He tried to open his eyes. Only one responded.
He was lying on the ground. All around him—blood. One of his eyes was bleeding, but he couldn't remember why. He lifted his head... and then he saw it: a sea of corpses.
Humans, but also beasts. Warriors and monsters. The aftermath of a war. The bodies of creatures and fighters felt foreign to him, as if they belonged to a world not his own.
He tried to stand, but his body didn't respond the way he was used to. He felt smaller. Weaker. More fragile.
Still, he tried.
After several attempts, he managed to stand. But he didn't know what to do. Or where to go.
—"What was this body that barely obeyed? What were those grotesque creatures, so unlike anything he could recall?"—His mind echoed hollowly.
He touched his face. His hand trembled at the sensation of a wound that ran from his eyebrow down to his left cheek. The blood still flowed, warm. His skin was pale, nearly as much as his hair—white like ash. His arms were thin, fragile, covered in dust and dried blood.
He looked up and saw a figure in the distance.
It looked human. Desperate, he shouted with all his strength:
"HEEEEEEELP!"
His voice… didn't sound familiar either. It was higher. Strange.
Then he raised his hand. He wanted to be seen.
The figure began to move. It didn't walk. It floated just above the ground, yet seemed connected to the earth, as if something on its back anchored it down.
It stopped. It stared at him from afar.
And then… it advanced. Fast. Very fast.
The ground beneath its feet cracked, as if something was swimming underground.
When it got close enough, the earth burst open. A massive worm with jagged jaws erupted from the ground before the boy, its shadow engulfing him completely. It was going to devour him.
But a figure, like a flash of lightning, stood between them.
It deflected the creature's charge and carried the boy away from the spot.
He was placed beneath a nearby tree. The man turned back toward where they had come from.
And said:
"Find it, Hikari."
From the sky, a lone bolt of lightning struck the spot where they had just been. The impact roared like thunder so loud the boy covered his ears and turned away. When the smoke cleared from the smoldering crater, a beast of feline shape stood tall—pure white, with eyes that glowed like the sun. It was unlike anything the boy had ever seen. It was Hikari.
Hikari leapt from the crater like a hunter catching the scent of prey.
He paused. Raised his head. Let out a short roar, gazing toward a nearby forest.
The man looked at him and ordered:
"Bring it."
In that instant, Hikari moved so fast the boy couldn't follow.
"Get ready, kid," the man murmured. "It's coming."
From a distance, flashes of light flickered between the trees, and then some fell. The worm was being driven toward them, pursued by Hikari from behind.
The man drew his sword. Its blade looked like lightning.
The worm leaped again toward him, but this time he wasn't going to let it escape.
As the creature was airborne, the man moved like a bolt of lightning, spinning around it and slashing across its entire body in mere milliseconds.
He touched the ground first.
The worm's body fell apart in midair as if it had been cut by a thousand blades all at once. Chunks rained down over the field, but not a single piece touched the boy.
The man sheathed his sword in one motion. The metal still sparked, as if thunder refused to leave it.
He turned slowly, walked toward the boy, and knelt beside him.
He wore a white tunic stained by battle, but his presence remained impeccable. His hair was golden, as if bathed in sunlight, and his eyes, the same color, radiated calm and strength.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a firm but gentle voice. "That wound on your face looks deep."
The boy shook his head. He didn't trust his voice. He didn't trust anything. He didn't even know who he was.
"Can you speak?"
The boy hesitated. Swallowed hard. Tried to say something, but only managed a whisper:
"I don't… I don't know who I am…"
The man observed him for a few seconds. His golden eyes showed neither surprise nor pity. Only a quiet understanding.
"I see," he replied, turning his gaze toward the horizon.
The boy looked at him, full of fear and confusion.
"Where am I? What was that thing? Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He stood up and looked at the sky for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then he looked back at him.
"My name is Akiharu Sōya. I'm a Harmonist from the kingdom of Albiria."
The boy frowned.
"Harmonist…?"
"You don't know what that means?"
The boy lowered his gaze. His thoughts were a whirlwind of questions, but none found answers.
Akiharu crouched down again, looked at him closely, and with a slight smile said:
"I don't know what happened to you. But whatever it was… you survived."
The boy lifted his head.
"I don't even know my name…"
Akiharu looked at him a moment longer, as if assessing him. Then nodded firmly.
