Outside, the snow fell heavily against the mountain peaks, but inside the small wooden house, the air was warm. In the dim light of the hearth, a simple, happy family prepared for bed.
"Hey, tell us a story or we won't sleep!" Zalle
demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah!" Krei and Ellenoi added in unison, bouncing impatiently on their blankets.
Their older sister, Laura, looked down at them with a patient, sweet smile. She loved her brothers more than anything, even when they were being difficult.
"Alright, alright..."
The three boys cheered, their faces lighting up with joy.
"But promise me this," Laura said, her expression turning mock-serious as she pointed a finger at them.
"None of you are allowed to fall asleep until I finish the story."
The brothers groaned in disbelief. "There's no way we can do that!" Ellenoi argued reasonably.
Laura couldn't help but giggle at their dramatic reactions.
"I'm just kidding," she teased. "Now, let me think... what story should I tell?"
The suggestions came flying at her all at once. "The tales of King Murgundr!" "No! The Legend of Valdem and Lamren!"
"Quiet, quiet!" Laura laughed, holding up her hands to calm the storm. "To make things fair, I'll be the one to choose. Tonight, I'll tell you the story of a King who died in his own world, only to be reincarnated in ours. And he had a very rough start."
Krei's eyes went wide. "Who's that?" he whispered, leaning in close.
"Is he an otherworlder?" Ellenoi asked, his voice cracking with a sudden, sharp anxiety.
The three brothers were flabbergasted. The word itself seemed to chill the room. Instantly, they scrambled back, diving under their thick wool blankets until only their wide, frightened eyes were visible
.
"What's wrong?" Laura asked, her brow furrowing.
The three of them peeked out simultaneously. "A-a-aren't they dangerous?" Zalle
stammered, his voice muffled by the fabric.
Laura comforted her brothers with a soft, reassuring laugh. "They are just humans, Zalle. Just like us."
"But they said if we ever see one, we'll be eaten or killed!" Krei insisted, his grip tightening on the blanket.
"Who told you that? Anyway, can you even distinguish an otherworlder from a normal person?"
"No," the three brothers replied in a tiny, simultaneous whisper, looking at each other sheepishly.
"Exactly!" Laura said, tapping her chin with a playful smirk. "You must not make assumptions if you haven't seen one for yourselves. Got it?"
"Got it," the three brothers said in a low voice of submission, their fear beginning to melt away under her steady gaze.
"But he was—" Ellenoi started to doubt again, but Laura gently cut him off.
"Now, let's go back to the story," she said happily, her eyes sparkling. "This story isn't just about him. It is about how we should view an otherworlder—without discrimination or doubt. It is also the story of the people who joined him on his journey."
The siblings shifted from fear to pure amazement, a new fire sparked in their eyes.
"Tell us more! Tell us more!"
"Calm down," Laura smiled, tucking the blankets tightly around them until they were snug.
"We're just getting started. But first, you asked why he had a rough start... You see, he was a king, yet he had no kingdom and no stone throne. Even worse, before he ever found his way, he was a slave for three straight years."
Zalle's face fell, replaced by a deep frown. "That's a horrible start."
"Indeed it is," Laura said, her eyes reflecting the flickering orange light of the fire as she sighed softly.
"And what comes after that? How did he escape?" Zalle pressed.
"Well... he didn't escape. Someone sav—"
"Wait!" Ellenoi interrupted. "Before all that, didn't you say he had no kingdom? King Murgundr has a kingdom. Every king must have one! Why doesn't he?"
He slumped back against his pillow, crossing his arms in protest. Laura giggled, leaning forward to boop his nose. "Well, that is what makes this story worth listening to. Who knows?"
She suddenly stretched her arms wide, her shadow expanding across the wooden walls of the cabin as if she were trying to embrace the entire mountain range outside.
"Did he really achieve his goal as a kingdomless king who owned the world? Or did he simply become a living legend? As we progress through the story, the four of us will witness his achievements, his failures, and how he dealt with those failures, together."
