Ash and embers dusted the streets of the place he once called home. His house was laid in ruins, shattered pieces of his life scattered everywhere he looked. Nothing was left untouched.

Screams filled the air from one of the last survivors of this onslaught, and the blistering heat from nearby flames licked at the young boy’s skin. He was hiding, pressed into the earth beneath his home. Sweat ran down his face, his wide, terrified blue eyes fixed on the destruction around him.

Outside of the sounds of those flames, as well as those nightmarish creatures, somehow he knew he was alone.

He was no longer safe.

“I was supposed to die that night. Sometimes, I can still feel it—the cold edge of oblivion, waiting to take me. But then—”

A slash of pure white light came from that blurry silhouette he saw, cutting through the gloom, scattered the darkness like the first light of dawn piercing a nightmare.

Gunshots rang out from another, echoing through the village, and more of those fearsome shadows shattered into nothingness.

And a chained scythe whipped through the air, its blade slicing cleanly through the Phantoms, while the earth itself rose in defense, pushing the creatures back.

The shadows twisted and shrieked, unraveling into wisps of smoke and energy as beams of light cut through, dissolving the Phantoms into nothing.

“—They came, those people, like lights in the dark. I didn't know why I suffered this fate. Why those Phantoms attacked. But I knew they were good.”

His home was gone, his family…gone. The weight of it pressed down on him, too vast, too crushing to understand. He pressed himself further into the ground, curling deeper into the hole beneath the ruins of his house, praying that the Phantoms would pass him by.

He didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare move, willing himself to become as small and invisible as a shadow.

Yet—

“Over here!”

The one with that chained scythe, a rabbit eared woman with a gentle hand, had found him. She entered his home, sensed his presence, saw the carnage, what was left of his family. Her expression was fierce, yet also warm.

As the battle raged on outside, she was there, offering him that gentle hand. Her smile was something he would always remember.

“That moment…that was when they gave me that second chance. To live a new life with them. I felt unworthy.”

The boy stared at the woman’s outstretched hand, paralysed. Her eyes were gentle, a soft, steady warmth against the chaos raging around them. It was the first kindness he’d felt since the darkness fell. For a moment, he couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t believe that anyone could be so calm, so…alive.

She moved closer, her voice low and soothing as she knelt beside him. “You’re safe now,” she murmured, as if trying to encourage him out of the darkness he’d curled himself into.

Her hand remained extended, patient, unwavering. His gaze shifted between her hand and her face, his heart pounding, uncertain.

Outside, the sounds of battle continued—more gunshots, the sharp clash of weapons meeting shadows. He could hear other voices, shouting commands, fierce and protective. Those people, the ones who’d brought the light, were holding the Phantoms back, making space for her to be here with him.

He wanted to reach out. But he felt small, as though his entire being had shrunk into something fragile, something unworthy of the world she was offering. What if the moment he took her hand, everything would dissolve? What if this light was only a dream?

And yet…something inside him stirred, a small flicker of trust he couldn’t ignore. Slowly, tentatively, he extended his own hand, his fingers trembling as they found hers. Her grip was warm, steady, grounding him.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in reassurance. “You’re not alone anymore.”

In that moment, the weight pressing down on him felt just a little lighter, a sliver of hope piercing through the despair.

Tears swelled, and the boy cried for that safety, for the warmth he now gets to feel. After everything was gone, after everyone he knew had been slaughtered and decimated, he could do nothing but cry into that woman's arms.

In that single moment, he felt the light of hope guarding him. Caressing him. For the first time since that darkness fell, he no longer feel threatened, he felt safe.

————————

The dawn was pale and cold, a thin light filtering through the smoke that still clung to the village like a shroud. Shadows stretched across the ruins, and ash drifted slowly down, coating everything in a soft, gray blanket. The fires had died, but the smell of charred wood and something sharper lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding.

The boy sat on a low stone ledge, his small form dwarfed by the silent wreckage around him. A blanket had been draped over his shoulders, scratchy against his skin but warm, grounding him in a way he desperately needed.

The rabbit-eared woman—Lydia, he had learned her name was—sat close by, her hand resting gently on his back, a steady, comforting presence amidst the quiet devastation.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Those people that arrived here, including her, totalled three in number. Two women and one singular man. He had observed them for some time, those other two that weren't by his side.

“Any confirmation of more survivors?” The man said. His voice was commanding, with a hint of eccentricness to it, though that was perhaps due to his attire.

He couldn't see any feature that could define his face. He could see no skin either. His entire body was covered, his appearance akin to a plague doctor. If he didn't know any better he might just think of him as a monster.

From his top hat, his bird mask, to his coat—everything. All them were dark in colour, shades of black covering his entire body. He was dressed neatly for someone working this kind of job, like a noble, but the boy didn't know any better aside from that.

In response, the other woman, with blonde hair and light blue eyes, dressed in a militaristic and tactical uniform, shook her head. “No, I’ve search everywhere, he’s the only one.”

Her sniper rifle was saddled on her back as she said those words, sighing. And the man in turn had a sombre expression, somehow the eyes of his mask moved on its own to express such feelings.

“Damn it…” he muttered out. They were too late, he already knew they were going to be, and he hated that deeply. His eyes looked up again, trying to maintain his composure, “Alright, we’ll send in the report, but I’ll go check on him first,” he said.

He turned around to see the boy, his hand holding upon the hilt of his sheathed sword. He had several weapons from what the boy could see, from revolvers, hatchets, daggers, and that blade of his.

