“Why…?”

  His bloodied hands trembled uncontrollably as he stared out over the vast, shattered wasteland stretching endlessly before him. The ground beneath was slick with crimson—a gruesome sea of blood that soaked into the ruined stones and toppled walls. Around him, buildings lay in ruins, their collapse echoing faintly through the suffocating silence, as if the earth itself mourned the devastation. Scattered across the wreckage were the broken bodies of children, women, and men—crushed beneath the rubble, frozen in a final, haunting moment of despair. Some lay utterly still, lifeless; others moaned feebly, their weak cries swallowed by the dust-thick air, as if swallowed by the very shadows of ruin.

  His knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground, raw and trembling. He vomited violently, dry heaves wracking his frail frame, his silent sobs shaking him to his core. Guilt bore down on him like a crushing weight heavier than any he had ever known—an unbearable burden as if the hands of every life he had ended were reaching out from the dust, dragging him deeper into despair.

  He hadn’t meant to kill them.

  He hadn’t wanted this destruction.

  It wasn’t him—

  It was—

  A bitter wave of nausea rose again, choking him. His body convulsed uncontrollably, trembling with helplessness and remorse.

  Suddenly, the sharp sound of footsteps cracked through the heavy silence behind him.

  A figure emerged—a man untouched by the carnage surrounding them. His eyes were calm and cold, distant and unyielding, an unshakable presence amidst the ruin.

  “So, it seems you have done it,” the man said quietly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm.

  The trembling figure’s bloodshot eyes lifted, meeting the stranger’s unwavering gaze.

  “Don’t be sad,” the man continued softly. “You did it for the Creator.” Slowly, his hands rose toward the darkened sky, as if in solemn offering to a higher power.

  “Don’t you remember?” His voice deepened, low and firm. “Don’t you remember who you are?”

  Before the question could settle in his mind, the trembling figure convulsed violently. His eyes snapped wide open, glowing an unnatural, piercing blue that cut through the dusk like blades forged from light. A surge of raw, primal power erupted from within him—waves of brilliant light spilling outward, radiating so intensely they were visible even to the distant horizon beyond the wasteland.

  The air around them grew frigid, thickening unnaturally as an icy veil spread across the land. The temperature plummeted sharply; the very earth groaned beneath his feet, trembling as if in terror under the weight of the ancient power awakening within him.

  The man stumbled backward, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the force unleashed.

  Around them, the world began to unravel—the ruins crumbled further, the bodies dissolved into dust, the very air itself fragmented into swirling particles that vanished into nothingness, as if erased from existence.

  The figure rose slowly, electricity crackling and roaring like a storm raging about him. His voice shattered the oppressive silence with a deafening, earth-shattering scream:

  "I AM—"

  “DEATH.”

  The Extinction Event—

  A single cataclysmic moment that wiped the land of Zephyria clean of life.

  A name whispered in fragmented legends. A truth buried beneath ash and silence.

  You might wonder how it began.

  To find the answer, we must turn back—

  Back to a time when hope and fear stood side by side.

  "A Wanderer."

  "A figure chosen by God."

  Destined to carry countless titles—some spoken with reverence, others whispered in fear.

  Yet, the prophecy that foretold this being’s coming was incomplete and cryptic.

  It did not reveal whether the Wanderer would be the savior of the world or its harbinger of destruction.

  This uncertainty bred fear—an unease so profound humanity steeled itself for both possibilities.

  Over centuries, restless vigilance reshaped the very fabric of civilization. Ancient orders rose from the ashes of forgotten wars, their members dedicating lifetimes to mastering the arcane and the divine. Powers once hidden in myth were uncovered, studied, and honed with relentless precision.

  Zephyria, the continent that bore witness to these transformations, evolved beyond recognition. Mana, once a raw and untamed force, deepened into something denser and more complex—an essence that defied mortal comprehension. It shifted, flowed, and fractured in ways that blurred the lines between magic, spirit, and life itself.

  Across the land, great academies emerged—towering citadels of knowledge and power. Their spires pierced the skies, a testament to mankind’s relentless pursuit of mastery over mana’s infinite mysteries. Scholars and warriors alike trained beneath these vaulted halls, ascending through a rigorous hierarchy of skill: from the humble E-rank to the exalted S-rank. Each rank marked a milestone in the pursuit of magical excellence, a step closer to understanding the enigmatic force binding their world.

  Beyond even these ranks, in hushed tones and fearful glances, was spoken a name few dared to utter—Cerdas. It was a realm of power so profound that it existed only in shadowed legend, a pinnacle of mastery reserved for those who transcended mortal limits.

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  Yet, time was unforgiving.

  Generations passed like fleeting shadows, and what began as urgent preparation settled into ritualized routine. The fervor that once gripped the hearts of many grew dull, and the prophecy slowly slipped from the collective memory of Zephyria’s people. It was reduced to a bedtime story, a myth recounted to children but dismissed by scholars and rulers alike.

  Then, one day, the world itself rebelled.

  The earth trembled violently beneath the feet of its inhabitants, shaking cities to their foundations. The sky darkened as if swallowed by an encroaching void, blotting out the sun and stars alike. Mountains cracked and shattered, their ancient bones laid bare, while oceans roared and swallowed entire coastlines.

  From this cataclysmic upheaval, something stirred—an ancient force awakening from slumber, answering the long-forgotten call.

  The Wanderer had arrived.

  With the arrival came a new era—one fraught with uncertainty and awe, where destinies would be forged and shattered. The fate of Zephyria, and perhaps the world itself, now hung in the balance, poised on the edge of an unknown future shaped by the power and purpose of the one they had awaited for centuries.

  In a town reduced to rubble—

  The fragile silence of the ruined home was shattered by a thin, desperate voice.

  “Mommy? Where are you, Mommy?”

