The Flames

A Few Weeks earlier

Far to the East, another storm brewed, not of rain or thunder but of ambition and deceit. In the Kurai Abyss Region, the Clan Yami's territory stretched over arid, shadow-like terrain. Natural barriers of jagged rock and dark-sand dunes isolated it from neighboring clans. It felt empty but not like the realm Cloud was in currently, facing imminent death, no it was in the 'real world' as most people referred to it.

On this cloudy day, the same day Cloud met Takahiro, the streets of the clan's stronghold lay eerily empty, the wind carrying whispers of dust through narrow alleys.

A lone figure moved in the shadows near the clan's castle. Clad in fitted black robes and a dark, hooded cloak, his face was obscured by a gray mask, not the type with horns but of cheap torn clothing, wrapped around his face. He crept along the stone walls, his movements precise and silent. As a guard passed nearby, adorned in gray leather armor and robes with a dagger at his hip, the man remained still, blending into the shadows.

Once the guard turned a corner, the intruder approached a large wooden door. Producing a lock-pick, he worked quickly, the mechanism clicking softly as he slipped inside. The room beyond was empty, save for a thin stand holding a large, green grimoire.

The man strode to it, his movements swift and deliberate. He placed the grimoire into a leather bag beneath his cloak and returned to the door, peeking out to ensure the corridor was clear.

Just as he exited, the guard reappeared, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the intruder. "Hey! Who are you?!"

The hooded man's form shimmered, splitting into smoky gray duplicates that filled the hallway. The guard drew his dagger and hurled it toward one of the figures, but it passed harmlessly through the illusion, embedding itself in the stone wall. The duplicates vanished, leaving the hallway empty once more.

"Intruder!" the guard shouted, his voice echoing through the castle. Guards in the distance marched to the stronghold as a low resonant bell began to toll within the depths of the castle…

But the hooded man had already left the castle, calmly walking the streets, dodging the gaze of the guards passing by him. He glanced at the grimoire safely hidden in his bag as the bells tolls grew louder, joined by the howl of hounds.

***

Present time

Cloud was still lying on the cold ground, waiting to be dismembered by the phantom that was approaching, but even though he knew his fate, he refused to give up. He managed to stand on his feet and turn his back on the creature as he began to quickly shuffle. His speed was laughable compared to the phantoms and he knew that but it didn't matter, he dragged himself, one leg after the other.

Then BOOM!

A roaring inferno erupted between, the explosion engulfing the phantom with flames of crimson and gold. The heat was scorching, forcing Cloud to cover his face with his arm, his mask alone couldn't suffice. The phantom let out a distorted screech, the sound crawling under Cloud's skin like writhing insects.

A figure emerged from the flames.

A man's silhouette flickered, his long cloak billowing as embers danced around him. His hand was raised, fingers curled into a claw-like grip, as if commanding the fire itself. With a low, almost bored sigh, he muttered:

"Another day, another idiot who has no idea what he's doing."

The Phantom suddenly lunged, its form barely visible through the swirling firestorm. But before it could reach him, the man thrust his palm forward—a torrent of flames erupted from his hand, spiraling into a dragon's maw.

The fiery beast roared, its fangs of flame sinking into the Phantom's body. The creature writhed, screeching in agony as it tumbled to the ground…

The man strode over to the fallen phantom, its grotesque form twitching on the ground. Though barely clinging to existence—if it could even be considered a living thing—it let out a distorted wheeze, its long, skeletal limbs convulsing. The man knelt beside it, his presence unwavering, as if he had done this a thousand times before. His right hand ignited with flames—not ordinary fire, but something more refined, more… alive. The embers curled around his fingers like living serpents, eager to devour.

With a swift and deliberate motion, he plunged his flaming palm into the phantom's chest.

The moment his hand connected, the flames surged violently, engulfing his entire body in a brilliant, crimson inferno. But Cloud could tell—this was no ordinary fire. The flickering light carried an unnatural radiance, an eerie, ethereal glow. Foxfire.

