Snowflakes drifted through the cold winds of Eito Town, the Land of Snow. The town was quiet, but at its heart, a boy stood out like a lone flame against the frost.

Nova Makai, only seventeen, walked the cobblestone streets with his hands tucked inside his traditional brown cotton jacket. His green eyes glimmered with a strange sharpness, the kind that could sketch a soul just by looking at it. Strands of his long hair, tied back loosely, brushed against his neck as he tilted his head, observing the world like it was his canvas.

His clothes were simple—loose jeans, the kind a wanderer would wear. Yet the gun resting in his belt betrayed something deeper. A painter carrying a weapon. An artist ready for a battlefield.

They said Nova was famous for his art—paintings that seemed almost alive, capturing feelings too heavy for words. But in the frozen silence of Eito Town, he didn't look like just an artist.

Snow blanketed the rooftops and frosted the windows of the quiet street. Nova walked alone, his breath turning into pale mist with every exhale. His eyes wandered upward, tracing the waterfall of Hollow Mountain—born from the hollow, vanishing back into it.

Children played nearby, their laughter echoing through the cold air. An old man sat outside, sipping tea and reading his newspaper, unfazed by the chill.

But Nova did not belong to their warmth. He moved through them like a shadow, greeting no one, carrying silence like a cloak. A red woolen ball rolled to his feet.

"Throw it back, mister!" a small boy in a red scarf called out.

Nova glanced down, then looked away. Without a word, he resumed walking, the snow swallowing his footsteps.

Walking through the snow ridge, Nova's steps crunched softly under the thick blanket of frost. The world grew quieter the farther he went—houses faded behind him, replaced only by endless white. At last, a small wooden house appeared, standing alone in the open snow, its roof sagging under the weight of winter.

He reached the entrance but didn't go inside immediately. Instead, he moved to the side, brushing his gloved hand along the frosted wall until he stood before the window. Leaning close, he blew warm air against the glass, melting a circle through the frost. With his sleeve, he cleared away the snow and peered in.

The house seemed still. A long table stretched near the window, the kitchen faintly visible behind it. A sofa was tucked against the wall, untouched—no signs of life.

Nova's breath clouded the glass again as he exhaled, then he turned back to the front door. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small, old, and scratched key. He slid it into the lock. The door resisted, stiff with ice, groaning as though the snow itself was trying to keep him out.

He pushed again, harder this time. Thukkk. The door gave in, creaking open as a cold draft slipped inside the long-closed house. The wind grew restless, brushing against the empty drawing stand carved from black wood. Nova stepped in, the silence greeting him like an old friend.

He dropped his bag onto the sofa near the window, then leaned back, lying down slowly. His eyes drifted up at the wooden ceiling, the faint smell of dust and snow filling his lungs.

He whispered, almost breathless—"Solly…"

From the quiet room behind him, she emerged. A canvas girl, stepping out of painted strokes. Her curves moved like brushlines, her body wrapped in a yellow shirt and a short black skirt. The air seemed to bend as she walked closer, her presence unreal yet warm.

She leaned down over Nova, her arms curling around him. A soft, pleasurable cuddle pressed against his chest, and for a moment, the house no longer felt empty.

Nova sank deeper into Solly's embrace, his hand resting gently on her painted back."This feels good… I just need you, Solly. Nothing else. You're the only one who makes me feel… safe."

He lifted her chin with a trembling finger, forcing her painted eyes to meet his."Tell me… do you think anyone would remember me if I died? Every day I ask you, but you never answer. The people in this town—they don't see me. I've made myself invisible. I don't even want to sell my paintings anymore… I don't want to talk to anyone. And yet—"

His voice cracked."I don't want to die either."

Ova kissed Solly's head, his voice trembling."But you, Solly… I don't even like you. You're only here to hold me up. Just one of my paintings… not real."

He turned away, his gaze drifting out the window. The night sky seemed heavier than usual. Nova shut his eyes, letting the darkness cradle him, until dreams swallowed him whole.

Meanwhile

At the hollow mountain top, inside room number 7.