  A tiny girl clawed frantically at the cold, jagged stones beneath her. Her small hands trembled, scraping against rough edges as dust and debris clung to her skin. Tears streaked down her face, mixing with the grime and sweat of fear and exhaustion. The heavy air hung thick with smoke and dust, muted by the weight of destruction.

  Above, the cracked and crumbling walls groaned ominously, threatening to collapse entirely. The faint sound of distant rubble shifting echoed like the slow ticking of a dark clock counting down.

  Suddenly, stone and dust began to rain down in a deadly cascade. The girl froze beneath the looming shadow of falling ruin, her breath caught in her throat.

  Then—impact.

  A sharp gasp escaped her lips, though she felt no pain. Instead, a warm, protective presence enveloped her, shielding her from the worst of the destruction.

  When she opened her eyes, a figure stood above her.

  A young adventurer, battered and bleeding, his worn armor scarred from battle. His face was etched with exhaustion and fierce determination.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said gently, struggling to catch his breath. “Where are your parents?”

  Tears spilled freely from her dirt-smudged cheeks as she whispered, “I—I don’t know.”

  Darkness seemed to press even closer around them as the adventurer’s eyes darkened with weariness and resolve. Suddenly, a broad-shouldered, battle-worn man sprinted into view.

  “Nolan! Over here!”

  “You found someone?” Nolan called urgently.

  “Yeah. I'll Get somewhere safe. Meanwhile you look for ber parents they might still be alive.”

  Nolan crouched down, offering his hand with a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, little one. We’ll find your parents.”

  Together, they vanished into the swirling haze of dust and ruin.

  But Nolan’s gaze lingered, drawn to a faint blue glow flickering deep inside the collapsed building nearby. Compelled by an unseen force, he ran toward it.

  The light pulsed softly, like a heartbeat calling out in the darkness.

  Clearing rubble with care, Nolan called in a low, cautious voice, “Hello? Anyone there?”

  Only an eerie hum replied, vibrating faintly through the silence.

  Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.

  Tall and impossibly slender, yet profoundly wrong. Its limbs bent at unnatural angles, the skin cracked and gray like burnt clay left to crumble in the sun.

  Where a face should have been, dark smoke swirled endlessly—a hollow void pierced only by two burning blue eyes that blazed with cold, unyielding fire.

  Nolan froze, sword trembling in his grasp, the chill of dread crawling down his spine.

  “What… are you?” he whispered, barely daring to speak.

  The figure tilted its smoky head—if such a thing existed—leaning closer, until those fiery eyes hovered mere inches from his own, burning with relentless intensity.

  Its voice was a terrifying blend of whispers and thunder, echoing from the abyss itself.

  “You… are perfect.”

  Fear twisted Nolan’s gut into knots, his breath caught in his throat. “P-perfect? What do you mean—”

  Before he could finish, the creature’s hand shot forward with impossible speed and crushing strength, gripping his face like iron.

  His scream was silenced almost before it began, muffled by the dark grip as he was lifted off the ground, struggling hopelessly.

  “You will serve,” it hissed, voice like grinding stone and venom, “as the perfect conscience for God’s usage.”

  Bones shattered with sickening cracks, each snap echoing like a death knell in the cold silence.

  Limb by limb, the creature tore Nolan apart with merciless precision until only shredded remnants clung to its grasp.

  Then, as if savoring its grim triumph, it smiled—a chilling expression without a mouth.

  A faint, cold whisper lingered in the air, a haunting echo that seeped into the ruins and the very soul of the night:

  “Perfect.”

  Two days after the earthquake—

  A newborn’s cry shattered the stillness of a small, candlelit home—a fragile sound that echoed with the promise of new life.

  Ella sat quietly, cradling her infant son in trembling arms. Sweat mingled with tears on her face as she softly hummed a lullaby, her voice a soothing balm against the uncertainty of the world outside. Each note was laced with love, hope, and a silent prayer for the child she held so gently.

  Beside her, Zekra knelt, exhaustion etched into his features, but his eyes shone with a fierce pride and tenderness. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from the baby’s brow with a reverence that spoke of a man who understood the weight of this moment.

  “How beautiful… our son,” Ella whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “He looks just like you.”

  Zekra smiled, warmth radiating from his tired eyes. “Have you thought of a name?” he asked softly.

  Ella’s gaze softened even further, her heart swelling as she looked down at the tiny life resting against her chest. “Dliva,” she breathed.

  “Dliva,” Zekra repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with certainty and affection. “It suits him perfectly.”

  The baby stirred slightly, soothed by the quiet harmony of his parents’ voices and the gentle flicker of candlelight dancing on the walls.

  But as the candle’s flame flickered once more, a shadow seemed to deepen in the room. Darkness pressed closer, thickening the air with an unseen presence.

  Then, from the depths of silence, a voice echoed inside the child’s mind—ancient and otherworldly, neither human nor kind. It rolled like distant thunder and whispered like the wind weaving through the cracks of the world.

  “Listen, child of flesh,” the voice commanded softly, yet with undeniable authority.

  “I have chosen you. You will be the Wanderer.”

  “Follow my commands, and power beyond imagining shall be yours.”

  The infant’s eyelids fluttered, a spark of awareness igniting within his sleepy gaze as the room seemed to thrum with a divine energy, invisible yet palpable.

  “Your first task: learn.”

  “Every book. Every tale. Every secret hidden in this world—devour them all.”

  The voice paused, its presence folding over the world like a dark, looming shadow.

  Then, with the weight of destiny pressing upon every syllable, it declared:

  “Your path begins here…”

  “Wanderer.”

  In that moment, the fragile new life held in Ella’s arms was no longer just a child. He was the vessel of a fate far greater than anyone could see—a destiny that would shape the very future of the world itself.