Now, the war was over.
At least, that's what the world believed.
The farmlands stretched endlessly beneath a mellow sun, golden and quiet. Grains ripened in the fields, their heads heavy with promise. Trees lined the horizon, bursting with fruit and flowers, forming a natural cathedral where life had finally begun to heal.
Beneath one of these trees—a great elder with wide limbs and gnarled roots—two young figures lay beneath the shade.
The boy, the hero, rested with his head in the girl's lap, eyes half-lidded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. His face bore the faintest sheen of sweat, not from exertion, but from peace. Something so unfamiliar it almost hurt. A single tear rolled down his cheek—not sorrow, not quite joy… something in between.
The girl, the warrior who had fought beside him, watched him in silence. Her fingers wove through his messy hair as the wind played around them, stirring petals loose from the trees. She looked down at him—not as the world might, as a symbol or legend—but as him. The boy who once had nothing. The boy who had chosen love instead of vengeance.
"Hmm..." she hummed softly, as if afraid to disturb the stillness. "I think it's all over now... isn't it?"
He opened his eyes slowly, turning his face into the warmth of her palm.
"For the world, maybe," he murmured. His hand lifted, brushing against her wrist, feeling the gentle flutter of her pulse beneath skin. "But for me? It's not over. Not as long as you're here."
She froze.
Then narrowed her eyes.
The fire sparked to life before she could stop it.
Blue flames erupted in her palm, wild and beautiful, but not clean. Inky black spots swirled at its heart—a corruption left behind by the war, a mark even time hadn't healed.
"Is that so?" she whispered, anger and embarrassment flaring in her chest. "Then here—take your victory gift!"
She raised her hand, flame crackling.
But before it could strike, he was no longer there.
Air shimmered. Wind stirred.
Then suddenly—
His breath tickled the back of her neck.
"Thank you," he whispered, lips grazing her ear. "But I don't need it."
She stiffened.
"You're with me—that's the greatest gift you've ever given."
The fire in her hand flickered out.
Her body trembled—anger fading into something else. Something deeper.
She turned, arms slowly lifting. Her eyes glistened.
She was reaching for him—not with rage, but need.
But the boy only smirked.
"You really believed all that?" he teased. "I was just messing with you."
Her jaw dropped. Rage returned in a heartbeat.
"You absolute idiot!"
She lunged.
But the boy laughed—his laughter golden and loud, full of freedom—and spread his wings.
Wings of molten gold burst from his back, bright enough to blind. The air kicked up around them as he soared into the sky, light trailing behind him like fire.
She gave chase immediately, shouting, "Get back here so I can break those stupid wings!"
They danced through the air—fire and flame, wind and sky. Birds scattered. Petals fell like snow. The orchard trembled with the memory of magic.
Then—
She hit something.
Or thought she did.
But it passed through.
An illusion.
Before she could swear, arms wrapped around her from behind—firm and warm.
He was real this time. He pulled her close.
"You're always falling for my tricks," he murmured.
Their lips met.
Not urgently.
But like the end of a long journey.
A kiss on her head by the boy . That kiss that felt like being homely and a way of expressing his truly love on her .
She struck him gently on the shoulder, once, twice—then broke. Her body collapsed against his chest, and she sobbed.
"You're unbearable," she choked.
He held her tighter.
"But you love me," he whispered.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
He tried to hide his own tears. But they slipped out anyway, falling into her hair like rain.
Beyond the Sky's Edge
But peace never comes without cost.
High above the clouds, where light met the edge of the void, the sky trembled.
A sound like shattering glass echoed across the horizon. A fracture tore itself into the firmament—jagged, dark, and pulsing with ancient magic.
A rift had opened. A connection between worlds.
And through it, in another dimension, another realm…
A boy sat on a throne of bone, alone.
He looked like the hero—but wasn't him.
Not anymore.
His skin was cracked, veins glowing with molten magma that pulsed beneath the surface. His horned head tilted toward the sky, one horn broken clean in half. The other curled upward like a claw. His eyes glowed dimly in the dark, like embers dying in ash.
The palace around him was dead—dried stone, shadows crawling across twisted pillars, broken banners hanging like old scars.
He was alone.
Utterly.
But his lips curled into a sharp smile.
"It's over... hmm?" he whispered, voice splitting like a broken mirror—multiple tones layered atop one another, each belonging to a different dying soul.
"Let's see."
He leaned forward, placing one hand on the armrest of his crumbling throne.
"Let the game begin."
The rift widened.
The world shivered.
And the story was far from over.
It's not the Beginning but the END of the one main story and the beginning of the New story
To be stared...