Rooftop | Shinjuku | Night
A cool night wind sweeps across the rooftop terrace, making yellowed ad posters flutter in the backyard below. The terrace itself is nothing more than raw concrete, enclosed by a chest-high railing of brushed steel. Tiny shards of glass sparkle between the gravel—silent witnesses of broken beer bottles from past nights. In the distance, the endless glow of the Shinjuku skyline shines; flickering holograms dance across skyscraper as if trying to drive away the full moon—in vain.
A boy in a blood-red jacket stands by the railing. The hood is only half up, letting the moonlight highlight the delicate rose pattern on the back and sleeves, as if it had just been drawn in fresh ink. His hair, also ruby red, falls in thick strands that the wind stubbornly blows into his face. Black cargo pants with brass-colored clips and worn-out sneakers complete the dark street look.
A few steps away, another boy is sitting on the railing. The jacket wrapped around his slim torso shines like liquid metal; each fold reflects silvery light upon the concrete. Under the hood shimmers silver-white hair, which vibrate in the breeze like shards of ice. His fingertips tap impatiently against the railing—tik tik tik—a metallic echo that cuts through the silence.
The silver-haired boy looks up, his voice rough and almost sleepy.
"Full moon again, Lucil…"
Lucil flips open a slim metal case; the silicone lining rustles as he reveals a row of cigarettes. Clack—shft. With a crooked grin, he holds one up between two fingers.
"You in, Silver?"
Silver waves it off, as if the smell alone were enough.
"Not a fan of smoking. Let's talk about the plan instead, yeah?"
Lucil's lips twitch—a smile, half joke, half warning.
"The plan…? Real simple: we take each other out."
Silver rolls his eyes silently, his hood bobbing with the motion.
"Bro, seriously? This again?"
Suddenly, the spotlight of a police helicopter sweeps across the edge of the rooftop, casting Lucil's rose pattern into frost-clear light for a brief moment. He shrugs his shoulders, as if he had expected exactly that.
"Until then, we just keep on living. You're protecting someone too, aren't you?"
Silver leans back.
"Yeah. And you?"
For a heartbeat, both remain silent.
Lucil sighs, but the fire in his eyes doesn't fade.
"We never lose sight of the plan."
Silver nods, his voice now as hard as titanium.
"Then let's make sure both of ours stay safe. Less headache, more focus."
He lowers his voice to a whisper, as if Berlin were a cursed word.
"Berlin can't repeat again…"
Lucil's expression hardens, yet sparks of determination flicker in his eyes.
"It won't. Everything's in place. It's going to be a tough run."
Lucil and Silver lean against the railing, moonlight carving sharp contours into their faces.
Silver lifts his head, his gaze trailing along the silvery stars.
"How did all of this even start?"
Lucil shuts his eyes close, as if listening to a distant voice.
"I only remember a desert," he says, soft as polished sand.
"I… a stony city," murmurs Silver, and the wind carries the words away.
Lucil laughs dryly.
"It's all too much at once. No one can expect us to know when it began."
Silver pulls a face.
"Fact is: it keeps going until we pull off the plan."
The glow of Lucil's cigarette flares up one last time, then he flicks it into the void.
"How old are you now?"
"Seventeen."
"Sixteen," replies Lucil, placing one foot on the railing. For a breath moment, he balances over the depth as if nothing could hold him.
"In two years, everything goes into motion. See you there."
With a flawless grin, he pushes off and vanishes into the darkness.
Silver takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and jumps after him.
Two shadows detach silently from the edge of the rooftop.
Two Years Later — Headquarters of the Red Dragon Clan
A sprawling manor nestles in the suburbs, crowned by a bronze emblem: a dragon curled around a sword. Behind the cherrywood veranda, a living space opens up—vast as a hall. Beside it a dojo stretches, it's tatami mats scented with rice straw and incense. Upstairs lie the family's rooms, simple yet masterfully crafted in wood.
A girl with blue-red hair darts across the floorboards. Her white dress, embroidered with roses, flutters like a banner, ruby-red eyes sparkling.
"Mai! Don't run!" calls a woman from the kitchen—long blue hair, sweater, apron.
Mai's response is the sharp slam of a sliding door. She storms up the stairs, throws open Lucil's door as if her life depends on it.
"Lucil! Get up!"
The room looks like a battlefield: a splintered wall gapes toward the morning sun, clothes are strewn everywhere, a futon half unrolled. A single charging cable stoically feeds an old phone.
