In the ancient war between the 12 Gods, the rule of chaos and destruction reigned supreme. As they clashed in a battle beyond mortal comprehension, all 12 universes, each governed by a divine being, were obliterated, their fragments cast into the endless void.

The devastation was absolute, and billions of lives teetered on the brink of eoblivion. In their final moments, the gods, realizing the consequences of their war, made the ultimate sacrifice. They relinquished their own existence, channeling their remaining divine power into the remnants of their worlds.

From this act of creation and redemption, a new world was born—Mundus Novas. A world forged from the remnants of destruction, where the echoes of past civilizations merged into one.

Here, twelve distinct races emerged from the ashes, each carrying the legacies of their fallen gods. However, in this new realm, there were no deities to guide or govern them. Nature and karma became the ultimate law, dictating the balance of existence. Some races sought harmony, while others vied for dominance, each carving their own destiny in a world devoid of divine intervention.

In this reborn world, a new chapter of existence began—one where mortals, no longer bound by the chains of fate, carved their own destinies.

The echoes of the divine war still lingered, carried by the winds that whispered through ancient ruins and untouched lands. The gods, once rulers of all, had faded into legend, their presence now mere remnants etched into forgotten scriptures and the bloodlines of those who unknowingly carried their will.

The world pulsed with mana, an untamed force that wove through the fabric of reality, granting power to those who dared to wield it. Some sought to harness it for creation, forging wonders beyond imagination. Others coveted its might for destruction, seeking dominion over this newfound age.

Amidst this era of chaos and rebirth, heroes and tyrants alike would rise, their journeys filled with peril, discovery, and the ever-present shadow of an ancient past. For in the wake of gods, it was now mortals who shaped the world, and their choices would carve the path of history itself.

The Boy Who Walked Through Death

The barren lands of the north were a place where even the strongest of men would hesitate to tread—an endless, frozen wasteland where the wind howled like a starving beast, and the sky remained an unfeeling, endless gray. Life was a rarity here, and death lurked behind every gust of icy wind.

Yet, a lone child walked forward.

A boy, no older than five, staggered through the snow-covered ground, his small body trembling violently against the merciless cold. His dark hair was matted with frost, his lips cracked and bloodied, his once-fair skin now a sickly pale. His once-beautiful dark eyes had lost their warmth, replaced by a hollow, deathly stare—focused only on the distant horizon.

It had been two days since he started walking. Two days without rest, without food, without shelter. His tiny feet, barely protected by torn shoes, had long since gone numb. The howling wind bit into his flesh, cutting deeper than any blade, but he did not stop. He could not stop.

By the fourth day, his movements had slowed to half their pace, his body collapsing time and time again. Five times he had fallen unconscious. Five times he had woken up, his body screaming for rest, yet he still forced himself forward. Each time his body betrayed him, his willpower dragged him back to his feet. His mind had long since blurred the line between reality and delirium—yet the pain reminded him he was still alive.

But on the fifth day, even that was fading.

His body was no longer his own. His legs refused to move more than a few steps at a time. His breath came in weak, ragged gasps, barely visible against the frozen air. Even taking ten steps was a struggle. His vision blurred, and his consciousness wavered with every moment.

This was it.

His legs gave out beneath him, his small frame crashing into the snow. The world around him felt distant, the cold finally numbing even his suffering. He could feel the weight of death pressing down on him, inviting him into its embrace.

And in that moment, as his vision dimmed, the only thought that surfaced in his fading mind was not fear, nor despair.

It was her.

A warm, gentle smile. Soft hands that once caressed his face. A voice that called his name with love.

His mother.

He remembered running through a sunlit garden, laughter filling the air. He remembered her warmth, her embrace, her love—so distant now, yet still the brightest thing in his dying world.

Tears did not come. Even his body refused him that comfort.

Just as his eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the abyss, a shadow fell over him.

A presence. Dark. Unfamiliar.

Something—someone—was approaching.

And as he took his last shallow breath, welcoming his end, the darkness reached for him.

what happens next? Who or what is the shadowed figure? Is it a savior, a threat, or something unexpected?

A soft glow filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. The gentle rustling of fabric stirred the silence as a small figure shifted beneath the covers. His long lashes fluttered before dark eyes slowly opened.

Familiarity greeted him.

The rich tapestries, the carved wooden furniture, the soft silk sheets—his room.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, his mind clouded with confusion. Hadn’t he…?

Suddenly, like a dam breaking, the memories of the past few days crashed down on him. The cold, the pain, the hunger—the endless walk through the frozen wastelands. His breath hitched, and his body tensed as fear seized him. Was it a dream?

His trembling fingers clutched the sheets.

No, it had felt too real. The exhaustion, the numbness, the way his body had given out on that final day… If it was a dream, why did his heart still race in terror?

Panic flared in his chest. He had to see her. He had to see Mother.

Throwing off the covers, he bolted from the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor as he sprinted toward her chambers. He burst through the doors—empty.

His heart pounded. His breath came in ragged gasps as he ran through the halls, opening door after door, calling out for her—but she was nowhere to be found.

His hope was slipping.

Then, as desperation clawed at his mind, a single thought struck him.

The garden.

His legs carried him before his mind could catch up. He sprinted toward the sunlit courtyard, his breath uneven, his chest tightening—until he saw her.

A lone silhouette stood among the blooming flowers, watering the delicate petals with gentle hands. Her presence was warm, serene, untouched by the frantic storm within him.

