***

Skyscrapers that once shone with dazzling lights now stood like hollow gravestones beneath a gray, overcast sky. Vines crawled over every cracked wall, slipping through shattered windows and wrapping themselves around rusted steel frames. Abandoned cars littered the streets—doors left hanging open, seats torn apart, some tires melted and fused to the fractured asphalt.

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

Until a soft, wet dragging sound echoed through the empty streets.

A Remnant emerged. Its body hunched forward, one leg twisted beyond repair, forcing it to drag itself along with a low, hoarse groan. Then another appeared. And another. Their skin was torn open, their eyes dim and unfocused—like hollow pits devoid of any soul. They staggered aimlessly, like lost shadows searching for warmth that would never return.

Then, light pierced through the fog.

An explosion struck the nearest Remnant, tearing half its body apart in a single blast. Another explosion followed from the opposite direction, then three shots rang out in quick succession.

The Remnants collapsed into pieces, their bodies flung aside like rotten dolls.

Heavy footsteps echoed as a group of soldiers emerged from the mist. Their dark uniforms were marked with yellow lines and faint, irregular patterns across their chests. On their left shoulders gleamed an emblem shaped like wings and a star—a symbol revered across the continent.

Tomori.

The government’s elite force. Hunters of Remnants—and of anyone born with Cursed Magic.

Their commander stepped forward, his expression carved from stone.

“Clear this sector. Destroy all remains,” he ordered flatly. “Then begin the sealing.”

The unit moved in perfect unison—precision that was almost terrifying.

White crystal-tipped spears glowed with pale mana as they pierced rotting flesh one by one. Spells were fired. Bursts of blue, white, and silver light exploding across the street. Within seconds, the Remnants were reduced to formless scraps.

Then the Sealing began.

One cloaked member traced glowing patterns into the air. The symbols shimmered—sharp, radiant, unmistakably sacred. The corpse fragments trembled as black smoke was forcibly drawn into the symbols before everything dimmed once more.

“Sealing complete,” a soldier reported.

“Good.” The commander nodded. “We move out.”

The thunder of their footsteps slowly faded, leaving the city silent once again.

Only when the final sound vanished did a faint rustle emerge from behind a collapsed wall.

From within the shadows, someone finally let out a quiet breath.

A teenage boy stepped out cautiously—eyes alert, shoulders tense, his breathing slightly unsteady.

“That was too close,” he thought, staring in the direction Tomori had disappeared.

“One glance… just one glance, and...”

He swallowed and pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. After making sure no one was nearby, he slipped deeper into the ruins—silent, swift, and very, very alive.

As if avoiding something far more dangerous than the Undead.

Haka Karami, nineteen years old.

The pink-haired youth ran through the corridors of a ruined building. His footsteps echoed until he stopped in a room where two others were already waiting.

“Haka! How was it out there?” asked a violet-haired girl who immediately stood up when he entered.

Aisha Uiriyo, eighteen.

“Tomori’s gone. They wiped out the Remnants,” Haka replied, pulling back his hood.

“So we’re too late?” asked a bespectacled boy, brushing his blond bangs aside.

Kiyo Shimanju, seventeen.

“Looks like it.”

Aisha let out a sigh, resting her hands on her hips. “At least we weren’t spotted. We can stay here longer if we want, until Tomori is completely out of the city.”

“They headed west, right?” Kiyo adjusted his glasses. “And we’re going east, to the next city. Batora.”

“Right. We won’t run into them,” Haka said as he reorganized his gear. “But there’s still a risk of a follow-up unit.”

“If we do run into one…” Aisha shrugged casually. “Well. That’s the end of us.”

Kiyo swallowed, instinctively touching his neck with a grim expression.

Aisha giggled and lightly patted his head. “Relax, Kiyo.”

Then she turned to Haka.

“So… shall we go meet him?”

Haka and Kiyo exchanged glances. Both nodded.

***

An old pickup truck was parked neatly by the roadside. Its blue paint was heavily chipped, its wheels coated in dust, and the cargo bed filled with antique items, piled haphazardly, yet somehow orderly.

A young man was busy lifting stacks of goods into the back. Each item landed with a dull thud. He let out a long breath, brushing his messy white hair back from his forehead.

He wore a long dark-brown coat that hung loosely down to his calves. The fabric flowed gently with each step he took. Its thick collar framed his neck and part of his face, while the asymmetrical cut gave him the appearance of a traveler who had just returned from a long journey.

The gradient of brown came alive in the light, giving off a rustic warmth. Paired with dark boots and light inner clothing, his appearance carried an aura that was both mysterious and approachable.

Footsteps approached. The man turned—and his face immediately lit up upon seeing the three teenagers.

