisfying his hunger with the apple, Roniver guided him to the next step: hunting.
"Listen," said Roniver. "In the underworld, you hunted big, dangerous creatures. But here, hunting is more about patience and technique."
Altair crept between the trees, spotting a deer grazing calmly. Carefully, he raised his hand, feeling the flow of Steel Debris in his body.
"Don't rely too much on your power," Roniver whispered. "Use technique."
Altair frowned. He was used to slaughter, not strategic hunting.
With a flick, a shard of Steel Debris flew and struck the deer's leg. The animal collapsed, still struggling to rise. Altair rushed forward and ended its pain with a swift strike.
He looked down at the deer's body, emotions stirring in his chest. This wasn't battle—this was survival in its purest form.
"Good," Roniver said. "Now you're one step closer to understanding this world."
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DISCOVERING A VILLAGE
After skinning and roasting his kill, Altair continued on. It wasn't long before he saw something new—a village.
Wooden houses lined up neatly, smoke curling from chimneys. People bustled about, some carrying baskets of fruit, others chopping wood.
Altair stood at the edge of the village, observing carefully. This world was truly different from the underworld.
"Can I even go in?" he murmured.
"You look like a wild man right now," said Roniver. "But don't worry. Gold makes everything easier."
Altair smirked. He could create gold at will.
As he stepped into the village, some villagers glanced at him suspiciously. His clothes were tattered, his hair messy, and his face covered in dirt.
An old man with a cane approached him. "Where are you from, son?"
Altair hesitated. He couldn't say he came from the underworld.
"I'm an adventurer," he answered briefly.
The man nodded slowly. "Then welcome to our village. Do you need a place to stay?"
Altair pulled out a small piece of gold from his pocket and placed it in the old man's hand. The man's eyes widened.
"Find me a good inn," Altair said calmly.
And just like that, he got the best room in the village.
For two days, Altair enjoyed a more relaxed life. He bought new clothes, ate decent meals, and interacted with the villagers.
He still felt like a stranger—but at least he was starting to understand this world.
Yet that peace wouldn't last.
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THE ARRIVAL OF THE EMPIRE'S TROOPS
On the third day, chaos descended upon the village.
Soldiers bearing black and gold banners marched in. The sound of hooves and shouted orders filled the air. At the front stood a man in silver armor with a red cloak, exuding authority.
A Commander of the Rasyidian Empire.
The man dismounted and spoke loudly.
"From this day forward, this village is under the control of the Rasyidian Empire!"
The villagers murmured in panic. They knew what that meant.
The village chief stepped forward. "Sir, this is our home. We've lived here for years!"
The commander stared coldly at him. "We've just won the war against the Niaris Empire. My troops need a place to rest. We are taking over this village."
Arguments began to erupt. Tension grew between the villagers and the soldiers.
And in the middle of it all, Altair stood, watching.
"You're not just going to stand by, are you?" Roniver whispered.
Altair sighed. "No way."
He stepped forward.
"If you want to take this village," he said, voice calm but sharp, "why not do it through a duel?"
The commander's eyes narrowed, gazing at Altair with interest.
"Interesting," he said. "Who are you?"
"An adventurer," Altair replied with a faint smile. "Or maybe something more."
The commander stared for a moment, then smirked. "Very well. If you want to fight, I'll indulge you."
The duel began.
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DUEL BETWEEN BROTHERS
Blades clashed. Sparks flew as metal met metal.
Altair moved swiftly, attacking with precision. But his opponent was no less skilled. The commander used Elementan power—shaping iron into shields and new weapons on the fly.
Altair was shocked. Only the Elementan Race could do that.
And then it all clicked.
He jumped back, eyes wide. "No way..."
The commander froze, his expression turning to disbelief.
"Altair?" his voice trembled.
Altair swallowed hard. "Feran?"
Silence fell over them.
Feran's eyes turned red with emotion, his voice shaking. "Brother... you're alive?"
Altair couldn't hold back his feelings. "So are you..."
Two brothers, separated for fifteen years, now stood face to face. The duel turned into a tearful reunion.
And their worlds—long separated—finally came back together.
---
FORGOTTEN MEMORIES
(Flashback after Altair and Feran reunite)
The dim light of dusk bathed Altair's face as he looked at Feran. For a moment, the world went silent. Memories long buried beneath blood and destruction began to surface…
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A Warm Day at Home
Laughter echoed in the backyard of a simple yet cozy house. A six-year-old Altair ran with a wooden stick, pretending to be a great knight defending his world. Behind him, four-year-old Feran chased after him, breathless but giggling freely.
"Stop, Altair! I wanna be a knight too!" Feran shouted brightly.
"Then catch me first!" Altair called back with a carefree laugh.
Inside the house, a woman's gentle voice rang out, calling them in. "Time to eat! Your father is waiting!"
They both rushed inside with small, eager steps. At the table, their father sat with a soft smile, while their mother—her belly swollen with pregnancy—served warm food. The smell of soup and bread filled the room.
"Eat plenty, you need to grow strong," their mother said as she stroked Feran's hair.
"Big bro, when our baby sibling is born, what should we name them?" Feran asked innocently.
Altair thought for a second, then shrugged. "As long as they're awesome. We'll train them to be a warrior too!"
Everyone laughed.
No one knew... that night would be the end of everything.
---
The Night of the Massacre
An explosion shattered the silence of the night.
The sky turned crimson, not from sunlight, but from blue flames that devoured both heaven and earth. Screams and the pounding of marching troops shook the ground.
Altair jolted awake. He looked out the window—blue fire blazed in the distance, engulfing the main evacuation zone. There was no way out.
"What… is happening…?"
His mother held a crying Feran in her arms, while his father pulled a long-unused weapon from the wall.
"We're under attack…" his father muttered, eyes narrowing at the light of destruction.
Then, Altair saw them—two figures standing atop a hill, their silhouettes rising among fire and death. One cloaked in black, eyes glowing white, his body radiating a soul-piercing aura—Fulgaran. Beside him, someone with a staff, eyes glowing green—Sprectalis.
They didn't know who they were, but the fear they stirred pierced deeper than any blade.
Screams echoed. Enemy troops marched forward alongside hordes of skeletons and the undead. From the sky, a massive dragon with cracked scales and blue fire circled the city—Riftbreaker.
"We have to go, now!" shouted Altair's grandfather as he opened a portal to the Underworld.
"Grandpa… Mom… Dad… Feran…?"
Altair still wanted to turn back, still wanted to run and find them. But his grandfather's hand pulled him firmly, and before he could see more, he was thrown into a whirlpool of light… leaving everything behind.
---
Feran's Side
Elsewhere, young Feran cried in the arms of a man with dark reddish hair—his uncle. Breathing heavily, the man dashed down a mountain trail, carrying Feran away from the flames and chaos. There was no evacuation route. The blue fire had consumed all paths.
"Hold on tight, Feran! Don't let go!" he shouted.
They broke through the forest, climbed hills, leaving behind a city turned to hell. Behind them, the sounds of battle, a dragon's roar, and people's screams still echoed, fading slowly until only their breath remained.
Feran never knew where his uncle took him—only one thing was clear: everything was gone.
---
Back to the Present
Tears streamed down the faces of Altair and Feran.
"That… that wasn't a dream, was it?" Feran asked softly.
Altair nodded. "No. It was a reality we forgot… because it hurt too much."
Now they knew: they were two of the few survivors of the Elementan Race massacre.
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