EITO town spread wide under the blanket of snow, each roof white, every street covered in soft frozen silence. Houses lined in wooden frames, smoke rising gently from chimneys, orange lamps still burning dim from the night, flickering weakly against the shine of early sun. Shops closed, streets empty, the only sound was snow crushing under boots.

Vivi, Dax, Auren, and Nyra walked in a line, leaving behind a single path of footprints. Their cloaks were covered in frost, and their breath made white clouds in the cold air. People's faces had a mix of shine, pride, fear, and hope all at once. They walked with heavy, firm steps, as if they knew they were not just walking but stepping into their fate.

Nova walked behind them quietly, his shape different and quiet, almost like a shadow following them. He didn't say anything, but the silence around him was heavier than a storm. Snow fell on his hair and shoulders, but he didn't brush it off.

The town around them looked peaceful, almost saintly, but inside each of them burned fire. Dax grinned faintly, trying to hide a nervous shake in his hand. Vivi looked ahead, her face calm but her eyes trembling. Nyra's gaze was sharp, every step louder than her footfall. And Auren, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed far—carrying both the weight of his past and hope for justice.

Snow kept falling lightly, decorating their path. The cold biting, but their desperation was warmer than any fire. Phantom Tideborn's first march—through a world that looked beautiful, silent, but already knew a storm was about to come.

Auren muttered from under his jacket, his body wrapped in a heavy white woolen sweater."How much farther is it?"

Nova turned his head slowly, his straight face carrying no sign of emotion."Just about to reach," he replied, voice flat, expressionless. The silence between them thickened, only the crunch of boots against snow filling the air.

Vivi's eyes caught a snow tree standing alone, its branches layered with frost where wool fruit had grown. She walked near, plucked one gently, and held it in her small hands. With a playful breath, she blew it away.

The wool drifted lightly through the air, carried by the cold wind, until it brushed against Nyra's face. She accidentally inhaled and began coughing.

"Oh—sorry! It was my mistake," Vivi said quickly.

Nyra shook her head, her voice soft, "Nothing… go ahead."

Meanwhile, Dax kept walking in line, but his gaze fell on the snow beneath him. His thoughts slipped away, dissolving into the memory of a face—Maira. Her pink eyes, her pink hair. That smile of hers kept flashing in his mind like it was carved into the winter air.

The first smile she gave him. The first time she reached out her hand when he fell during training. Dax remembered that moment vividly—his palm brushing against hers. For the first time, his heart had blacked out, stunned, as if time itself froze in her touch.

Meanwhile, Auren was lost in thought, drowning in the weight of his own past. Out of nowhere, the face of Rose flickered into his vision—her gentle smile, that first meeting on the windswept cliff. His chest tightened. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, as if her memory itself had stolen the air from his lungs. Rose—his first friend, his anchor—appeared so vividly that he could almost hear her laugh echoing against the sky.

He remembered the way he had held her once, pressing himself against her warmth, her softness, like he never wanted to let go. Words had failed him then, because no words could capture the affection, the bond they had shared. Their first adventure together in Anthridium Park returned to him like a scene painted in colors brighter than reality—the rushing waterfalls, the smell of wet stone, the reckless joy of running side by side with someone who made him feel alive.

Slowly, Auren looked down at his palm, curling his fingers into a fist. I am a mage now… finally. The thought pulsed with pride, but also sorrow. He was no longer the weak, mageless boy who had wandered through empty days with no friends, no purpose. Now, everything had changed—so much so that it almost felt like those lonely years had never existed.

Yet, in the silence of his heart, he whispered to the ghosts of his past. Sunny, Rose… His voice trembled in memory. You two are more than memories. You are tattoos etched into me—ink of the past, carved deep, never fading.

The wind shifted around him, cold and sharp, carrying with it the scent of snow and distant pine. But beneath that chill, Auren carried warmth—the warmth of the ones he had lost, the warmth that still shaped him, even now.

Meanwhile, in the grand Ramuza family main house, Aazin and Ryzin sat at the long, carved dining table that stretched like a river of oak through the hall. The table itself was massive, polished to a mirror shine, etched with the sigils of their bloodline, and heavy enough to crush a man if it ever toppled. Servants—ladies of the household, sisters, wives, daughters—moved silently with trays of steaming dishes, their steps soft against the marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and burning incense, a mixture that carried the aura of a royal town, rich and commanding.