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed. “Did the Remnant hunt yield a good haul?”

Fudo. A young wanderer known for collecting antiques from abandoned cities—and a trusted contact for illegally selling Remnant spoils.

Haka shook his head. “We were too late. Tomori got to them first.”

“Sorry,” he added. “We promised we’d bring something back.”

“That’s a shame.” Fudo clapped his hands, brushing off dust. “But it’s fine. What matters is that you weren’t spotted by them, right?”

Aisha stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with hope. “In that case, Fudo… where are you heading next? Can we hitch a ride to Batora City?”

“We don’t want to risk running into another unit,” Kiyo added, already pale at the thought.

“Batora, hm?” Fudo stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t mind taking you along. That trade city suits my plans as well.” He smiled.

Aisha and Kiyo immediately looked at Haka.

Haka took a breath before answering, smiling brightly. “Then we’re headed the same way. We need to restock supplies, we’re running low.”

Fudo nodded quickly. “Right, right. Batora has the best stock, no doubt about it.”

“But…” he added, raising an eyebrow, “is it safe for you to go shopping there? Security in Batora isn’t like the capital’s, and since Tomori was just here, they may stop by there as well.”

A brief silence filled the air.

Slowly, Haka and Aisha turned their heads toward one person.

Kiyo.

Kiyo froze. “…Me again?”

Aisha grinned widely and wrapped an arm around him. “We’re counting on you, Kiyo! I’ll order cake like usual!”

“And don’t forget my pudding,” Haka added casually as he placed his bag into the pickup bed. “We ran out last time.”

Kiyo glared. “I bought you two packs yesterday, Haka!”

Haka shrugged innocently. “Relax. If things are safer later, I’ll go shopping with you.”

Fudo chuckled at their interaction before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Haha… kids like you are truly something else.”

***

The journey to Batora began in silence.

The old pickup rolled steadily along the highway stretching endlessly ahead, like a straight line with no conclusion. The asphalt was cracked and broken by time, overtaken by wild grass sprouting from every fissure. Dry leaves were dragged by the wind, dancing briefly before being crushed beneath the tires.

To the left, dense forests extended as far as the eye could see. Tall trees cast long shadows across the ground, dark fingers reaching toward passing vehicles. Occasionally, the wind carried the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

To the right, the scenery shifted into vast dry grasslands. Yellowish-brown waves rippled under the sunlight, rolling gently with the contours of the land. As if the world had once burned—and was now growing back, cautiously.

In the front passenger seat, Aisha leaned her head near the open window. The wind flowed in, lifting her hair freely. Her expression was peaceful—as if she were savoring this rare moment after days filled with danger. The orange glow of sunset reflected in her blue eyes, making her look warm… so different from the world they traveled through.

Her left hand rested lazily outside the window, feeling the wind like a quiet, calming ritual.

In the back, Haka and Kiyo sat side by side in the open cargo bed. Above them was nothing but the vast sky, slowly turning purple.

Haka opened a small bundle containing his last snack, dry bread, slightly crushed, but still edible. He took a bite while gazing at the horizon, then offered some to Kiyo.

Kiyo hesitated, but eventually took a small piece, earning a faint smile from Haka—a light, effortless one.

The farther they traveled, the fewer signs of civilization appeared. Only the occasional collapsed billboard, its screen cracked and overtaken by creeping vines like green veins. An old gas station with a half-collapsed roof, its pumps rusted and covered in faded graffiti. The skeletal remains of a city bus lay tilted beside the highway, its windows shattered, its interior filled with nothing but dust and shadows.

Fudo adjusted the steering wheel slightly, avoiding chunks of concrete from a pedestrian bridge that had collapsed years ago.

In the distance, the skylines of dead cities appeared like gray paintings. Crumbling buildings, half-standing office towers, bent television antennas—standing silently against the wind. Like ancient giants buried up to their shoulders, staring blankly at the sky.

Sometimes, unfamiliar figures appeared on the horizon—slow, unsteady movements swayed by the wind.

Remnants.

They didn’t approach. They didn’t chase. They merely wandered, like blurred shadows without direction. Fudo sped up slightly, the old engine growling softly before settling again.

The sky shifted colors as they neared Batora’s border. The road sloped upward now, trees lining both sides. Slanted afternoon light filtered through the forest canopy.

Broken power lines swayed gently from fallen poles. A tilted road sign stood ahead, its letters barely visible:

BATORA – 18 km

Their journey continued.

Silent. Steady.

As if the world itself was holding its breath, allowing three young souls and one wandering traveler to pass through a history long forgotten.

The old pickup pressed on through the empty highway, cutting across a world slowly sinking between life and death.