Lucil surfaces from under the covers—disheveled, in a tank top and shorts. Without a word, he pulls on black pants, a white shirt, and his red jacket on which roses glowing along the back.
Mai crosses her arms.
"You're oversleeping!"
"It just starts in half an hour," he replies calmly.
"I thought, we train!"
"Today's a rest day, Mai."
He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a rose-shaped hair clip, and places it in her hair.
"Hey... what's going on?"
"Take good care of it," he whispers.
Mai's cheeks flush, but her stomach growls. Without hesitation, she grabs Lucil's hand and pulls him downstairs toward the living area. He lets himself be pulled – half amused, half touched – and as he watches her overflow with energy, a trace of warmth sneaks into his gaze.
They drift down into the living space. Books in foreign scripts line the shelving walls from floor to ceiling; etched runes, jagged glyphs, flowing brushstrokes. In the center stands a low wooden table, already set: steaming bowls of rice, miso-scented soup cups, artfully arranged omelet roses.
Rei – Mai and Lucil's mother – moves briskly around the table, an apron over her white sweater, arranging the plates like sculptures. A glow lights up her face as she sees the two enter.
Then the sliding door opens a second time. A man in a snow-white suit steps in, a dragon of golden silk winding around lapels and cuffs. Short black hair, dark blue eyes deep as ink wells. His name is Ryujin. With heavy steps, he approaches the table – every movement deliberate, as if he were already wearing armor.
Lucil raises a hand.
"Mai, I'll head out first—"
"Mama, Lucil's eating with us!" Mai cuts him off and beams like she's just declared checkmate.
Rei pumps a triumphant fist into the air.
"Ha! Caught you!"
Lucil sighs and takes a seat—directly across from his father. Ryujin's gaze is cold steel.
"What's eating you, old man?" Lucil acts effortless, but the air is tense.
Ryujin's voice rumbles.
"You're missing the preparations. The White Dragons are marching."
Lucil yawns exaggeratedly, leaning back.
"They're always marching."
A twitch flickers across Ryujin's face; his hand shoots forward—a slap incoming. But Lucil catches his wrist as if reaching a falling feather. His fingers are cold, unmoving.
"Breathe in and out. Father."
"Just because you're a prodigy doesn't mean your ego—" Ryujin begins.
"—supports a pointless conflict?" Lucil's voice stays flat.
The old dragon rears up, rage burning in his eyes.
"The White Dragons are clawing at the crown of our little world! And you—"
"You're really risking death just for a seat in the tower?" Lucil glances toward Rei.
"I like Mai. I like Mother. That's enough for me."
Ryujin's shoulders slump.
"You'll fight with us. You're irreplaceable."
Lucil rises, not having touched a single bite. But then Mai's warm hand wraps around his fingers.
"Not today, Lucil," she whispers.
He simply nods.
"Understood."
Morning light floods the room.
Rei steps to the table and places two steaming omelets on rustic ceramic plates.
Ryujin keeps his eyes locked on his son.
"You're still teaching Mai, aren't you?"
Lucil scratches the back of his head.
"Yeah. Is that wrong?"
"Mai is a woman. She should serve, not… learn magic." Ryujin's voice trails off into a reluctant growl.
Lucil gives a thin smile.
"Right—old tradition crap. Don't worry, Ryujin. She's learning my magic."
Ryujin strokes his chin, his gaze jumps between the faces of his family. Finally, he lets out a long breath.
"I tolerate a lot, Lucil. But we will fight—the White Dragons…"
Lucil picks up his fork and tastes his omelet like he has all the time in the world.
Rei places a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, Ryujin, talk about something else. All this hatred will swallow you."
Ryujin sighs and lowers his head.
"Understood. …I'm sorry, Rei."
A shadow flashes across Ryujin's face—barely there. Lucil glances at his sister, whose eyes shine peacefully in the morning light.
"To protect something… right?" he murmurs.
He finishes his plate, stands, and gives a short bow. Mai jumps up and follows him to the door.
"Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!"
Rei stays behind at the table, her gaze resting on Ryujin's clenched hands.
"Ryujin, you know this means death in the end. Lucil is strong, but the White Dragons have Silver. Wouldn't it be better if we just leave and live?"
Ryujin closes his eyes. Behind his lids, images flicker: a dojo in flames, faceless people falling.
"It's not that simple. They'd hunt - and kill us."