"Mother…!"

His small feet barely touched the ground as he ran straight into her embrace, arms wrapping around her tightly. Warmth. The warmth he had been searching for. The warmth he had nearly lost.

Tears spilled freely down his face as sobs wracked his small body. He didn’t want to let go.

She held him, her hand stroking his hair soothingly. "It’s alright. You’re safe now. Don’t cry, my love."

Slowly, the fear faded, replaced by warmth and comfort. The scent of flowers, the sound of her heartbeat, the soft lull of her voice—it was real. She was real.

"I had a nightmare," he wanted to tell her. "I was lost, alone… I thought I’d never see you again."

But the words never came.

His lips parted, yet no sound escaped. His throat constricted, his voice stolen. He tried again—nothing.

His eyes widened in panic. Why couldn’t he speak?

He tried harder, forcing his lips to move, struggling against the silence. But nothing changed.

And then, something worse happened.

The warmth of her arms started to fade.

Her figure, once solid and real, began to dissolve—like mist scattered by the wind.

"No… no, no, no—"

He reached for her, tried to hold on, but his fingers grasped at nothing. She was slipping away, disappearing before his eyes.

"Mother!"

The scream tore from his throat, raw and desperate—

—And then he woke up.

A sharp inhale. His body jolted upright, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath ragged. But something was wrong.

This wasn’t his room.

The bed beneath him was unfamiliar, the scent in the air foreign. And beside him, two strangers sat—watching him with relieved smiles.

A woman, perhaps in her thirties, her face kind yet weary. Beside her, a bald man with a stone-like expression, his sharp eyes unreadable.

Who were they?

And more importantly—where was he?

Beneath the shade of an old tree, a young boy lay on the soft grass, gazing at the endless sky above. The wind whispered through the leaves, and the gentle rustling calmed his restless thoughts. But no matter how peaceful the scenery, his mind was anything but.

So many questions plagued him.

Who was he?

How did he get here?

Why did the image of a woman—his mother—linger in his memories like a fading dream?

What did she look like? What was her name?

He tried to remember, but his mind felt like a vast, empty void. The more he reached for the answers, the further they slipped from his grasp. The only thing he knew for certain was the unbearable cold, the feeling of his body breaking apart, and the unshakable instinct that had pushed him forward despite everything.

Why had he been walking endlessly, barely clinging to life? How had he survived in the middle of nowhere?

And most importantly… what was wrong with this damned wolf cub that wouldn’t stop playing with him?

The boy sighed as he looked down at the tiny creature beside him. The black-furred cub wagged its tail excitedly, its bright silver eyes gleaming with mischief. It pounced on him again, licking his face with relentless enthusiasm.

"Stop it, you stupid mutt!" the boy groaned, trying to push it away.

The pup only barked happily, clearly enjoying itself.

The Awakening

When the boy had first woken up, the first thing he felt was warmth.

A woman had been holding him in her arms, her embrace gentle yet firm, as if afraid he would disappear at any moment. Tears shimmered in her kind brown eyes as she whispered, "Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay, my child."

Beside her stood a large man, arms crossed, his face stern yet relieved. And then… there was the puppy—or at least, what he had thought was a puppy at the time.

Moments later, as confusion settled in, he had bombarded them with questions, his voice small yet desperate.

"Who am I?" he asked, his fingers trembling as he clutched at the blankets. "Who are you people? What am I doing here?"

And then, as if realizing the most important question of all, he pointed at the furry menace sitting on the man’s lap.

"And why is this puppy licking my face?!"

The two adults exchanged glances, momentarily at a loss for words. Worry flickered in their expressions, but then the man suddenly burst into laughter, breaking the heavy atmosphere.

"Oh, little one, first of all—that is no ordinary puppy," he said with amusement. "That little beast is an apex predator, the king of the northern ice lands! And believe it or not, he’s the one who found you."

The boy blinked. "...What?"

The man chuckled. "This little wolf dragged you to me while we were out hunting. Smart little guy, isn’t he?" He patted the cub’s head, making the creature wag its tail proudly. "His name is Rocs."

The woman beside him sighed before shooting the man an exasperated glare. "Edward, stop overwhelming him."

The man—Edward—grinned. "Alright, alright! Let’s do this properly. My name is Edward Forger, the best blacksmith in all of the Kingdom of Lanka!" He puffed his chest out proudly. "And this lovely lady beside me is my sweet wife, Anna Forger, the best doctor in—"

Before he could finish, Anna elbowed him sharply in the stomach, causing him to double over with a grunt.

"Eddie, shut your mouth!" she scolded, her cheeks turning slightly red from embarrassment. Then, turning back to the boy, she gently stroked his hair and smiled softly. "Don’t mind him. He’s always been like that."

The boy found himself staring at her, feeling something unfamiliar—something warm.

Anna’s voice was softer when she continued, "It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember your past. You’re safe now, and we would love to have you stay with us until your memories return."

Edward, having recovered from Anna’s assault, grinned again. "That’s right, kid. Resting and healing are the most important things right now. And trust me—you’re lucky you’ve got Anna as your guardian angel. Not only is she the best doctor, but she’s also the best cook in all of Mundas Novas!"

At this, the boy couldn’t help but laugh.

It wasn’t much—not compared to the warmth in his dream, not compared to the feeling of his mother’s embrace that still haunted his heart.

But at that moment, as he hugged Anna tightly, for the first time since waking up in this strange place… he felt just a little bit safer.