He tore his gaze away from the man and gasped. The phantom, too, was now consumed by foxfire—but its flames were different. They were black, sinister, writhing like tortured shadows desperately trying to claw away from their fate. The two flames—red and black—crashed against each other in a violent struggle, each vying for dominance. The air crackled with raw energy, the clash of the fires sending embers spiraling into the sky like dying stars.

Slowly, inevitably, the man's crimson foxfire began to spread, consuming the black fire like a predator overwhelming its prey. The phantom let out a final, gurgling screech as its grotesque body crumbled into embers, dissolving into nothingness. The eerie black flames flickered out, defeated. A second later, the red foxfire surrounding the man receded, flowing back into his body as if it had never left.

Cloud remained frozen where he stood, his breath caught in his throat. He had barely moved since the exorcism began, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed.

'He exorcised it so quickly.'

Exorcism. The ultimate way to rid this world of phantoms, to release them from their eternal torment as wretched, forsaken creatures. But exorcism wasn't just an act of mercy—it was a means of power. When a phantom was exorcised, all of its foxfire was transferred to the one who performed the ritual. The strong grew stronger, while the weak perished.

The man rose to his feet, his dark-red cloak billowing in the dry wind. The fabric, worn yet sturdy, carried the scent of embers and ash. He turned, his gaze settling on Cloud. At least, Cloud assumed he was looking at him—it was difficult to tell. A fearsome oni mask covered his face, its sharp contours and demonic grin frozen in an eternal sneer. Its surface was painted a deep, burnt orange, much like Cloud's black oni mask, but his was different.

Older. Deadlier. Two medium-sized, curved horns jutted out from the forehead, glowing faintly with an ominous red hue. The otherworldly light pulsed in sync with the lingering embers around him, as if the mask itself was alive.

"You're lucky I was here," the man said, his voice even but laced with a quiet authority. "That phantom was a few steps away from ripping you to bits."

Cloud blinked, his thoughts still sluggish. He quickly shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He had nearly died.

Bowing slightly, he replied, "Thank you. I am in your debt."

The man tilted his head, studying him. His long, dark ponytail swayed with the wind, strands of hair catching the moonlight. "You're pretty weak, aren't you?" he remarked. "I can barely sense your foxfire, and the horns on your mask are barely even there."

Cloud let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know," he admitted. "That's why I'm here—to get stronger."

Suddenly, flashes of memories began to seep into his head.

'Wait… how do I know that?'

He knew why he was here—but how did he know? He could see images, flashes of him and the strange man, Takahiro. They were talking, eating.. it was bits and pieces hard to understand… It was an unsettling feeling, like remembering a dream just before it slipped away.

The man scoffed. "To get stronger, huh? Like that wasn't obvious." He folded his arms, his crimson robe shifting slightly. "I'm guessing you haven't exorcised a single phantom yet?"

Cloud hesitated, then nodded.

The man exhaled through his nose, a sound caught between amusement and pity. Despite his intimidating aura, his voice wasn't too deep. He wasn't much older than Cloud, maybe a few years at most.

"Well, if I were you, I'd wait until there's only one moon left. There's no chance you can take on a phantom when multiple moons are out. And even if you did somehow manage to defeat one… you wouldn't survive the foxfire."

Cloud stiffened. He had seen the moons, floating in the eerie sky of this strange realm, their cold glow casting elongated shadows across the cracked ground. The more moons, the stronger the phantoms. He swallowed hard. Tonight, there were eight.

Eight moons.

For someone as weak as him, that was a death sentence.

Trying to change the subject, Cloud hesitated before asking, "So… you're from Emberforge, right?"

The man was silent for a moment, then finally answered, "Yes."

"And you're from?"

Cloud glanced down before replying, "An orphanage in Stormspire Plains."

"I see. Do they not feed you at this orphanage or do you just naturally look like a straw-man?"