Darkness. An endless void stretched infinitely in all directions, swallowing sound, light, and sense. And within it, a boy was falling. Tumbling uncontrollably through the abyss, his body twisted in the air as he screamed, but the fall had no end—no sky, no ground, only the crushing weight of emptiness.

Then, suddenly, everything shifted.

The boy wasn’t falling anymore. He hadn’t landed, hadn’t felt the impact—but he was there, lying on the ground. His limbs still flailed in confusion before he stilled, his breath ragged and uneven. Cold. The ground beneath him was frigid, jagged stone pressing against his palms. It was rough, uneven—like volcanic rock long since turned to ruin.

He sat up, sucking in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in quick, panicked motions. That’s when he felt it.

Something was on his face.

His fingers trembled as they reached up, tracing along the unfamiliar contours of a mask. A solid, smooth surface—black and unyielding. His breath hitched as his fingers brushed over two small horns, barely glowing with an eerie blue light. The mask was devoid of expression, save for two sharp fangs jutting from its mouth, giving it a silent, menacing snarl, its eyeholes empty voids that swallowed all light. 

There was no reflection, no glimmer of his own gaze looking back at him. It felt like there was nothing behind it.

A shudder crawled down his spine, but he forced himself to his feet. His dark-blue robe shifted as he dusted off bits of dirt and debris, the fabric whispering against his skin. His silver-white hair, falling just past his shoulders, was gently tousled by a cold, biting breeze.

The world around him was bleak.

A vast, dead plain stretched endlessly in all directions. The ground was cracked and black as obsidian, littered with ashen stones and twisted, skeletal trees, their bark long since withered into lifeless husks. High above, the sky was a roiling mass of dark storm clouds, the occasional streak of lightning flashing in the distance, illuminating the emptiness for only a heartbeat before plunging it back into shadows.

There was nothing else. No signs of life. No landmarks. Just emptiness.

A small weight on his back made him pause. He turned his head slightly, his fingers reaching up to touch the rough wool strap of a small bag slung over his shoulders. His brows furrowed.

“…Where did that come from?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, the words slipping out into the desolate expanse. A creeping unease curled in his chest as another thought followed.

‘How the hell did I even get here?’

With no answer, he began to walk.

Under his white split-toe socks, straw sandals scraped lightly against the cracked terrain, a soft, rhythmic scratching that was the only sound in the silence. A light wind tugged at his robe, weaving through the loose folds of fabric like ghostly fingers. High above, the sky remained alien and wrong. The moon should’ve been there. One moon.

Instead, there were eight.

Eight moons hung in the sky, pale and unblinking, but the sight didn't disturb him as much as it should have. His gaze lingered for a moment before he scoffed softly, shaking his head and continuing his pace.

‘How did I get here?’

The question nagged at him, circling his mind like a vulture. He kept his head low, his steps steady as he entered a narrow valley, the dark rock walls enclosing him. The path ahead twisted, the jagged ground uneven beneath his feet—

Then, a sound shattered the silence.

A screech.

Piercing. Horrific.

It was so loud that it echoed across the valley, rattling in his skull and freezing his blood. His body locked up for an instant before he forced himself to move, his gaze snapping up—

And he saw it.

A towering creature loomed ahead, standing three times his height. Its limbs were grotesquely long and thin, its grayish skin stretched taut over its skeletal frame. Dark, empty eyes stared out from a face that looked almost human—but warped and wrong. Its body was a patchwork of melted cloth and wrinkled flesh, the remains of whatever it had once been fused into its skin like scars of the past.

It screeched again, the sound slicing through the air as its tooth-filled maw twisted open unnaturally wide.

Then, it moved.

It charged forward on all fours, its clawed hands scraping against the rock, sending up dust and sparks. The sight jolted him into action.

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He turned and broke into a sprint.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears as his legs carried him forward, his breath coming fast and sharp. The rocky valley walls blurred past him, but the creature’s presence was overwhelming, its screeches shaking his ribs like the rumble of distant thunder.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

His mind raced even as his body burned with exertion. His breath grew heavier, his lungs screaming in protest.

‘Is that a Phantom??’

Desperation clawed at him. He looked up again—eight moons. Still there. Unmoving. Watching. He looked over his shoulder—

The creature was getting closer.

It was fast. Too fast.

‘Why did it have to be eight moons?’

His legs ached. His chest felt tight. He was running out of time. The valley opened into the plains again, the dead landscape stretching endlessly before him—nowhere to hide.

And still, the Phantom chased.

And it was gaining.

 **

A Few Weeks Earlier

Shallow breaths in the damp cold air... A boy lying under an abandoned shrine, wearing nothing except a torn sleeveless shirt and trousers. The rain poured relentlessly, every flash of lightning illuminated his striking blue eyes, wide with fear and exhaustion.