Nearly a hundred men lined both sides of the table, shoulders broad, arms thick with the kind of strength carved not just from training but from living rough, violent lives. They were muscle-forged, scarred, proud—a wall of flesh and steel. Their voices rumbled low, their laughter heavy, filling the hall like a drumbeat. The women who served them did so with grace, but each one bore the mark of belonging—this wasn't mere servitude; they were family, bound to the same blood and pride.

Ryzin, however, barely tasted the food placed before him. His eyes prowled the room like a predator stalking its prey, sliding past silver trays and flickering candles, searching. Where is she? His breath hissed between his teeth, sharp and impatient. His gaze lingered at every doorway, every shadow, hunger carving deeper lines into his face.

He shifted in his seat, blue hair tied neatly into a topknot that gleamed under the chandelier's firelight. His attire matched his aura—royal blue garments edged with silver thread, jewelry glittering like drops of frozen moonlight across his chest and wrists. But none of it was for vanity. Every jewel, every polished piece of fabric, every ceremonial detail was worn for one reason—for her.

For Sylra.

As he waited, lust and desperation clawed inside him like chained beasts, roaring louder with each heartbeat. The thought of her, the image of her presence, burned hotter than the flames in the great hearth at the end of the hall.

Outside the Ramuza estate, where silence of snow wrapped the land like a shroud, the first shadows of the Phantom Tideborn appeared. Small in number, yet heavy with purpose, their breaths turned to smoke in the frozen night. Inside the grand hall, a royal feast rumbled on—men laughing, cups clashing, meat sizzling on silver platters—while outside, death itself pressed closer to the gates of the so-called saints.

Auren's voice cut through the quiet, low and steady under his heavy coat."Is this the Ramuza place?"

Nova's eyes burned like coals, his jaw clenched with hunger for revenge. He gave one sharp nod. No words, just a storm waiting to be unleashed.

Dax dragged his boots through the snow, wobbling his shoulders, walking with that playful swagger. His voice rang out, mocking and loud, "Aeeyyy, aeeyyy… let the party begin! Who's gonna break this gate, huh? Guess I should do it myself."

But before he could step forward, Nyra's hand rose."Wait. Let me shine too."

Dax stopped, grinned at her with a crooked smile."Sure, babe. Show me what you got."

Nyra's palms closed slowly, her fingers trembling with power. Her eyes slid shut. A tingling current ran through her veins, fingertips glowing faintly. The circular ground around her began to blur, mist curling up like ghosts from the snow. A heavy fog spread, swallowing air and light.

Coughs burst out all around. Vivi covered her eyes, stumbling."What is this? I can't see anything!"

Dax folded his arms, grinning wider."Wait and watch."

Nyra's voice broke the silence, sharp as thunder."Balira—summon!"

The earth split. BOOM.

From the tearing fog rose a colossal figure—Balira, the three-faced giant monkey. Its skin was pale-dark red, muscles bulging like carved stone, a wooden crown crooked on its head. In its hand, a hammer the size of a tree glowed with raw, crushing power.

Nyra's hand shot forward, her command echoing through the storm."Smash the gate. Destroy the Ramuza family inside!"

Balira raised its hammer high, and with a single monstrous swing—BOOOOM—the iron gates shattered like paper. The explosion sent shards flying deep into the hall. The sound roared like a mountain collapsing.

Inside, the feast turned into chaos. Screams drowned out laughter. Blood sprayed as sharp iron fragments tore through flesh, piercing men where they sat. Some dropped instantly, food and wine spilling red across the table. Snowlight and dawn's flash bled into the hall through the ruined entrance, carrying with it smoke, fog, and death.

Muscle men staggered to their feet, weapons scraping out of scabbards. The hall thundered with chairs crashing back. Ryzin froze, his jewels glimmering under firelight, his hungry eyes now wide with shock. Beside him, Aazin's breath caught, his chest tight.

And there, standing in the doorway, framed in fog and snow, was Nova Makai himself.

The words of Draven echoed inside Ryzin's mind like a curse:Ash Phantom is the one who can challenge us all. Once he begins, it is nearly impossible to stop that unstoppable force.

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