Year 3999. Late autumn. The cold, piercing wind carried the scent of burned wood and the damp breath of recent rain, as if it whispered secrets born from the night itself. The streets of Crystallphaos shimmered beneath the flickering lanterns, their reflections dancing upon the stagnant puddles like spells in motion. Towering buildings adorned with floating magical lamps glowed with gentle pulses—like fireflies afraid to fade. The city seemed to breathe beneath the mist, cloaked in mystery.

The wind pulled at our cloaks, but we did not bend. We walked onward, steady—five silhouettes carved from resolve. Tonight was our last breath of freedom before the mission that would shape our year, perhaps our fates.

Brek led the way. A young knight with the weight of steel in his stride. Tall, shaped by battle, his dark hair kissed at the edges by white swayed softly. His silver armor glinted with each light it met—like moonlight wrapped in tempest.

Behind him, silent as ember, walked Laima. Her orange hair flickered like fire caught in wind. Her bow rested on her back, two silver daggers gleaming at her belt—promises of precision and death.

Noctua stayed in the shadows, as if she belonged more to the night than to any mortal realm. Her skin mirrored midnight skies, traced with ancient runes that pulsed faintly under the light. Her eyes—spheres of distant wisdom—scanned everything with algorithmic intent. Two pistols swayed at her hips, not weapons—extensions.

The last to follow: Hitomi and Prometheus. Hitomi, radiant as ever, smiled the kind of smile that could light any cavern. Her golden hair, bound with a crimson ribbon, danced with each step. A magical glove on her left hand shimmered with etched energies, as if it pulsed to its own rhythm. A sword at her waist, a mystical revolver hugged her leg.

And Prometheus… silent as shadow. His short blond hair framed melancholy eyes. His deep-blue trench coat flowed behind him, its golden accents catching lanternlight like whispers. A crafted necklace clung to his chest, crystal-studded metal kissed by cold. A weathered leather-bound book and a heavy bell hung from his belt—as if they carried history too dense to tell.

He glanced at Hitomi’s red ribbon fluttering in the wind. Without realizing, a faint smile escaped him—until she turned to catch him in the act. “What are you looking at?” she asked playfully. “Nothing…” he murmured, fingers tightening around the necklace, as if the crystals might reply.

Their steps neared the tavern The Magic Hat. A warm storm of noise and scent awaited. But somewhere in the shadows of the city, an ancient wind stirred. And Crystallphaos was holding its breath.