Light of the moon shone over the barren wasteland. A great spire of bone stretched from the ground to the clouds; blood crawled down its sides. In front of it knelt a silhouette of a woman. Something was not right.

Distant from the spire stood a thin, short boy of pure white skin, crystal-blue eyes, and silk ivory locks for hair that stretched to his shoulders. He wore fine cloth articles from neck to toe, something only available to nobility. This boy bore the name of Seven and it is he whose story we follow.

Seven stared at the palms of his hands in dismay; they shimmered in the blue tint of the moon above. Tilting his head upward, the boy came to realize how unusually large the moon was on this particular night.

In checking his surroundings, Seven quickly locked his eyes on the sanguine spire. His eyes and mind wandered until spotting the silhouette at its base. ‘A person, here?’ the boy thought apprehensively.