She leaned back, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that made the boys lean in so close their foreheads nearly touched.
"Because a King without a crown isn't just a man with nothing... he's a man who has everything left to take."
Zalle's frown softened into a look of deep curiosity as he looked at his sister's outstretched hands. "So... he chose not to have walls?"
"In a way," Laura explained softly, her eyes reflecting the dying embers of the fire.
"Tonight, I'm going to tell you the legend of the man once called 'The Guitar King.' His name... was Sai Haizen."
As the final syllable left her lips, the crackling of the fireplace distorted. The warm orange glow was bleached away by a cold, artificial blue. The scent of cedar was choked out by the sharp, metallic tang of rain-slicked asphalt.
On a crowded night, centuries before that cabin was built, a sleek black van glided toward the backstage entrance of a massive arena. Inside sat the legendary Sai Haizen, adjusting his leather jacket. He was oblivious to the fact that this would be his final performance.
In the shadows near the security gate, a figure watched. Cloaked in a heavy black coat and boots, his most striking feature was a bone-white Skull Mask. He tossed a suppressed sidearm into the darkness, vanishing for a moment to evade the perimeter sweep. When he reached the final checkpoint, a guard stepped forward.
"Sir, remove the mask," the guard commanded, his hand hovering over his holster.
The killer didn't speak. He simply drew a slow, deliberate breath. As he exhaled, he began to hum—a low, oscillating vibration that didn't sound like a melody at all. It was a sound that seemed to bypass the ears entirely, felt instead as a physical weight pressing against the guard's brain.
The guard's eyes went vacant, his pupils dilating until the light died out of them. His hand dropped limp from his holster. Without a single word of protest, the guard stepped aside, his movements mechanical as he gestured for the masked man to pass.
Inside the van, Sai's phone buzzed. It was Rico. The sound of clinking glasses and loud laughter spilled through the speakers.
"Hey, you coming over after your concert?" Rico asked.
"I'm busy, man. Stuck in traffic, almost at the venue," Sai replied.
"Oh right! You're en route to the Zenphyr Stage..."
"Mhmmm. Five minutes out."
"My bad, King. Forgot you're rolling up VIP while we're at the bar."
Sai smirked, leaning back into the leather seat.
"Why don't you guys just come to the concert? I'll give you all backstage passes. The full treatment."
Rico muffled the phone, shouting to the rowdy group of roadies in the background.
"Yo! Sai's dropping passes for the biggest gig in history. Who's in?"
A chorus of "Nah!" and "We're staying put!" echoed back amid the clink of bottles.
"They said they'll pass, man. We're staying put," Rico said, coming back on the line.
"What?! This is it, Rico! Four million screaming fans, the whole world watching!"
"Yeah, but you're still coming over after, right? Win-win? Don't ditch us!"
Sai sighed, looking out at the blurring city lights with a trace of fond disappointment.
"You guys are relentless. Fine. After this, I'm coming straight over."
Suddenly, the phone exploded with cheers and the sound of bass dropping.
"What the hell is that noise?!" Sai asked.
"Oh! Jax Storm just pulled up with us!"
"WHAT!"
Jax Storm snatched the phone, his signature gravelly rockstar drawl cutting through the static.
"Yo! Sai! It's me, Jax! Get your ass down here quick or you'll miss the fun. Shots are flowing!"
"Shit!! I really want to, but I've got a big-ass concert to finish first. I'll catch up once I'm done."
"Heck yeah! That's what I like to hear!!"
"Give the phone back to Rico," Sai laughed. "Rico? Tell the gang. Don't get drunk until I get there."
"You got it, Guitar King! Just don't 'chord' your way in late, or we'll all be 'flat' without ya!"
"Your jokes seriously piss me off sometimes, y'know!"
Rico's loud laugh and the crew's whooping were the last things Sai heard before hanging up. He stared at the dark screen for a second, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"Those guys... no tact at all."
