Shura Arin was falling.
Not drifting.
Not descending.
Falling.
The Eternal Depth screamed around him.
Air—if it was air—clawed at his skin,
forced itself into his lungs,
pressed against his chest like something alive.
Heavy.
His body spun.
Above him—
the world dissolved into gray.
Gone.
I'm going to die.
His eyes filled.
Not with fear.
With memory.
Ruka.
Her hands.
Her voice—
"You listen too much."
"I never had a father…" Shura's thoughts broke apart, scattered by the wind. "…but you never let me feel it… you answered everything…"
His chest tightened.
"NO—!"
He shut his eyes.
Tears tore free—vanishing instantly into the void.
I'll repay it.
Mother…
I'm coming back.
From nothing—
Anything —
I don't care.
The thought cut clean.
He opened his mouth to scream.
Nothing.
No air.
No sound.
Only—
a whisper.
"Don't fight the air."
"Flow… Viora."
The Holy Guard.
Distant. Fading. Guiding.
Panic surged.
His heart pounded—
too fast—
too loud—
Then—
warmth. Faint. Familiar.
Shura clenched his teeth.
Closed his eyes..
He reached inward.
And touched it.
Fire.
It erupted from his chest—
not burning—
consuming.
His veins flooded with heat,
like molten iron forced through fragile glass.
Pain—
sharp—
pure—
unforgiving—
And yet—
right.
Like something stolen from him
had finally been returned.
The pressure shifted.
The void—
pushed back.
The fall didn't stop.
But—
it resisted.
The world itself—
rejected him.
Time lost meaning.
Moments stretched—
or collapsed.
His body—
changed.
Viora spread.
Across his skin.
Through his breath.
Around him.
A thin glow—
faint—
unstable—
Stone.
It came fast.
Too fast.
CRACK—
The ground shattered beneath him.
Fragments exploded outward.
Dust and ash tore into the air.
The force—
ripped the breath from his lungs.
Snapped thought from meaning.
Turned everything—
Shura woke—
slowly.
To weight.
Silence—
too heavy to be empty.
This wasn't the quiet of the Country of Light.
This was—
ancient.
His body refused him.
Limbs—
unresponsive.
Chest—
tight.
Breathing—
broken.
He lay against coarse, ashen moss.
It crumbled beneath his fingers—
like dead skin.
Everything hurt.
A pale glow pulsed through the land.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Like a heartbeat.
Where… am I…?
"…He's awake."
Shura blinked.
Pain stabbed through his skull.
Shapes formed.
Blur—
then—
figures.
Four of them.
They emerged from the fog.
Not hesitant.
Not afraid.
Warriors.
The first stepped forward.
Tall. Lean. Still.
Zenkyou.
Her hands were bare—
scarred—
steady.
Hands that ended things.
"Well," she said, crouching beside him, voice casual, "that's new."
A pause.
She tilted her head.
"Fall from the sky, did you?"
A voice behind her—
flat.
Certain.
"You already know. There's nothing up there."
Zenkyou laughed.
Loud.
Fearless.
She didn't know.
She couldn't know.
Above was a world she had never seen.
A lie she had never questioned.
Behind her—
a young man stepped forward.
A massive black sword rested on his back.
Too large.
Too heavy.
Yet he carried it like air.
Ren.
"But the real question," he said, eyes narrowing, "is why he's here."
A beat.
"This is a restricted zone."
A girl lingered close to Zenkyou.
Light trembled faintly around her fingers.
Yura.
Soft voice.
Careful.
"His clothes… they're torn," she said. "But there's no blood."
She hesitated.
"No weapon either…"
The fourth didn't speak.
Orin.
A bow drawn.
Arrow resting.
Zenkyou's gaze stayed on Shura.
Longer than necessary.
"Who are you?" she asked.
A pause.
"…And where did you come from?"
Shura tried to answer.
Nothing.
Not his throat.
His mind.
Blank.
The Edge swallowed everything.
Names.
Faces.
Meaning.
"I…" His voice cracked. "I don't…"
A breath.
Shallow.
Broken.
"I don't remember."
Silence.
Ren snorted.
"Perfect."
"A broken kid."
Orin didn't lower the bow.
"His Viora," he said quietly. "Untrained."
A beat.
"Wrong."
Zenkyou didn't respond.
But her eyes—
lingered.
She had seen power before.
Trained it.
Fought it.
Survived it.
This—
was different.
Not uncontrolled.
Unplaced.
Shura felt it too.
Something—
nearby.
A presence.
Faint.
Buried.
Watching.
He had passed it.
During the fall.
He didn't understand.
But it understood him.
Zenkyou stood.
Decision made.
"Alright," she said, gripping his arm, pulling him up slightly.
"Broken boy."
"You're coming with us."
A pause.
"The Empress can decide what you are."
Shura tried to stand.
His legs trembled.
Collapsed.
The sky—
was gone.
Above him—
only gray.
Endless.
Closed.
The four exchanged a glance.
Brief.
Knowing.
Ren sighed.
Then hoisted Shura onto his shoulder.
Effortless.
"You're coming," he muttered.
They moved.
Zenkyou led.
Alert. Measured.
Orin stayed back.
Bow still drawn.
A warning to everything unseen.
Yura stayed close.
Her faint light pushing against the gray.
Not enough to win.
Just enough to exist.
Shura stirred.
Weak.
"…Where…" he tried.
"…am I…?"
No answer.
"…Who… am I…?"
Silence. Time blurred.
Hours—
or minutes—
meant nothing.
Then—
Light.
Far away.
A golden beam—
cutting through the gray.
Shura's breath hitched.
Something about it—
felt wrong.
Familiar.
Ren shifted him slightly.
"Orin," he said flatly, "drop the bow."
Orin didn't move.
"I'm pointing it at you ," he replied.
A beat.
"Monster."
Zenkyou didn't turn.
"Not now."
Her voice cut clean.
"We move."
A pause.
"To the Ossuarium."
"Then we talk."
Yura glanced at Shura.
Her expression—
warm.
And afraid.
Shura closed his eyes again.
Not from sleep.
From weight.
From questions—
that no longer had answers.
But deep inside—
beneath the pain—
beneath the silence—
The Viora still burned.
And the world below—
was listening.