In the depths of a lush green forest, a family was running—gasping, desperate.
Behind them, beastmen armed with bolt-action rifles closed in, step by step.
Clad in thick hides, their eyes glinted with hunger. For them, this wasn't just a hunt—it was entertainment. But for the Sharkows, it was life and death.
The moment of silence shattered as the beastmen raised their rifles and pulled the trigger.
Gunshots echoed through the trees, drowning the scent of blooming flowers with the acrid stench of gunpowder.
A man running at the rear—limping, trying to shield his family—was hit.
The beastmen laughed and praised their shooter. They smelled blood, and they wanted more.
The wounded man, knowing his end had come, turned one last time to his family.
Zephyr: "Astrid, run! I'll hold them off! Achlalt, Axel, Ashel—never forget this day. A man must be strong as stone... and cunning as a fox!"
The children cried out, "Father!"—but their voices were drowned by another sharp crack.
Their mother's head exploded before their eyes, splattering red across the grass.
Frozen in horror, the boys stood still, until—
"GO FORWARD, MY SONS!" Zephyr shouted, raising his weapon toward the beastmen.
Achlalt moved first. With tears streaming down his face, he grabbed his younger brothers and ran. They didn't look back.
Their legs burned. Their lungs screamed. But they didn't stop—until they were met by a towering wall.
Their small bodies trembled. Hearts pounded. Gunfire echoed behind them.
Still, they ran along the wall. They didn't dare stop.
Behind them, the beastmen came closer. Red eyes. Twitching noses. Growling like wild dogs.
And then... salvation.
Guards stationed at the wall spotted the children and stepped in. Gunfire erupted, but this time, it was to protect.
The boys kept running.
They didn't cry. They didn't speak. They simply moved forward—like machines.
When they finally reached the end of the wall, a massive gate stood before them.
As they stepped through, they saw the settlement—alive, breathing.
Single-story houses made of stone and clay lined the streets. In the center stood a tall, three-story building that loomed over the others like a silent guardian.
Sharkow residents passed by, chatting about daily life. When they saw the three boys, they stopped... only for a moment. Then they looked away and returned to their business.
The boys said nothing. And no one said anything to them.
They just walked forward.
As the boys followed the guards, the ground beneath their feet turned to cracked, sunbaked dirt. The further they walked from the center, the older and more worn-down the buildings became.
The grand central homes gave way to wooden shacks and patched-up huts. Eventually, they arrived at a small, crooked house with holes where windows should have been—stuffed with thin paper, barely holding.
A wooden fence surrounded a tiny patch of grass where a few struggling plants grew. The roof was sealed with layers of straw and moss to keep rain from seeping in.
One of the guards turned to them.
Guard: "This... is your new home. We'd stay longer, but we can't leave our post unguarded. If you need help, ask the man living in the house across from here."
The boys stood silent, still numb from everything that had happened. They didn't even blink as the guards walked away.
Not long after, they gathered what little strength they had and walked into the hut.
Inside, there were only a few rickety chairs, a small wooden table, and some broken shelves.
They sat.
They said nothing.
And then... a voice.
A girl's voice, cheerful, soft, and curious.
Girl: "Hey... are you here to live?"
Achlalt looked up. In front of him stood a girl with glowing eyes, her long hair tied in two neat braids. She had a warm smile and the kind of presence that made the silence feel less heavy.
Girl: "My name's Runa. What's yours?"
Achlalt hesitated.
Runa: "Come on, say something. We're neighbors, after all. Shouldn't we at least get to know each other?"
Achlalt still didn't answer.
Runa: "I don't know what you've been through... but don't forget, you're still a kid. The past hurts—but let's try living in the present, okay?"
Her words, simple as they were, cracked something deep inside him.
Tears fell. Achlalt sobbed silently, unable to hold back the flood anymore.
He didn't say a word—but she didn't need him to.
Runa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth melted the frozen shell of his heart, and instinctively, he hugged her back—tight.
Time seemed to stop.
In that moment, Achlalt felt like someone—something—had descended from the heavens just to find him.
Achlalt: "...Achlalt."
A year had passed.
Fifteen-year-old Achlalt stepped out of a crooked little hut at the village's edge. His once-empty eyes now held something more—resolve.