Rei presses her hand to her chest.
"And we do the same."
"I can't help it, Rei." His voice trembles, but the resolve doesn't break.
"I'll do whatever it takes to wipe them out."
Rei runs her fingers along the wooden table, as if searching it for answers.
"Life is more than hate. Do you understand that?"
Ryujin looks aside, his forehead wrinkled deep with tension.
"And even if I do - our actions will never be forgiven."
A long, heavy breath passes through the quiet room, before Rei finally just sighs.
Downtown Tokyo — Café Golden Monkey
The Café Golden Monkey feels like a relic from another time. Dark wood paneling lines the walls, fine gold details shimmer softly under the lamps. Between Victorian ornaments, there's a hint of magic in the air.
Lucil and Mai have taken a seat by the window, silently watching the bustling world outside.
"Are you making progress?" Lucil finally asks.
Mai nods.
"Yes, a little. Thank you for teaching me."
"You're not allowed to learn the family techniques," he reminds her. "That's why - rose arts."
"To be honest, those brutal techniques are nothing compared to the roses you're showing me," Mai says quietly. "They feel thorny - and strong."
Lucil watches the streams of passersby rushing past the window; Mai follows his gaze.
A few minutes later, Silver and a silver-haired woman enter the café. Silver wears a light silver jacket and shirt, with white trousers and silver-white dress shoes. At his side appears a beauty with light green eyes and flawless white-painted nails. Her loosely falling silver dress bears a moon engraving; her long hair is held back by a moon-shaped clip. White thigh-highs and silver heels complete the look.
They reach the table.
"You're late," Mai remarks.
Silver laughs.
"She had to glam up - looking sharp when meeting her arch-enemies."
Lucil raises an eyebrow.
"Cool. Does she still want to kill me?"
The girl—Ruin—cracks her knuckles, pulls the moon clip like a blade, and holds it to Lucil's throat.
"Cool. Ruin, chill out." Lucil says calmly.
"Yeah, beautiful day," Silver agrees.
Ruin exhales deeply, puts the clip back in her hair, and sits down beside Mai; Silver takes the seat next to Lucil.
Lucil pulls a necklace with a rose emblem from his pocket. His eyes glow ruby red as he breathes in and out.
"Rose Illusion."
Petals dance across the table, swirling tighter and tighter until they weave a subtle illusion barrier. To outsiders, their table now appears empty - the world of mages remains hidden.
Mai, Silver, and Ruin watch the scene curiously.
"The Rose Mage," Silver murmurs.
The pendant in Lucil's hand flares to life.
"No one should notice our world," Lucil says.
"Hmm… so why meet here of all places?" Ruin asks.
Silver glances at her.
"It's almost time. Our clans want war."
"Yes, and rightfully so!" Ruin snaps. She grabs a fork and points it at Lucil like an accusation.
The illusion of swirling rose petals encases the table like a silk-fine bell. Only those sensitive to magic might sense it; for everyone else, the spot remains empty. Between the scent of dark coffee and caramelized sugar, the air shimmers like a summer afternoon.
Lucil rests his arm on the table, studying Ruin over the edge of his glowing red eyes.
"Why are you so ready to brawl? No, I'm definitely not eager for war. Same old blue-eyed propaganda - Silver could write a song about it."
Silver shrugs.
"They don't know the weight of war."
Mai giggles softly, but the smile fades as tension returns to the group.
"We're the same age," Silver continues. "And we're friends—brothers. Why should we slaughter each other? It makes no sense."
Lucil leans forward.
"Give me one logical reason."
Ruin lifts her chin.
"The History. The supremacy of magic in Japan."
Mai adds,
"Whoever wins the conflict gets a permanent seat in the Mage Tower - and unlimited resources."
Lucil laughs so loudly that heads outside the illusion turn toward the sound, though they can't see him.
"That old tower still exists? Honestly, I can think of better things. Compared to the Tower Mages, my dad is pretty weak."
Silver nods.
"Our family isn't exactly all-powerful either."
Mai and Ruin stare at the boys in disbelief.
"W–what? Dad is - but when I look at you, Lucil… you defeated Father," Mai breathes.
"Same goes for you, Silver," Ruin adds.
The two boys bump fists in silent confirmation.
"We're not fighting," Silver says. "And neither are you two. Understood?"
Ruin opens her mouth to protest.
"But I —"
"Ruin, you're learning the Moon Arts from me. That's all you need. Create something of your own."