The van dived into the subterranean mouth of the arena, passing through heavy hydraulic gates. Sai stepped out, flanked by his inner circle—six elite security guards in charcoal suits.
"Thirty seconds to go, Sai. You ready?"
the stage manager muttered. She was a sharp woman with a headset and a clipboard, her eyes darting between her watch and the technical monitors.
"Hey, you must call me Kin—"
She rolled her eyes, covered her ears with her palms, and said, "I don't caaare," with a dry, sarcastic grin.
"You're always harsh as ever," Sai remarked, checking his guitar strap.
"Says the guy that got me influenced," she shot back, giving his leather jacket a final, professional tug.
Both of them locked eyes for a second and laughed afterward.
After that small conversation, a cocky, sharp smirk played on Sai Haizen's lips. He adjusted the strap of his custom guitar, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the bunker. "This crap is 'bout to blow," he said simply.
"Good luck right there!" she called out as the hydraulics hissed.
"Still don't call me King?"
The staff only smirked and raised her eyebrow.
"Well... whatever."
He stepped onto the massive industrial platform. As the lift began to rise, the guards stayed below. For the first time that night, he was alone. The hum began then. It wasn't the crowd; it was a low, vibrating weight pressing against the back of his neck.
In the arena, the fans were chanting as the countdown reached its final seconds. As the clock hit zero, the entire stadium plunged into absolute pitch-blackness. Suddenly, a faint, neon-red glow appeared in the center of the dark stage. It was the silhouette of a very bright red guitar: Roxel.
Sai Haizen strummed a single, massive chord. The lights flashed for a split second, pulsing with the beat. Then, with one final, earth-shaking strum, the entire arena exploded into blinding light.
The fans finally saw his face. The sheer intensity was too much for some; in the front rows, dozens of people buckled under the adrenaline, and medics scrambled to carry them out of the surge.
"SAI! SAI! SAI!"
He walked to the edge of the stage, raising his hand to the sky. For one heartbeat, he was the most powerful man on Earth. But as the people below had the best night of their lives, that night was about to turn into the worst disaster in history.
High above, perched on the cold steel of the Mothergrid, the Skull Mask looked down. He felt the vibration of the bass through the soles of his boots—a phantom in the machine. He didn't aim for the head; he aimed for the brachial plexus near the neck—a shot designed to shatter the nervous system and induce instant, total unconsciousness.
The shot didn't just hit Sai; it silenced the world.
Sai didn't feel the pain—only a white-out of static. He fell backward, Roxel clattering onto the stage. As it hit the floor, the guitar erupted into a piercing, discordant scream of high-pitched feedback that drowned out the panicked cries of the crowd. He lay there, pinned under the spotlights, his chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate hitches. He was unconscious, but his physical body remained on the stage, still breathing.
"Huh?" A voice gasped."
Sai—or the shimmering, spectral echo of him—stood up from the center of his own chest. He looked down, horrified, at his own pale, unmoving body.
"W-w-w-what just happened?!"
Beyond the stage, the crowd turned into a nightmare of screams and a violent stampede. But on the stage, Sai's soul panicked.
"Why can I see my body?! Does that mean... I'm dead?! No! I still have an afterparty! Damn it! Damn it all!"
He looked up toward the rafters. The Skull Mask remained as still as a tombstone, staring down with grim, cold-blooded determination. Suddenly, the killer made a slow, downward motion with his gloved hand. A jagged obsidian rift opened behind Sai, and dozens of grotesque, grey hands erupted from the void.
"Get off me! LET GO!!" Sai shrieked as the hands dragged him toward the abyss, peeling his soul away from his breathing body.
Just before the darkness engulfed him, Sai locked eyes with the mask one last time. The killer tilted his head, giving a faint, metallic hum.
"Varaniya, Sai Haizen. Mila bukum apa tika furav phum." (Goodbye, Sai Haizen. I'll be back for you when the time is right.)
The killer laughed menacingly as the hands snapped shut, dragging Sai into the void. And there lies his end, and the new beginning of his journey.