Achlalt: "Axel, Asher. Wake up. Morning's here. Come eat before the food gets cold."
Inside, his two younger brothers grumbled under the worn-out blankets. Asher was two years younger than Achlalt, and Axel—the baby of the family—was three years younger.
Their table was handmade, uneven, and wobbly. The spoons were carved from old scraps of wood. Yet despite everything, the three of them sat around it like a family.
Their breakfast was barely more than a greenish soup, thin and meatless.
Axel: "Big bro… when do you think we'll get to eat real food like the village chief?"
Achlalt gave a faint smile.
Achlalt: "Someday soon. We're outsiders now, but that'll change. I'll earn us a place here. You'll see."
Axel: "Really? When?"
Achlalt: "I don't know exactly… but I promise you, not long."
Axel: "Alright! I'll wait!"
Asher: "Enough talking. Eat before it gets cold."
After breakfast, Axel and Asher ran off toward the village gates to play, full of energy.
Achlalt lingered by the doorway, watching them go. A small smile tugged at his lips. They were growing. They were surviving.
He made his way toward a nearby house—larger, sturdier, and better maintained. It belonged to Azriel, the only person in the village who had truly looked out for them.
A man in his sixties, Azriel wasn't born here either. Maybe that's why he cared so much.
Achlalt knocked and stepped inside.
Achlalt: "Good morning."
Azriel: "You're early. Sit."
The home was filled with polished wooden furniture. Not a speck of dust in sight—Azriel kept it immaculate.
But to Achlalt, the place felt... too perfect. Too clean. Too still. He couldn't relax.
Azriel poured him a cup of tea and sat beside him.
Azriel: "So. What's on your mind?"
Achlalt: "I'm being sent out on a scout mission today. Just wanted to let you know."
Azriel: "Ah. That's today, huh? Wait here—I've got something for you."
Achlalt sipped the tea, glancing around the house. The door creaked open behind him. A familiar voice cut in.
Runa: "ACHLALT! You ate the pork without me?!"
Achlalt nearly choked.
Achlalt: "W-Wait! I can explain!"
Runa: "You said we'd eat it together, you pig!"
She slapped him on the shoulder, mock-angry. At that moment, Azriel returned, shaking his head with a chuckle.
Azriel: "Take it outside, kids. Don't wreck my house."
Runa: "Zaaa~ fine."
Azriel handed over a wrapped package.
Azriel: "Some dried meat. Take it for the road."
Achlalt: "Thanks, Azriel. I won't forget this."
Azriel: "You never do. You're good like that."
Runa eyed the meat hungrily.
Runa: "Don't forget our deal."
Achlalt: "What deal…? Wait, wait! I'll share, alright?!"
Runa: "You'd better."
Azriel grinned as the two bickered like siblings.
Azriel: "You two really brighten up this old shack. Alright, get going. My poor house can't handle your drama."
They laughed, stepping out into the sunlight.
Runa: "Hey… mind if I take my share now?"
Achlalt let out a long sigh.
Achlalt: "Go ahead…"
Runa cheered, happily snatching her portion.
Runa: "You better come back safe, dummy. We still have meat to share, y'know?"
Achlalt: "Yeah. I'll be back."
Azriel came to see him off. As they walked down the dusty path, a booming voice rang from above.
It was Xerex, the village leader, giving a public announcement from a raised platform.
Xerex: "My people! I gift you one hectare of fertile land from the White River basin. Use it well—bring us greater harvests!"
The villagers erupted in cheer.
Crowd: "Long live mighty Xerex!"
Achlalt turned to Azriel.
Achlalt: "That's… generous of him, isn't it?"
Azriel's smile faded.
Azriel: "That land once belonged to the people. Until Eldric, the last leader, died and Xerex took control. He claimed it all for himself. Since then, the number of Sharkows has been steadily declining…"
He looked up at the looming gate ahead.
Azriel: "But it was thanks to that land we survived in this cruel world. Don't forget that."
They reached the village gate—2.5 meters high, five meters wide. Heavy. Ominous.
Achlalt: "Alright, Azriel. I'm heading out."
Azriel: "Take care of yourself, little brother. And tell me everything you see when you get back."
Achlalt: "You got it. Bye!"