The boy stood alone in a field of corpses, crows gnawing and feasting on the dead as the horrific scene dug a hole in his mind and stayed there.
He didn't cry. Not when the screams stopped. Not when the ash settled. Not when the world went silent except for the pop and crackle of dying fires. He was barefoot, blood-splattered, and hollow-eyed, surrounded by the wreckage of his village—nothing but charred bones, crumbled huts, and the scent of cooked flesh.
He couldn't have been more than twelve.
A breeze passed through, lifting ash into the gray sky. Smoke curled upward like spirits, twisting toward heavens that would never open.
And beneath it all, the boy stood absolutely still.
His name was Shijinko, our protagonist. But no one called him that now. No one called him anything. They were all dead.
He knelt beside a woman who had been his mother.
Or maybe not. Her face was gone. A melted mask of ruin. All he could recognize was the blue ribbon still tied in her scorched hair. She had worn it every morning while she sang and stirred porridge.
His hands trembled. Something was moving inside him. Breathing.
He didn't understand it yet. Not until his fingers brushed her wrist, and a flicker of memory—sharp, bright, invasive—pierced his mind like a blade.
Name:] Shijinko
[Tier:] Ashen Tier (I)
[Anima Core Capacity:] 23/50 (Absorbed Souls)
[Soul Stability:] 76%
[Corruption Index:] 19%
[System Status:] Stable | Whispering Active
He gasped. The world lurched.
A second heartbeat awakened inside him.
Then a third.
A fourth.
Like ghosts forcing their way into his skin, the souls of the dead rose from their bodies and slipped into the void where his heart used to be.
And Shijinko… he didn't push them away.
He heard whispers pile up, they overlapped like multiple individuals trying to share a secret with him at the same time.
Eventually the Whispers became so clear he even recognized the voices
"Please… not the children. Not the children…"
"I should've run. I should've run when I saw the banner…"
"Shijinko… where are you? I'm scared…"
He stood up frantically and darted his eyes in every direction searching for the source of these voices than gradually become louder.
"You watched us burn… why didn't you scream?"
"We were meant to die. The stars said so."
He clutched his head, the voices causing a headaches as he felt their pain, these voices belonged to the dead villagers surrounding him.
It made no sense to him as they were clearly corpses but constantly whispered meaningless words to him.
"No...shut up" Shijinko voiced as he tried to concentrate but the whispers became overwhelming and louder.
"Shut the fuck up" this time Shijinko couldn't help but scream as he spoke, it seemed to work as the voices were silent.
He scanned the area once again convincing himself that there still might a survivor like him.
He wandered around the village for 30 minutes only to hear the voices intensify when he came near corpses.
Eventually He wandered into the wilds for three days after that.
Didn't speak. Didn't eat. He simply walked the blackened trails, passing soldiers who were dispatched to reinforce the smoldering ruin behind him. They saw only a silent, filthy boy who couldn't answer thier questions. They left him alone since he was basically useless.
And with every step, more voices joined him.
Some cried. Some begged. Some shouted, cursed, whispered prayers. But none were his own.
He reached the foot of the mountains when the Veinheart Spiral called to him—a place that only appeared when a Anima user could ascend to the next Tier.
A place where those with awakened Anima must face their first Trial. They only appeared as portals to another dimension where the trail would begin, mostly in random locations near an Anima User.
He didn't know why he walked toward it. Only that something inside him was being pulled.
The Spiral was a place no map marked. A Higher dimension hidden beneath the roots of the world. He entered alone, barefoot, hungry, broken. The sight was nothing short of astonishing as the walls shimmered with mirror-stone, catching flickers of his face and then shifting them.
Not into reflections but Into possibilities.
A thousand versions of him stared back—some with crowns, some with blades, some with blood on their hands, others with nothing at all. One reached for a child with tears in his eyes.
He turned from that one.
The Spiral spoke, not in words, but in presence. A breath against the skin of his soul.
"You have taken what was not yours. Will you bear them, or be broken by them?"
The tone was awfully deep like thunder rumbling, it almost sounded demonic.
He didn't answer. He stepped deeper.
The ground shook. The mirrors bent inward. And then the world shattered.
He was no longer in the Spiral.
He stood in the burning ruins of his village—again.
But this time, it was not memory or flashback.
It was the beginning of a trial.
The dead rose. Familiar faces twisted in pain. His father. His sister. The neighbors. The ones he couldn't save. The ones he hadn't tried to.
And in the middle of it all stood a boy. Retaining the same face and features like him. But his eyes were soft. His hands were outstretched.
The boy resembled a versions of him that was soft, kind hearted, trying to trap him into the guilt that weighed on Shijinko. The invaders killed every member of his village yet all he did was hide and let it happen.
"Shijinko," the boy said. "You don't have to become this."
The boy said this as if he already knew what Shijinko would later become, it felt more like a premonition.
As the boy spoke, the supposed dead crawled onto him, thier hands outreached trying to drag him into a dark pit below him like a nightmare.
He felt the weight of the souls inside him. The whispering agony. The rage. The knowledge.
"No," Shijinko replied softly. "I already am."
Before he knew it, the overwhelming hands stopped dragging him into the pit. Than suddenly he appeared infront of the boy, as if an invisible force moved him there.
Without hesitation He plunged his hand into his other self's chest, his hand easily thrusting in as if pushing through water.
The boy gasped failing to Trap Shijinko in guilt that would have resulted in failing the Trail and death. His eyes filled with tears and disbelief.
The Anima absorbed into Shijinko.
[Ability gained: Soul Leech
Type: Passive/Active
Base (Unique): Must make contact with dying/dead target
Description: Allows the user to absorb souls from dying or dead creatures of all kinds. Granting the user the absorb souls Memories, experiences, and 2 abilities. Limited to those who died within 100 days.]
He ignored the notification from the black interface infront off him.
The Spiral welcomed Shijinko as the mirrors cracked, then bowed inward.
He emerged hours later, barefoot and bloodless—but something had changed.
His eyes, once dull from trauma, now burned like quiet coals. He was not the same innocent boy like before, now he seen the world for what it truly was, and whispers of thier agony and regret made it worse.
He barely even realized he had been walking for over an hour, he didn't even know where, he just walked even as a caravan guarded by 12 Armoured men on horse back moved near, 2 carts trailed behind the Caravan.
The caravan stopped beside him and the door slightly opened revealing a merchant adorned with luxurious silk robes, with an abundant amount of golden bracelets and a ruby ring on his fore finger.
He asked, "Are you lost, boy?", the gaurds stayed alert incase this was a bandit trap but saw no one approaching across the hills.
Shijinko tilted his head. The voices were quiet now. Resting. Obedient. Yet their memories were etched in his thoughts.
He could also tell this was a merchant as he saw the carts behind filled with precious goods, probably heading for the capital to sell.
He smiled—not kindly.
"No," he said. "I've...found myself" Shijinko replied with an enlightened tone whilst keeping a dull expression. The Merchant looked at him curiously as he assessed the boys mentality, he had already noticed the boy was malnourished and covered in blood.
"Boy, tell me what happened to you"
Shijinko didn't want to speak any further with this man, he had no sense of purpose as he felt dead inside. The horrific acts of the invaders had tainted his small mind, even with the memories of all the villagers he possessed, that only just made things worse.
Before he could move further he collapsed and fell unconscious unable to move further the last thing he heard was the Merchant ordering his escort to pick him up.