"Then… from today on, your name will be Arata. Until you remember your real one."
A strange sensation of warmth and relief filled his chest. It was a name. A beginning.
"Arata…?" the boy repeated, feeling the syllables on his lips like a promise. A faint smile—his first one—appeared on his face, and he nodded silently.
Akiharu stood up and extended his hand.
"Come. This is a war zone; it's not safe for you to be alone."
Arata stared at it for a few seconds… then took it.
The journey from that field of ruins to the heart of Albiria took nearly two months. They crossed valleys dotted with wildflowers, rivers shimmering under sunlight, and forests where creatures watched from afar, curiously eyeing the pale-haired stranger.
During that time, Akiharu spoke little, but his actions said enough. He shared his food, taught him how to recognize dangerous creatures by the sound of their steps, and each night before sleeping, he made sure Arata was warm enough. It wasn't an awkward silence, but a peaceful one, born from trust.
As for Arata, he didn't know what to ask. With no memories, no real name, any attempt at conversation felt hollow. But in the midst of that void, Akiharu became a beacon.
On a rainy night, as they camped under a cave, he was the one who carefully cleaned the wound on Arata's face and applied a medicine that stung, but soothed.
"It won't stop hurting completely," he said, securing the bandage, "but it will heal."
And though the scar remained forever, from that moment on, Arata stopped touching the wound. He had begun to trust.
When they finally crossed the last hill, the capital of Albiria unfolded before them like a living painting. Towers of white stone rose among massive trees, hanging bridges crossed streams that flowed through the streets, and familiars of all kinds—from blazing birds to shadowy figures of wind—walked alongside humans.
Arata stopped without realizing it. For a moment, he forgot the emptiness inside. The bustle, the colors, the harmony between people and creatures… everything felt so different from the world he had left behind—or perhaps never belonged to. Noticing his expression, Akiharu simply said…
"Welcome to Eirenwald."
As they passed, citizens paused, bowed their heads, or smiled respectfully. Some whispered Akiharu's name. He responded with subtle gestures, never stopping. Arata, though he didn't fully understand, began to sense the weight the man carried on his shoulders.
The Harmonist Academy of Belgran rose at the city's center, surrounded by gardens and a living wall formed by trees trained to grow in symmetrical shapes. The central tower shone in the evening light, adorned with stained glass that reflected scenes of ancient pacts and legendary battles.
Upon entering, Arata felt his breathing slow. Not out of fear, but from the overwhelming beauty and grandeur of the place.
"Will I really live here?"
In the reception hall, several high-ranking figures awaited. Their garments were pristine, their presence commanding. There were instructors, researchers, even what seemed to be high strategists. Their gazes settled on Arata with a mix of curiosity and caution. One of them spoke first.
"This is the child you found?"
Akiharu nodded. "His name is Arata. He doesn't remember who he was. But he deserves the chance to live, to learn, to grow."
A gray-haired woman crossed her arms. "We have no records of him. What if he's a threat?"
Akiharu didn't raise his voice, but his tone left no room for doubt. "He'll be my responsibility. From today, Arata is my son."
A heavy silence filled the room. "What?!" The word slipped from him, barely a choked whisper. Son? He, who remembered nothing, who had nothing—suddenly had a father?
"Adopted son," Akiharu repeated, turning to him. "I'll give you my surname, if you agree."
Arata didn't know what to say. Something squeezed in his chest. He had never felt that kind of warmth before. He didn't know if it was happiness, fear, or something new, but he nodded slowly.
The adults accepted the decision, some with reservations. But none dared oppose the man even the highest ranks respected in silence.
That night, Arata received his room. It was simple but cozy. A well-made bed, an empty bookshelf, a desk with fresh ink and paper. When he closed the door, silence enveloped him. He approached the vanity mirror.
The face staring back was that of a stranger. Left eye shut, marked by a scar running to his cheek. White hair, as if time had touched him early.
He sat on the bed, slowly. He didn't know who he had been. He didn't know why he was here.
He thought of Akiharu. Of his calm. Of how he had cared for him without asking anything in return. Of how he had called him "son" without hesitation.
And then he knew.
"I don't know who I was. I have no memories. But I want to live. I'll do my best to become someone."
That night, in the silence of his new home, Arata took his first step toward the destiny that would one day shake the world.