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. Humans are humans, regardless of the map. Same habits, same flaws," Laura said, her smirk widening as she tapped her chin. "Rule number one: stop assuming. You haven't seen them yet, so keep your theories to yourself. 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, he was dropped into the emerald nightmare of the farthest forest—a place where even gods go to die. For the first part of his journey, he wasn't a hero. He was a ghost."
Zalle's face fell, replaced by a deep frown. "A ghost? You mean he died again?"
"In a way," Laura said, her eyes reflecting the flickering orange light of the fire as she sighed softly. "He was a slave to his own weakness. He couldn't speak the tongue of the land, he couldn't fight the beasts of the woods, and he was forced to follow a woman who looked at him like he was nothing more than a burden. He spent years living in the shadows of mountains, hunted by things he didn't understand."
"That's a horrible start," Zalle muttered.
"Indeed it is," Laura whispered. "But that is where the legend begins. Not with a sword in his hand, but with a notched blade at his throat."
"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 warm orange glow of the cabin was bleached away by a cold, artificial blue.
A heavy, silent snowfall began to blanket the city. It was 6:00 p.m. on New Year's Eve—exactly six hours before a countdown Sai would never finish. The snowflakes fell like frozen ash, sticking to the rain-slicked asphalt and blurring the neon glare of the skyscrapers.
Through the white haze, a sleek black van glided toward the backstage entrance of the arena. Its tires crunched over the fresh powder, leaving deep, dark tracks in the slush. Inside sat the seventeen-year-old legend, adjusting his leather jacket. He watched a single snowflake melt against the tinted window, oblivious that this would be his final performance.
While the fans screamed and the security guards checked badges below, a ripple moved through the darkness of the rafters.
High above the stage, perched on the cold steel of the Mothergrid, the Skull Mask looked down. He didn't use the stairs; he hadn't walked through the front doors. He was simply there, a glitch in the arena's security, watching the "King" rise on his industrial lift.
He felt the vibration of the bass through the soles of his boots—a phantom in the machine.
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. Can you even wrap your head around it? There's going to be something like a million people watching me tonight. A million!"
"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.
"Geez... those guys have no tact at all! "
A sleek black van glided through the snow, its headlights cutting a smooth arc toward the back of the massive stadium. They entered the fortified VIP loading bay, a polished concrete tunnel lined with high-end, diffused lighting and state-of-the-art security cameras. Two heavy, segmented steel gates—designed to keep paparazzi at bay—silently rolled open, sealing the private world behind them.
Sai leaned back, the custom leather creaking under his weight. He looked at the monitors. Four million souls. Four million people who would breathe when he told them to and scream when he struck a chord. On this night, he wasn't just a musician; he was a god with a digital pulse.
He closed the screen with a flick of his finger. The relative quiet was replaced by a low, vibrating rhythmic pulse. The chant—Na na na na... HAIZEN!—was already thrumming through the van's armor-plated floorboards.
The van halted in the brightly lit back-of-house area. Sai stepped out, flanked by his inner circle—six elite security guards in matching charcoal suits, their earpieces glowing green.
Kate, the stage manager, was already there, her face a mask of professional irritation.
"Why the long face, Kate?" Sai asked with a cocky grin.
"The sheer audacity of being late to your own concert," Kate snapped, clicking her stopwatch.
"Exactly! It's my concert," Sai countered, adjusting his collar. "And besides, the main attraction always saves the best for last."
"There you go again. You're being delusional," she sighed.
"What's wrong with that? Can't I have a moment to actually feel like someone?" He smirked.
"Look, I manage this entire machine to keep it running smoothly. If you arrive late again—"
"Yeah, yeah! It's not happening again."
"You promise?" Kate asked, eyeing him skeptically.
"Well... only if you call me King."
"Excuse me?"
"I said... call me King."
Kate rolled her eyes, a faint trace of a smile fighting through her stern expression. "I heard you the first time. I just find it absurd to call you anything but a headache."
Sai laughed, a genuine, vibrant sound. "Don't worry, Miss Manager. I've got you covered." He flashed her a smile—not the cocky one for the cameras, but a pure, confident expression that stopped her for a heartbeat.
Well, he's got a good smile, I'll give him that, she thought, finally letting out a defeated sigh.
"Thirty seconds to go, Sai. You ready?"
"You're always harsh as ever," Sai remarked, checking his guitar strap.
"Somebody has to be. If I didn't treat you like a brat, you'd forget your feet are still on the ground," she shot back. "Now get up there before they tear the roof off."
Both locked eyes for a second and shared a short, sharp laugh before the professional silence took over. Sai adjusted his strap, his eyes reflecting the dim lights. "This crap is 'bout to blow," he muttered.
"Good luck out there!" she called out as the hydraulics hissed.
"Still won't call me King?"
Kate only smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Are we really still on this?"
"Well... whatever."
The chant reached a fever pitch outside: Na, nanananana na... HAIZEN! Suddenly, the stage lift didn't just rise; it launched. Sai timed it perfectly, jumping as the platform reached its peak, a mid-air surge that made him look like he had been summoned by the screams of the crowd. He hit the deck in a power-slide, his fingers already tearing into the first massive chord.
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.
After the first song ended, the feedback hung in the air like electricity. Sai stepped to the mic. "What's up, Zenphyr Nation?!"
The crowd's roar was physical, a wall of sound.
"I'll let you kiss my ass, Sai!" a fan screamed from the front row.
