POV: Yuuna Mizushino
Place: Edge of the Mortal Realm, Forest of Withered Stars
Date: 23 Years Before the Fall
---
The sky rained embers that night.
Silent. Crimson. Ominous.
The heavens above the Forest of Withered Stars bled softly, casting the world in a ghostly shade of red. Trees stood like silent witnesses, their dead branches clawing at the horizon. The ground was dry, cracked with the touch of time and rot. It was not a place where humans lived—not anymore. But Yuuna Mizushino was never one to heed warnings etched in the wind.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, a small lantern trembling in her grasp. The light it gave off was warm, but weak against the creeping shadows. Her breath misted in the cold air as she scanned the darkness, instincts prickling beneath her skin.
The birds had stopped singing.
The wind had vanished.
And the stars above… watched.
She stepped forward, boots crunching softly against the brittle earth. Her gaze caught something—no, someone—crumpled at the foot of the forgotten shrine.
A man.
No. Not a man. Not quite.
He was slumped against the ancient stones, unmoving, as though the shrine itself had birthed him from blood and ruin. Long, crimson hair fanned around him like a river of fire, and his body—gods, his body—was torn and battered, soaked in dark red from wounds that looked fresh and violent. Cuts crossed his arms, his chest, even his face. But strangely, none of them struck the heart or neck. None were fatal.
And still, he looked as though he had walked through death and back.
Yuuna's breath hitched. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to get as far away as she could. His presence was wrong. Not human. Heavy and ancient, like the first breath of the world before time.
But her heart…
Her heart whispered something else.
Stay.
She rushed forward and dropped to her knees beside him, fingers trembling as she pressed against his neck. A pulse. Weak. Thready. But it was there. He was alive. Her lantern clattered beside her, casting flickering light across the shrine stones.
His face was oddly serene in unconsciousness, as if sleeping through pain. Strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, skin pale beneath the blood. His brow was furrowed slightly, like someone deep in thought… or regret.
Why is he here? Who would leave someone like this?
She didn't have time to think. She tore off her coat and wrapped it around him, brushing his hair aside. "Hold on," she murmured, not sure if it was for him or herself. "I'll help you. I promise."
---
He awoke hours later in her cottage.
Nestled deep within the woods, her home was modest—wooden walls lined with dried herbs and old books, a stone fireplace crackling with light. The man lay on a cot near the fire, his body freshly bandaged with strips of cotton and medicine-soaked leaves. A pot of herbal stew simmered quietly in the corner.
"…You saved me," he said suddenly, voice rough and deep, like thunder muffled behind storm clouds.
Yuuna jumped slightly, startled by his awareness. He didn't move much, just shifted his gaze to her, eyes half-lidded.
"You would've died if I hadn't," she replied, voice calm but firm. She stirred the pot slowly, letting the smell of mint and rosemary fill the room.
He studied her. His eyes were strange—like the stars moments before they died. Golden, but dim. Ancient, but empty.
"I'm dangerous," he muttered.
"I can tell," she replied without missing a beat. "But I don't abandon people just because they scare me."
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned his gaze back toward the fire.
---
He stayed.
For days.
He never told her his name. He didn't ask for hers, either. But somehow, it didn't matter. She called him the Crimson Stranger, and he accepted the title in silence.
He was quiet, always quiet, like a ghost still tethered to the world. He would stare out the window at night, eyes fixed on the moon like it was a forgotten memory. The wind would ruffle his red hair, and he would barely notice.
She caught him once—touching the hilt of an invisible sword, fingers curling like he still held it in battle. Whatever war he had fought, it had not ended yet. Not truly.
Sometimes, she'd find him reading her old books. He didn't ask questions, but he devoured knowledge like a starving man. She learned quickly that he was clever—brilliant, even. His observations were sharp, insightful. When he finally spoke, his voice carried wisdom that shouldn't have belonged to any man.
And yet… he seemed so lost.
---
Yuuna hadn't smiled in years. Not truly. Not since her mother died. Not since her village burned. But this stranger—this half-broken immortal wrapped in silence—made her smile again.
She teased him when he tried cooking and failed miserably. His stew was saltier than seawater. His tea was bitter enough to wake the dead. She couldn't stop laughing. He didn't laugh with her, but she saw the way the corner of his lips curved, just slightly. Like a man learning to be human again.
"Don't ever cook again," she warned him one evening, clutching her stomach after one particularly awful attempt.
He nodded solemnly. "I understand. It was a declaration of war."
She burst out laughing. "Finally, some humor!"
"…Wasn't joking," he said, deadpan.
That made her laugh harder.
---
A month passed.
They sat together under the night sky, wrapped in a comfortable silence. The stars blinked above them, unblinking witnesses to the strange bond that had formed between them.
"I never asked…" Yuuna said, turning her head toward him, "Where are you from?"
He didn't look at her. He just stared at the stars. His eyes dimmed a little.
"A place that no longer exists."
That was all he said. And for some reason… she didn't ask again.
---
The days bled into each other. Time moved quietly, as if afraid to disturb them. He would chop wood. She would brew tea. He would stand guard during storms, swordless but vigilant. And she would hum old lullabies at the hearth.
The world outside felt distant. Irrelevant.
Until the night everything changed.
Yuuna sat by the hearth, staring at the small glass vial in her hands. The herbal mixture inside shimmered faintly, reacting to her touch. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded.
Her fingers trembled.
"…I'm pregnant," she whispered.
The words barely escaped her lips. The fire cracked. The wind outside stirred.
He stood near the door, silent as always, his eyes hidden behind red strands of hair. But the moment the words left her mouth, his entire body shifted. Just a fraction. His shoulders stiffened. His jaw clenched.
And his eyes—those eyes that carried the weight of dying stars—flared.
Not with anger.
Not with fear.
But with something deeper.
Something older.
Something divine.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
Yuuna stared at him, heart pounding in her chest. "Tell me," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Who are you really?"
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
"I am… someone who should not be remembered," he murmured. "Not by this world. Not by you."
"But I already do," she said quietly. "And I think… I always will."
They stood there, wrapped in silence, firelight dancing between them.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees.
And the stars kept watching.
---
To be continued.
[End of Chapter 1: The Crimson Stranger]