Silver's gaze is firm, but gentle.
Ruin and Mai exchange a glance—a brief flicker of silent panic, as if they'd just glimpsed a crack in the world where truth leaks through.
Lucil claps his hands.
"Something to drink?"
Ruin nods. Mai too.
"Why not, bro?" Silver smiles.
A snap of Lucil's fingers, the rose necklace glows—the illusion fades.
The waitress looks elegant. Her dress is silky black-red, her eyes blood-red, rose-shaped clip her long black hair together.
She serves pancakes, black tea for Lucil, a latte macchiato for Mai, a cappuccino for Ruin, and green tea for Silver. Then she leans in toward Lucil, so only he can hear her words.
"Today is the day, Rose Mage," she whispers.
Lucil smiles faintly, replying with a barely visible nod.
Ruin sips her cappuccino; the café slowly begins to empty, as if exhaling.
"Hey, Lucil," Mai begins,
"your girlfriend Riel Wonnawoid has released a new single."
Ruin nearly chokes.
"W–wait, your girlfriend? You're dating Riel?"
"No," Lucil replies. "I've got other things on my mind right now."
Silver lifts his tea bowl.
"Understandable. But before everything is decided, it's important to spend time with the people you love."
Lucil shakes his head.
"I want something stable, Silver—something that lasts. It would be a waste of time for my partner… if I couldn't be there afterward."
A disagreement unfolds between them—not hostile, but friendly.
Silver sips his green tea.
"I get it… You really should try green tea sometime."
Lucil raises an eyebrow.
"Then you try black tea."
They slide each other their cups. Both pretend the unfamiliar taste comes at the right time, but Mai and Ruin can immediately tell from their twisted expressions just how different their preferences are—and grin mischievously.
"Ha-ha… I'll never get used to this," Silver groans in disgust at the taste.
"You two doing alright?" Lucil asks, glancing at the girls.
Mai pounds her chest contentedly as she bites into a piece of pancake; Ruin mirrors her. Both smile.
"Yes, Mr. Wonnawoid!" Ruin calls cheekily.
"Don't call me that!" Lucil snaps.
Silver leans back.
"Dating an idol is a bad idea here in the East."
Lucil snorts.
"You too?"
Mai grins.
"And yet you're keeping it a secret."
Lucil sighs, gets up, and strolls to the door. Silver shrugs and follows.
Outside the café, the city traffic rains past in endless streams of light.
Lucil flips open his cigarette case, holds one out to Silver.
"Want one?"
"No, I'm watching my health," Silver waves him off.
"I'm just adapting."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Lucil twirls the cigarette between his fingers.
"You're feeling awful because you don't know how to move forward with the whole girlfriend thing. So it fits perfectly if I go down with you, right?" Silver snorts.
"Don't get cocky, Mr. Rose Mage with pop idol Riel Wonnawoid... Shame, really—I was rooting for you two."
Lucil chuckles softly.
"I don't even like pop. Then suddenly she starts writing rock songs. Fascinating girl."
"Ugh, rock." Silver wrinkles his nose, then both laugh.
Their laughter fades as Silver's expression turns serious.
"You know what they're planning—to force us to fight."
Lucil stares through the windowpane into the rain and looks at Mai.
"Yeah."
"And you've made the preparations." – Silver.
Lucil's eyes flash ruby-red shortly.
"All set. You?"
"I reached the negotiator—successfully."
Lucil smirks.
"Hey, bro… this'll be an adventure, right?"
Silver raises his hands as if to high-five the sky.
"At the very least, it's better than Berlin… or Var'kath."
"We're both mages, Silver."
Silver chuckles quietly.
"You've always been a warrior."
Lucil shakes his head, like trying to shake off an entire library.
"So many dead, so many dishonorable moves… I'm everything—but not a warrior. The blood sits too deep."
"Same goes for me." Silver lowers his shoulders
"She's wearing the clip?" Lucil asks.
"She is," Silver confirms. "And she's wearing yours too."
Lucil puts out the glowing cigarette, Silver pushes open the café door.
"We'll all make sacrifices", Lucil says.
"The vow stands," Silver replies.
Lucil and Silver step back into the café.
A little later, they're all seated again by the window. Mai sniffs Lucil's jacket—no smoke smell.
"How is that possible? You've been smoking for years and you don't smell like anything!"
"Gross!" Ruin exclaims, clearly disgusted by smokers.