Sai let out a few cackles, leaning over the edge. "Woah, woah! That's unnecessary, but thank you for the offer!"
He paced the stage, adrenaline surging. "Anyway! Before we move on to our second song, give me a second for a quick speech."
A small wave of disappointment rippled through the back. "We want the next song!" someone yelled.
"It'll be a short one, I promise! Bear with me for just a minute, alright? Sound good?"
The crowd cheered, settled by his charm.
"Alright! First of all, thank you so much for coming to this Year-End concert. Secondly, I'm so damn happy to be here. But more importantly, I am so DAAAAMN happy that you guys are here!" He gestured to the sea of humanity. "According to the official ticket count, the number of people present tonight is four million, three hundred fifty-six thousand, one hundred and... ONE!"
The crowd roared. Sai grinned, pointing a finger toward the back of the stadium. "Why not just make it a hundred and two, huh? Someone go find a stray cat or something!"
The crowd erupted in laughter.
"Anyway, can you believe that? We are making history! And with New Year's coming in just six hours, and because we've reached this milestone, I'm about to give you something special. I'm going to play... a song I've never released."
The fans went silent for a split second, flabbergasted, before the stadium practically exploded.
"Wait! Are you guys hearing what I'm hearing?!" one fan screamed.
"Yeah, because we have ears, idiot!" his friend barked back.
"Yo! My kidney is officially for sale! I need the vinyl for this!" another yelled.
Amidst the chaos, some fans mumbled amongst themselves, theorizing.
"This one is called... 'Orange Palm Trees'."
"Just by the title, it feels like it's going to be a sad song," a girl whispered.
"To me, it sounds nostalgic," her friend replied.
"Nobody gives a shit about your opinion!" a guy nearby joked, shoving his friend's shoulder.
"I wonder what it'll sound like!" a fan whispered to her friend, clutching her hands to her chest. "I can't wait!"
High above, perched on the cold steel of the Mothergrid, the Skull Mask looked down. He reached into his shadow, drawing out a grotesque fusion of metal and biology cloaked in black smoke. He ejected the magazine. The bullets were nuggets of raw, pulsing flesh, twitching with a life of their own.
Thud. He slammed the magazine home. He took aim at the brachial plexus near the neck—a shot designed to induce instant, total unconsciousness.
As Sai Haizen raised his hand to strike the first chord of "Orange Palm Trees," the shot didn't just hit him; it silenced the world.
Sai didn't feel the pain—only a white-out of static. He fell backward, Roxel clattering onto the stage. The guitar erupted into a piercing, discordant scream of high-pitched feedback that drowned out the panicked cries. He lay there, pinned under the spotlights, his chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate hitches.
"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 stampedes. But Sai's soul only saw the pathetic sight of himself sprawled out like a broken doll.
"Why am I lying there?! Why can I see my body?!" His spectral hands clawed at the air, trying to find a grip on a reality that was slipping away. "No! I haven't started singing the song! I didn't even get to the first verse... I was supposed to give them a miracle tonight, not a corpse!"
He looked up toward the rafters. The killer didn't speak. He didn't even breathe loud enough for the mics to pick up. He just stood there, a silhouette against the Mothergrid, watching the chaos he'd created.
Sai screamed, his spectral lungs burning with a cold he couldn't describe. "HEY! YOU! TALK TO ME! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!"
The Skull Mask's head tilted slightly—a robotic, predatory movement. His glowing red sockets locked onto Sai's shimmering chest. He raised a gloved hand, and his fingers danced in the air as if he were plucking invisible strings.
Sai's ears popped. The roar of the four million fans, the feedback, the wind—it all vanished. He saw the killer's mouth move behind the mask, a rhythmic, silent incantation. No sound came out. To Sai, it was just the visual of a death sentence being read in a vacuum.
I can't hear him, Sai realized, the panic finally turning into a cold, hard rage. He isn't even worth the sound of his own voice.
Suddenly, the silence was violated by a sound like grinding metal—a laugh that didn't come from the air, but from inside Sai's own skull.
"Wait... YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KILLED ME, AREN'T YOU!! YOU BASTARD!!!"
The killer made a slow, downward motion with his gloved hand. A jagged obsidian rift tore open behind Sai, and dozens of grotesque, grey hands erupted from the void.
"WHAT THE... Get off me! LET GO!!" Sai shrieked as the hands dragged him toward the abyss, peeling his soul away from his breathing body.
The killer's eyes glowed a deeper red, and suddenly, the silence broke. The words Sai couldn't hear a second ago now felt like cold needles stitching directly into his spirit, an echo of a language he didn't know:
"Varaniya amari tal, Sai Haizen. Mila bukum apa tika... furav phum, furav khan. Mi arav pila bukum mila... heyatvu eft zan."
The malice in the voice was unmistakable. The grey hands multiplied, swarming over him like pale, dead flesh. With the last of his strength, Sai roared into the void:
"I SWEAR, THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU... I'M GOING TO TEAR THAT MASK OFF YOUR FACE AND KILL YOU! YOU BASTARD!"
The killer laughed again, that same mechanical, haunting sound, as the hands snapped shut and the obsidian rift collapsed. The bind was complete.
As the darkness swallowed him whole, Sai Haizen made a silent, blood-stained vow: Wherever he landed, he would find his way back. And when he did, he would be the last thing the man in the Skull Mask ever saw.