The room's window rattled violently, as though the storm outside was trying to force its way in. From the temple's shadow, rain grew heavier, each drop striking the roof like stones. A thick, cold fog began curling beneath the door, seeping across the floor in pale coils.

On the mat, Auren and Vivi coughed harshly, gasping as though dragged out from underwater. Their bodies trembled, sweat glistening despite the chill. Dax quickly bent to lift Auren, pressing a cup of water to his lips, while Nyra did the same for Vivi.

Nyra's eyes flicked between the two, alarmed. "What just happened to you both? What did you see?"

Vivi coughed again, clutching her chest, her eyes wide but unfocused. Auren's hand shook as he pushed the cup away. For a moment, the two of them didn't answer—just shared a silent, fearful look, like they had returned from the same nightmare.

Auren coughed, clutching his chest as if his breath was stolen from him. His voice trembled.Auren – "I… I just saw a man… praying. Some kind of deity—four hands, glowing stone faintly. But… he wasn't worshipping, he was… complaining."

Dax's eyes narrowed at the choice of words.Dax – "Complaining? To a four-handed deity?"

For a moment, silence gripped the room. Dax and Nyra exchanged a sharp glance, their expressions filled with a mix of caution and recognition.

Beside them, Vivi finally caught her breath, her hair sticking to her damp face. She pressed her palm on the ground as if steadying herself.Vivi – "What I saw… it wasn't the same. There was a girl… young, fragile, standing in front of some war, fog, myst, blood, armor. She was praying, whispering something I couldn't hear. But then…"

Her voice cracked, her eyes widening as the memory resurfaced.Vivi – "…a beast. Huge. Its shadow swallowed everything. Fangs like blades, eyes burning red. Just looking at it felt like… a nightmare I couldn't wake up from."

As she describes, her body trembles ..

Dax and Nyra didn't answer. Their faces paled, words stuck in their throats. Something unspoken passed between them, an old fear perhaps, or a truth too dangerous to voice yet. The room's silence grew heavier, broken only by the rain hammering against the windows and the faint hiss of fog seeping through the cracks of the door.

Dax's thoughts – What… what could it be?

Nyra narrowed her gaze, eyes sharp and focused, staring down as if the answer was hidden in the cracks of the floor."We don't know… but something ancient," she muttered. Then her head tilted up, voice steady but grim. "A beast this size… it has to be from the Third World."

A thunderclap roared outside.THUDD… THUDD…Lightning ripped across the sky, flooding the room in white light for just a second.

Dax's panic broke through. "We need to tell Master!"

"Tomorrow," Nyra cut him off, her tone direct. "We'll ask tomorrow. It's raining hard outside… and I have a bad feeling."

Dax rose in shock, his voice trembling in the empty room.Dax (thinking aloud): Four-handed deity? We've never heard of this in our lives… What secrets are hidden in this world—what are they keeping from us?

He looked at Nyra, desperate for an answer.

Nyra met his gaze, her face expressionless, her voice cold.Nyra: Four-handed deity… beast from the Third World… prayers and war…

She paused, her words heavy like stone.Something grand. Something beyond the mage world. Something no one alive has ever witnessed. All we can do is hope we never see that grand era again.

A thunderbolt cracked outside, louder than before.THUDDD—THUDDD—THUDDD!

Flashes of lightning split the room again and again, each one brighter, almost fanatical, as if the storm itself was listening.

Nyra's voice grew heavier, almost trembling with weight, though her face remained expressionless.Nyra – "Dax… if the Grand Era starts again, we will fight. If the Third World strikes again, we will fight. But this…" she lowered her eyes, her tone like stone grinding against stone, "…this is not only about the Third World beasts. It's about who will bring them back."

The storm outside raged louder, thunder cracking in quick bursts as if echoing her words.

Dax – "Who… who would dare?"

Nyra's gaze sharpened, piercing through the flickering shadows.Nyra – "One of the three families from history. The ones who vanished after the war of eras. If they move again… the heavens themselves will shake."

Lightning struck so close the walls quivered. For a heartbeat, Dax saw the flash illuminate Nyra's face—calm, yet hiding an ocean of dread.

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