The boy’s expression was of fear however, due to how intimidating he looked, or perhaps something more. When their eyes met, he felt that uncanny valley facing him. He didn't know what it was, but he was sure to tremble upon such a sight.

However, that gentle hand caressed him some more, calming him down from that fear. “It's alright, that's just how he is,” she said, that warm smile still present.

The boy had his attention caught by those words, looking up. He was still fearful, his clothes were bloodied and dirty, but it was enough for now. They didn't have any replacements so this had to be done. Only seven years of age he was, so this was still quite bewildering to him.

“Yes, really.” Her chuckle made that fear go away, even though he didn't respond with anything, she knew what he wanted to say. The woman turned to look that man in the eyes, “Can you…turn away for a moment? He’s not used to you yet.”

His eyes expressed a slight perplexed, “Oh? Uh, yeah, I’ll do that.” He quickly turned around again, as if he had made a mistake somehow.

The other woman raised an eyebrow, and exhaled softly. “In any case…this attack.”

The blonde woman’s gaze swept over the ruins, her expression tightening as she took in the devastation. Her fingers absently tapped the grip of her sniper rifle as she spoke, her voice low and troubled.

"It doesn’t add up," she murmured, more to herself than to the others. "Phantoms are chaotic. They spread terror at random—they don’t work in patterns like this." Her eyes traced the scorch marks across the ground, the deliberate lines of destruction leading to the boy’s former home. "It’s like they were…directed."

The man in the bird mask nodded, his gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Of course they were." His voice was steady, but there was a tension beneath it, something cold and wary.

“Most Phantoms aren’t supposed to act with purpose, and ones that do are rare. They feed on fear, and do things through instinct. But this…" He gestured to the charred remains of the village, his hand lingering over the boy’s ruined home. "This feels intentional.”

The boy shifted closer to Lydia, his small body tensing at the sound of their voices. He didn’t understand everything they were saying, but their words—directed, intentional—echoed in his mind, making the memory of the night before even darker.

He had felt it too, hadn’t he? That strange sense, in the middle of all the chaos, that the Phantoms weren’t just attacking as if they were mindless creatures. They felt like an army.

“You think a Phantom Lord of sorts had manifested and commanded them?” That woman asked again, “It wouldn't be a stretch I feel like.”

“Well, Phantoms have a basic sense of intelligence, and smarter and more powerful ones can command them,” he said, “They were present during the onslaught, but I don't think a Phantom Lord was commanding them.”

“How so?” she raised an eyebrow.

“We would’ve uncovered it faster otherwise, Annie.” He exhaled, a bit disappointed that somehow their theory wasn't the case.

Lydia’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder, as if she could feel the unease spreading through him. She looked at her companions, her voice soft but firm. "Whatever they were looking for, whatever led them here…it’s over now. Let him have some peace."

The man in the mask looked at the boy, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses. "It’s just unusual," he said slowly, almost as if speaking to himself. "We're lucky the kid is still alive."

Annie nodded, a shadow crossing her face. "We need answers," she agreed, "but for now…let him rest."

Her gaze lingered on the boy, a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. She smiled, "We’ll find out who did this, don't worry.”

With that, the boy gazed downwards, somewhat angry at this whole ordeal happening to him, yet he had no strength to really do much. He just felt…burdened, tears welling up again in frustration.

“Hey,” Lydia called to him, cutting off that train of thought he had, “Would you like to come with us?” she asked softly. The boy looked up at her face, his vision blurring with tears he didn’t understand. “We can be your family, if you want that.”

She offered her other hand, placed on his thigh. He held onto it, tight. He lacked the strength to have that gesture hurt her, but he did so just to lighten that mental burden upon himself.

That sort of offer, it felt somewhat offensive to him, asking that sort of thing after he lost everything several hours ago. But…he also felt the warmth from it too. He didn't know what to choose, for his mind was at a disoriented state of grief and sadness.

The man approached them slowly, his shadow stretching across the ruined ground. Lydia and the boy looked up, sensing his presence, while Annie watched from afar, her eyes sharp, silently observing.

“Lydia, he’s been through hell,” he murmured, his gaze flickering to the boy. “Bringing him into our world…it’s not a simple decision.”

Lydia’s expression softened as she looked at the boy, who sat in a daze, clutching her hand. “But we can give him a second chance, Nigel. A place to belong. That has to mean something,” she said. “...right?”

The man—who the boy knew now as Nigel, looked at him. The eyes of his mask moved in accordance to his mood, which was of curiosity, concern, hesitation. He looked at Lydia briefly, then back towards Annie. He felt something within him, that tug in his heart. Those artificial eyes of his, it switched from hesitation to relent.

He sighed. “Man…I sure am easy to convince when it comes to things like this,” he said, gazing at the horizon before turning back to the boy. He knelt down to the child’s level, his voice softer. “What’s your name?”

The boy still felt a tinge of fear looking at him, from that clothing and those weapons, Nigel felt like a harbinger of sorts. Even with the equalised eye-level that feeling did not go away. But, with the support of Lydia, and Annie's sympathy from afar.

A part of him wanted to pull away, to refuse this, for he somehow felt unworthy. He didn't think he should deserve this, he thought of himself as someone undeserving of salvation, after everything he knew was gone.

Yet…he felt something stir within him. A small, indomitable spark, flickering against the shadows that still haunted him. A spirit of determination, pushing him to face this new world, even as the ashes of his old one still clung to him.

After a breath, he looked at Nigel, his eyes filled with something fierce, something that refused to break.

And so, he spoke.