In a time when chaos reigned over the world, humans were subjected to slavery by so-called gods and demons—beings unlike anything we had ever seen.
The gods had an imposing appearance, carrying with them an almost untouchable beauty. Their eyes shone like stars, their skin radiated light, and they wore golden or white garments. Always surrounded by a celestial aura, they inspired both respect and fear.
The demons, on the other hand, bore bodies of various shapes. Some were thin, others grotesquely fat. Their sharp claws, lizard-like scaly tails, tattered black wings, and horns—ranging from one to four—stood out on their foreheads.
Despite their differences, all demons shared one thing in common: a tattoo in the shape of an ouroboros engraved on their foreheads, a mark of their origin. They came to inhabit our world for reasons still unknown to this day.
It was during this period that a war broke out between the two races, known as the War of the Rulers, which lasted a century, around the mid-19th century.
At that time, two beings—a demon and a goddess—chose to stand against the apocalypse that had been unleashed on Earth by a war that had nothing to do with humans.
The goddess radiated serenity and kindness. Her skin was as delicate as porcelain, and her long blonde hair flowed down to her waist, dancing with the wind. She fought against all forms of destruction, always defending the innocent.
At her side was the demon, whose power was so great he could alter his physical form at will. He chose the appearance of a strong man with a thick beard, straight hair with slightly spiked ends. His black garments fluttered like shadows amid battle.
He wielded no weapons—his hands, wrapped in dense and visible magic, were all he needed to defeat any enemy.
Together, these two beings sacrificed their lives to confront and eliminate the leaders of the gods and demons, thus ending the war. Even so, the races remained on Earth. The reason? That mystery persists to this day.
One day, while walking along the dry, dusty trails toward the hospital, Kenji Tatsuya let his thoughts drift between memories and worries. The weight of reality seemed to grow with each step, mixing his fears with longing.
The village, hidden among mountain valleys and surrounded by dense forests, resisted as best it could through times ravaged by war. The dirt streets were covered in cart tracks and dried footprints—testimonies of a heavy, endless routine.
Some houses, built from wood and stone, were worn down, fighting time with slanted roofs and improvised straw patches. The scars from the War of the Rulers were still visible, with cracks and holes on the walls.
The adults, in contrast, walked in silence, with slow steps and weary eyes.
Amid it all, Kenji walked with a simple yet striking appearance. His practical, earth-toned leather outfit was marked by dust and sweat from work.
His messy black hair reached down to his ears, with a tousled fringe that highlighted his serious, determined gaze. Around his neck, a cord with a shimmering blue crystal reflected subtly—like a reminder of something he still held close to his heart.
As he walked, he heard a familiar voice coming from the opposite side of the road, among old stalls covered with yellowed cloths from age.
— Hey Kenji — said Ryota Tatsumi, waving with a calm expression.
Ryota, his best friend since childhood, was easily recognized by his snow-white hair, falling just above his eyes in slightly spiked strands. His eyes, a translucent and intense white, resembled the sharp gleam of ice.
Even in the region's constant heat, he wore thin, lightweight sweaters, as if the cold were part of him. That's because his natural ability involved manipulating ice, something his body carried since childhood.
Like Kenji, he wore durable pants and leather boots, but what stood out the most was the small leaf-shaped earring hanging from his ear—a symbol of the Tatsumi family lineage.
— Are you doing okay? — Ryota added, smiling when he saw his friend carrying a bag.
— Hey Ryota — Kenji replied with a discreet smile — Yeah, I'm heading to the hospital to visit my sister.
— It's been a few days since the last time, hasn't it?
— Four days, to be exact.
Ryota looked at the bag curiously before asking:
— Are you still working for Mr. Tomoji?
Kenji looked away for a second before replying:
— Well, he's older and needs help with the heavy ores... besides, I need the money to pay for the hospital, remember?
Tomoji is a man who employed Kenji; he owns a factory that separates ores to be sold and recycled as weapons for the government.
Worried about Kenji, Ryota sighed, but respected his decision:
— Alright, just be careful, okay? Since you didn't want me to talk to my dad to try to get you another job, there's not much I can do either.
Kenji let out a light sigh, as if he felt like a burden to his friend:
— Sorry for the trouble.
— Haha, no worries. Well, I'll get going now. Take care, alright?
— I will. See you later.
On his way to the hospital, Kenji passed through one of the most devastated neighborhoods in Gokayama, where the scars of the War of the Rulers were still visible. Ruined houses, broken walls, and debris everywhere marked the landscape.
Twisted trees grew where gardens once bloomed, and the air seemed to carry remnants of the energy from back then. It was there that he saw a barefoot child, dressed in rags and visibly starving. Without hesitation, he took an apple from his bag and handed it to the girl. She smiled and thanked him with a shy sparkle in her eyes.