The forest around the shrine stood as a wall of shadows, whispering in the storm. All alone, the boy could only think of how cruelly he had been treated for his condition. His mind drifted to the orphanage, a run-down building in a remote village, far removed from the territories of the major clans. Life there had always been harsh. The caretakers tried their best, but the limited resources left little room for genuine compassion.

He remembered playing with the other children, running through the fields in a fleeting attempt to escape his reality. Yet every game ended the same—him gasping for air, clutching his chest as if his lungs were ensnared by chains of iron. Laughter would follow, cruel and piercing. “Breathless Fox,” they called him, their taunts echoing in his ears long after the games were over.

The shrine’s old wooden floor was cold against his back as he struggled to breathe. Between gasps, he noticed movement in the forest. Squinting against the rain, he made out the figure of a man approaching, an umbrella shielding him from the downpour. He wore dark, baggy trousers that tightened at the ankles, paired with traditional sandals. Over his plain white shirt, he draped a blue haori that fluttered slightly in the wind.

The man’s steps were deliberate, his presence calm as he passed by the boy and entered the shrine, the boy following him with his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

...

A few minutes later the man came back out and stood behind the boy silently.

“What's your name kid?” he finally asked.

“Cl…oud,” the boy managed to whisper between breaths.

The man retracted his umbrella, revealing his face, a blue bucket hat over his head and blue eyes similar to Cloud’s. He had a clear face, looking down at the boy with concern.

“Cloud? That’s unusual … Are you here alone?”

Cloud nodded weakly, avoiding the man’s gaze. The stranger knelt down, inspecting the boy’s frail state closely.

“You’re sick,” the man said. “Are the caretakers at the orphanage treating you?”

“They try,” Cloud rasped. “But their healing only works for a short time. That’s why I come here… to pray.”

The man raised an eyebrow, having noticed the foreign and exotic accent in the boy’s voice…

He rubbed his hands together, sparks appearing between his palms, creating a blue electrical flame, gently resting them on Cloud’s back, the warmth of the foxfire seeping into his body.

Slowly, the tightness in Cloud’s chest began to ease. Each breath came more easily, the air filling his lungs without resistance. He sat up, his silver-white hair glinting in the faint light, strands swaying in the breeze.

The man pulled his hands back, the flame fading. “This is just a temporary healing technique,” he said. “The foxfire in your lungs is very weak. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a condition like this.”

Cloud chuckled softly, though his voice carried a note of bitterness. “I’ve heard that one a lot… along with ‘it’s untreatable’ or something along those lines.”

The man smirked faintly. “‘Untreatable’ might be an exaggeration, but no one here can help you. Silverstream Valleys—that’s where most of the healing masters are.”

Cloud turned to look at the man, his eyes widening in awe. He could see the man’s aura, a brilliant, electric-blue foxfire engulfing him entirely. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The man slowly stood up, grabbing his umbrella once again. “My name is Takahiro Morioka, don’t look so frightened kid, I only came here to pray, just like you... So tell me Cloud, what’s your dream?”

“My dream?” Cloud repeated, his voice steadier now. “I want to be an Ascendant... I want to show everyone that I’m not weak.”

Takahiro raised an eyebrow, leaning down to meet Cloud’s determined gaze. Thunder rumbled through the skies, echoing in the distance. “Big dreams for a weak boy… but maybe you’ll become a great Ascendant one day, if you have the determination. You’re not just hoping your dreams will come true are you?”

Cloud met his gaze, his tone firm. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Takahiro softly chuckling…

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, glowing stone infused with swirling blue foxfire. Handing it to Cloud, he straightened his umbrella. “When you’re ready to wield the storm, this will guide you.”

With that, Takahiro walked away, disappearing into the forest. Cloud held the glowing stone close, its light casting a faint glow on his face as the storm above began to break, revealing a clear, star-filled sky…

**

Present Time

Cloud, the masked boy’s legs finally gave out.

His foot caught on uneven ground, and before he could react, his body lurched forward. He crashed down hard, his side scraping against the rough terrain as he slid a short distance before coming to a stop. The impact knocked the wind out of him, leaving him momentarily stunned.

For a brief moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His mask pressed against the cold, jagged rock, the chill seeping through to his skin.

'Are you kidding me?'

A bitter thought flickered in his mind.

‘I tripped over my own damn foot?’

A sharp, guttural screech tore through the air. The sound made his body tense, but he didn’t move. His fingers curled against the dirt, his breath ragged.

‘This might really be it, huh?’

His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his mind swimming in the weight of reality. The thundering footsteps of the Phantom grew louder, its monstrous form barreling toward him with relentless speed.

Cloud exhaled slowly.

‘Pathetic.’