Lucil laughs, but Silver gives him away with a grin:
"An illusionist, after all. In reality, he reeks like smoke and a bit of sweat. He didn't shower this morning.
Lucil points at Silver.
"You're one to talk, Mister 'ten layers of gel, empty a bottle of perfume, and hide it all with illusion magic.'"
Ruin blinks.
"How does he know that?"
Mai giggles.
Lucil presses his fingertips together.
"Illusions are powerful. When body and mind accept them as reality, everything—scent, clothing, even an injury—reflects as real."
Silver nods.
"Useful. But when the illusion breaks, you see the reality."
The two friends lean in toward each other, inspecting closely.
"Go shower!" Lucil commands.
"Bro, you stink!" Silver snaps back.
They scuffle playfully while Mai and Ruin are nearly doubled over with laughter.
"I don't want to fight", Ruin whispers.
"Me neither… somehow", Mai agrees.
"And you won't", Lucil promises.
Silver adds,
"This ends without any of us dying."
Mai and Ruin nod firmly.
They empty their plates and cups; Lucil reluctantly slurps the last sip of green tea, while Silver forces down the black tea. Both grimace in disgust.
Silver stands.
"We're heading out."
"Lucil, we need to go too," Mai reminds him.
Lucil snaps his fingers, and a blood-red rose appears. Mai, Ruin, and Silver rise to their feet. He gently places the bloom behind Mai's ear.
"See you. Go straight to the station, okay?"
Mai nods.
"See you, Lucil," Ruin says softly.
"Later, bro," Silver adds.
The café door swings open, the group steps out into the dense city air—and behind them, the rose pendant in Lucil's hand fractures with a soft, crystalline crack.
"These catalyst costs are ridiculous."
At that moment, the waitress appears behind him. Her black dress reflects deep red light.
Lucil barely turns.
"Seria Goldblood."
"You're leaving Japan soon," she replies with a smile—but farewell lingers in her glassy eyes.
"Rose Illusion.", Lucil.
With a whisper, the red veil blooms anew. Rose petals swirl, thorned vines slide like fine veins across the walls of the sphere. The shattered catalyst disintegrates completely into dust.
Seria snaps her fingers. A scarlet scarf materializes in her hand; her smile is joyful, yet tinged with sorrow.
"Here, my hero."
Lucil takes the scarf and puts it over his shoulders.
"My catalysts…?"
Seria unbuttons the top of her dress. Three chains lie on her skin; she pulls out two—one bearing a rose symbol, the other a dragon head.
"Jerone gave the remaining necklaces to Silver last week."
Lucil nods, takes the jewelry and puts them on. His ruby-red eyes flare briefly; the illusion thickens, the roses glow deeper, thorns coil even tighter along the illusion's borders.
Tears glimmer in Seria's eyes as she hugs him.
"You're not coming back anymore, do you?"
"No", he says quietly.
"That was the last time."
He gestures toward his neck.
Seria's canines lengthen; with vampiric grace, she sinks them into Lucil's neck.
"The ring still helps you, right?"
Seria nods, pulling back her canines a bit later—though her arms still hold him tight.
"It hurts every time you die again. Decades pass… you're my oldest friend."
"This time, the cycle ends." Lucil strokes her back.
"You did everything right, Seria."
She wipes her cheek.
"You solved the mystery about me…"
"Sorry about Berlin," Lucil says regretfully.
"No need to." She places a hand on his cheek.
"England's tense right now. Be careful there."
Lucil takes a deep breath.
"The first step to breaking the cycle still awaits."
Seria gives a crooked smile.
"Your swords—you're carrying one, aren't you?"
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Your cloaks and your swords are in Edinburgh."
Her voice sounds like distant bells as the rose illusion flares up one last time and fades away in a quiet shimmer.
Seria releases the embrace and steps back.
Lucil closes his eyes… and instantly sees a battlefield.
He sits amidst a sea of corpses, blood-red roses blooming from their chests. In his right hand rests a white-red sword; a long cloak blows over gleaming armor. Above him, the full moon slowly turns crimson, as if the sky itself were bleeding.
"I won't give up, Seria—I promise," he murmurs, eyes locked on the vision.
Seria smiles, tears glistening in her eyes.
"There he is… the legendary Rose Mage Lucil, Master of the rose dragon."
A soft snap. A brief flicker of a smile.
Then Lucil's figure scatters like a handful of rose petals in the wind, the illusion slowly dissolving around Seria.