The silence of the dirt road was broken by the low rumble of two vehicles. A black SUV stopped in front of the ruined city gate. Close behind, a dark van pulled up in line, and six men in suits and ties stepped out.

Minister José exited the car with Pedro. Both stared at the living wall that once protected the city. Enormous ramparts covered in roots and tangled branches pulsed faintly with the energy of the Black Light.
“A wall of plants…” The advisor muttered, frowning. “This kind of defense should withstand even a large horde.”

José knew that since the Sunless Day, small Nyrr attacks had plagued forgotten towns like this one. Hungry creatures that fed on Black Light, hunting humans as if the Earth itself had birthed a natural predator for its former dominators. For many, it felt as though the balance had shifted: humanity no longer stood at the top of the chain.

To resist, rural communities had relied on manifested warriors. They were the ones who, over the past decade, had raised living walls, shaped from roots and branches infused with Black Light. This particular one rose four meters high. The walls pulsed with strange vitality, as if they breathed.

Such defenses didn’t require entire forests. Only a few trunks and the skill of a sufficiently strong warrior, enough to expand them into colossal walls — dense as stone, yet flexible as muscle. A wall of this scale in Highrock could only have been the work of a nature-type manifest at least level three — a true protector, capable of turning sap into a fortress.

But before José’s eyes, the scene was different. The city’s gate lay destroyed, not merely toppled, but shattered as if something enormous had burst through from within. The living wall, once a symbol of resistance, was torn in several places, its fibers still bleeding dark sap that dripped like blood. This wasn’t a mere attack: it was an invasion.

José pressed his lips, staring at the ruined gate.
“And still, it fell.”

Crossing through, they were consumed by a stench that seemed to claw the air from their lungs: the rot of death. Silence weighed heavily, broken only by the faint crackle of dying embers. Mutilated bodies littered the narrow streets, some piled as though swept into corners, others left exposed in the center of the road — faces frozen in pure terror. Blood, dark and thick, had begun to clot, forming dry trails that scored the stones like fresh scars.

The central bonfire, once the symbol of festivity, had been reduced to a heap of smoldering ash. Smoke rose slowly, carrying with it the bitter stench of burned flesh mixed with charred wood.

The six agents, silent as the grave, began their work under the advisor’s orders. They withdrew Black Light meters — small devices that beeped at traces of residual energy — and moved through the streets, checking the fallen warriors who had dared to resist. Each beep, each number flashing on the display, grew more absurd than the last.
“Unbelievable…” Pedro muttered, swallowing hard. “There were at least twenty level 2 warriors here. Even for the Nyrr, this shouldn’t have been possible.”

He looked back at the square, eyes sweeping its details. The festival banners, once colorful ribbons dancing under the night sky, now lay torn and scorched on the cold ground, some still clinging to broken poles, fluttering like flags of defeat. The shallow plastic pools that had overflowed with children’s laughter that afternoon were now melted or ripped apart, stained with blood. Every stone of the square seemed to have soaked in the color red — lines of horror etching the entire town.

But it wasn’t the number of dead that chilled the blood. It was the absence. Among all the human corpses, not a single Nyrr body remained. No bones. No ashes. As if they had swept away every trace of their existence, leaving only the spectacle of carnage behind.

Pedro’s knees weakened. This wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t even an invasion. It was a massacre.
“And… it’s not just that,” One of the agents whispered, voice trembling, eyes wide at the numbers on his meter. “We’ve logged three level 3 warriors among the dead as well.”

The silence that followed weighed heavier than any scream.
“Perhaps… not even one of Brazil’s three level 4 warriors could have held this off alone,” The advisor said, hesitating. “Perhaps not even two…”

José closed his eyes for a moment.
“I think this confirms our theory, Pedro. The Nyrr are organizing — and among them is a being of unimaginable power.”

And that was a dreadful omen.

Miles away, Matheo was still recovering in the strange house of living wood. Lunch had been served, but he barely touched it. His mind drifted between memories and questions.

Lockless, seated across from him, watched in silence. The old man seemed more interested in Matheo’s answers than in the meal.
“So, tell me,” Lockless began. “What do you know about the Black Light?”

Matheo lifted his eyes, surprised by the question. He drew a deep breath and began to speak.

“The powers of the Black Light aren’t just brute force. They’re divided into four levels, each reflecting not only the amount of energy one manifests, but the discipline of whoever controls it. A level isn’t a title you inherit, it’s something you earn. Some train and manage to rise… but it takes more than physical effort: it demands absurd discipline, deep self-knowledge, and the ability to face your own limits. That’s why so many stop at level 1. Few have the mind and will to reach level 2 or 3. And across all of Brazil… only three have reached level 4.”

Lockless kept his gaze steady.
“Go on.”
“And each person manifests only one type of power. Fire, water, wind, nature… or, rarely, telekinesis.”

The old man raised his brows.
“You shouldn’t know so much, even if what you know is incomplete — and somewhat mistaken. It’s not common for someone from a small town like yours.”

Matheo shrugged.
“I just… observed. Since the Sunless Day, I took notes. I watched how the warriors in my town directed their energy, every gesture, every breath, until they drew the result they wanted. It wasn’t hard to notice the patterns. We had strong warriors, some who reached high levels. They no longer lived there, but they’d return from time to time… I can still remember how the wind cut through wood faster than any ax—”

He cut himself off. Silence hung heavy. Lockless studied him as though trying to decipher something hidden. Then, finally, he stood.
“Come with me.”

Outside, he asked Matheo to remove his shirt. The boy hesitated, but obeyed. His chest was still bound in bandages. Lockless approached, pressing two fingers against Matheo’s abdomen.

Matheo flinched. Heat coursed through him. Sweat broke across his skin, tingling spread into his arms. His breath grew ragged.

Lockless frowned and pulled back, startled that he could no longer feel his own fingers. Impossible…

He tried again, this time channeling a controlled amount of his own energy. Again, he touched Matheo’s abdomen.

This time, the boy felt something shift. He felt the heat surge through his body until it reached his fingertips. Sparks flickered. His eyes widened as he lifted his hands, unable to believe it.
“Fire…?”

Lockless was silent for a long moment. Then he answered, firm:
“It’s not just fire.”

Matheo looked up, confused.

“The reason you haven’t manifested until now isn’t “lack” of Black Light, Matheo. It’s the opposite. Your body carries all of them. All in a single soul. And your soul, in particular, isn’t coping well with that much information, which made you not manifest it.

The boy was speechless.

“Your aura is white, Matheo. Not because it’s weak, but because it holds all colors.” Lockless sighed, as though confirming an omen. “In all my life, I’ve never seen anything like this. Only in fairy tales.

The only sound was the wind.

Lockless finally placed a hand on Matheo’s shoulder.
“You have the potential to become the strongest warrior the worlds have ever seen. And I… will train you.”

The worlds?

Matheo felt a knot in his throat. His heart raced. He didn’t know if it was hope or fear. Perhaps both. But for the first time since the tragedy, a flame was born inside him.