The valley of Ka-Ran stood beneath a blood-orange sky. Smoke coiled into the heavens like dying prayers, and an unnatural silence weighed upon the land. On the surface, it was a village like any other—but in truth, it was the last bastion of mortal defiance.
They had once stood triumphant. The first generation of heroes—Toma, Mira, Aran, and Lio—symbols of hope, wielders of ancient gifts bestowed by Gaia herself.
But hope does not win wars. Power does.
And from the Abyss, Shinsui's monsters returned.
Not by his command.
Not by malice.
But by instinct—by hunger. By the natural balance of chaos.
They had learned. They had evolved. And now they came not as scattered beasts, but as a united tribe.
The Demon Tribe.
A horn blew in the dark. The monsters surged forward—thousands upon thousands—surrounding Ka-Ran like a plague of shadows.
---
The battle was short.
Toma was the first to fall. Though he broke bones and shattered jaws, he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. His roar shook the heavens, but no one answered.
Mira loosed her final arrow, then died with her dagger buried in a monster's throat.
Aran held the last gate alone, fire blazing across his sword. But fire, too, dies when there's no air left to feed it.
Lio, barely seventeen, raised a final barrier of light. It cracked… then shattered.
Their souls rose like embers.
And were drawn toward the heavens.
---
High above, in Heaven, Gaia stood at the edge of her celestial realm, her white robes untouched by the mortal world's chaos. Beside her, leaning lazily against the silver balcony, was Shinsui, his cloak of shadow wrapped like mist around him.
"Well," he said, watching the village fall, "That was a bit… dramatic."
"They fought bravely," Gaia replied, her voice like flowing water.
"And died meaninglessly," he added, grinning.
Gaia turned her eyes to him—not in anger, but in understanding. "There is no such thing as a meaningless death, Shinsui. Especially not to me."
Shinsui raised a brow. "Ah. So this is about your little god project, then?"
She smiled.
Below them, the souls of the dead rose like glowing motes of light, pulled by a gentle divine current. Gaia extended her hand, and the souls obeyed.
"They were forged in suffering, tempered by courage, and purified by sacrifice," she said softly. "Ideal vessels."
"For…?"
"My gods," Gaia whispered. "I will give shape to the divine. Heaven will need guardians. Keepers of order. These souls are the seed."
Shinsui chuckled. "And here I thought I was the manipulative one."
"You're the chaotic one," Gaia said with a smirk. "I simply make use of what you scatter."
He gave her a look, half amused, half curious. "So we're playing our own little game, then?"
"We always have been."
---
Far below, the people of Ka-Ran fled.
Fathers carried their children. Mothers screamed for their sons. Elders led what few could still walk, vanishing into the caves and forests, desperate to escape the oncoming tide.
The Demon Tribe stood victorious.
Their flags rose high. Their howls echoed across valleys.
The Dark Age had begun.
---
Shinsui looked out over the chaos. "You know, I didn't plan any of this."
"I know," Gaia said.
"And I don't really care who wins."
"I know that too."
"And yet, you gained something."
"I always do."
Shinsui grinned. "You're more dangerous than I am."
"And you love that."
They stood together—goddess of light, god of paradox—watching the world they would not yet touch.
Below, the monsters ruled.
Above, the gods began to stir.
And in the middle… humanity trembled.