A crimson moon covered the sky. Always red. Always this world existed beneath that red moon. Sirius thought this as he walked through the ashen wasteland. The earth beneath his feet was withered, cracked in places. From those fissures, a faint violet light seeped out. Magical power. The uncontrollable magical storm that was consuming this world. The wind blew. But it was not an ordinary wind. The edge of the magical tempest. It grazed Sirius's cheek, accompanied by a sharp, stinging pain. He did not stop walking. Between the gaps of his black armor made of moonsilver, he felt a faintly glowing pattern. A curse mark. A pale luminous pattern on the back of his left hand. (It aches again.) A silver chain hung from his chest, and at its end swayed a ring — a keepsake of his best friend, Leonhardt. Sirius was twenty-eight years old. He was tall, his muscular frame honed by years of combat. On the left side of his short, black hair, just a single strand of white mixed in. And across his right cheek ran a thin but deep scar. Eight years ago. A wound from the Ashfall Rebellion. His eyes were steel-colored, always maintaining a sharpness as if vigilant against something. His features rarely showed emotional wavering. But now, deep within those eyes, complex conflict churned. The patrol mission was monotonous. Three times a month, as a Border Knight of Vermilia's desolate zone — the ashen wasteland — he would make his rounds. Confirm the progression of the magical storm. Record the appearance of dangerous shadow beasts. Report to the royal capital, Gratius. That was all. Moonsilver armor blocked the magical storm. By absorbing its light, he could survive in this wasteland. An ordinary human would lose consciousness in thirty minutes. But Sirius had been walking this desolate land for eight years now. (There were too many things I could not protect.) The thought surfaced unbidden. Sirius's footsteps halted for just a moment. Then his hand moved to the longsword at his waist. The Dawn Blade, Noctiel. The black blade of moonsilver was, however, discolored a dark red on its surface. Eight years ago, it had been transformed by Queen Isabella's magical power. It had maintained this color ever since. "..." Without a word, Sirius continued walking. Something moved ahead. Sirius's eyes sharpened in an instant. The sword at his hand was drawn from its sheath almost unconsciously. The speed was exquisitely refined. Shadow beasts. One meter in body length. A wolf-like quadrupedal monster. Its body bore luminescent patterns. Not just one. A pack. Five, six of them surrounded Sirius. Their eyes glowed red. "Come." The moment Sirius whispered this. One lunged. Its speed was considerable. But before Sirius's swordsmanship, it was meaningless. The Dawn Blade Noctiel swept horizontally. The shadow beast's body flew through the air and fell to the ground. It did not move again. One after another, Sirius's blade cut down the shadow beasts. No wasted motion. No emotional fury. Only mechanical, precise execution. Three. Four. Five. The last one fled. Sirius sheathed his sword. Not a single breath out of place. And he looked down at the corpses of the shadow beasts scattered on the ground. (There were too many things I could not protect.) He thought this. Leonhardt. He had been Sirius's best friend. As fellow Border Knights, they had fought together against the Ashfall Rebellion. But at that time... before Queen Isabella's magical power, Leonhardt fell. Sirius could not save him. Leonhardt's final words were still vivid. "Sirius... the prince... I ask you..." The prince. Alexander. Isabella's son. (Should I protect him, or...) Sirius's hand gripped the silver ring at his chest. "Leon, what should I do?" There was no answer to the question. Only the red moonlight illuminated Sirius and the shadow beasts' remains. Dusk was approaching. The sky of the ashen wasteland held no light save that of the red moon. The horizon was dark, sinking into shadow. Within it, Sirius continued walking. And then it happened. Something flowed into the depths of his chest. It was not pain. But it was clearly not his own emotion. Deep sorrow. Loneliness. And guilt. Sensations as if they were flowing through his very soul. Sirius stopped walking. He pressed both hands to his chest. "What is... this?" Nothing was visible around him. No sign of shadow beasts. Only the red moon, quietly looking down upon him. The sensation faded within minutes. But a deep unease remained in Sirius's heart. It was the beginning of something he did not yet know. (Was it my imagination?) Sirius shook his head. "I'm overthinking." He told himself this and began walking again. The path back to the royal capital, Gratius. Beyond the horizon of the wasteland, the castle walls appeared dimly. Those walls were layered threefold and reinforced with moonsilver. The safest place in this world, minimizing the effects of the magical storm. "Tomorrow I'll just walk the same wasteland again." Sirius murmured this while sheathing the Dawn Blade Noctiel. A self-deprecating murmur, filled with resignation. In the red moonlight, Sirius's shadow stretched long. And deep within his chest, the remnants of that strange sorrow still lingered. He did not yet know. That his soul was bound to the son of Queen Isabella, whom he despised. And that a journey with that prince would greatly change his life — no, change his very heart. The red moon continued to illuminate him quietly. Eight years ago, the Ashfall Rebellion. At that time, Queen Isabella was struck down by Sirius's blade. But in her final moment, she had activated something. It was the "Soul Chain Covenant" — an ultimate curse that forcibly bound two souls together. The effects of that curse were now slowly beginning to manifest. Whose emotion was it that Sirius had felt? It was the same emotion that Prince Alexander was feeling, far away in the Pale Wax Palace. But knowledge of this would come later. Sirius simply continued walking beneath the red moon. Bound by memories of the past, unknowingly drawn by the force of destiny. His moonsilver armor reflected the red moonlight, gleaming. It revealed his station. A Border Knight. One of the few warriors permitted to walk the desolate earth. But that title, that power — it could not prevent what was to come. Sirius walked on. Through the red moon's wasteland. And his fate had already begun to move.