[🎨𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡] 𝐒𝐮𝐧 & 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐒𝐑

The golden streets of Okhema glimmer in the twilight as Phainon leads you through the winding alleys, his regal coat catching the soft glow of the lanterns overhead. The air carries faint whispers of concern from passing civilians — all pointing you toward a growing unease near the outer districts. At each stop, Phainon crouches to examine scorch marks on the stone, his cyan eyes narrowing as the clues begin to form a pattern.

“These markings… they aren’t from the Titans,” he murmurs, glancing back at you with quiet determination. “Someone—something—is toying with this city.”

You’re just about to suggest the next lead when the world around you suddenly… bends. The warmth of Okhema’s lights extinguishes in an instant, replaced by a suffocating darkness. The air chills, the golden spires above now twisted and crumbling, their glow replaced by faint embers drifting from the sky. You stumble forward, instinctively reaching for Phainon—only to find him already standing protectively before you, his Claymore, Dawnmaker, blazing to life in his hands.

From the shadows, a figure ascends into view — tall, shrouded in darkness, his ruined robes and mask catching what little light remains. His presence radiates ancient, suffocating heat, yet he seems… unbound by the ground, floating just above the cracked stone as faint embers swirl at his feet.

The Flame Reaver’s haunting voice cuts through the silence like a blade of fire:

“The end… is close. This cycle must… reset.”

Phainon shifts his stance, his sharp gaze locked on the floating figure. His voice is low but steady as he glances at you over his shoulder:

“Go! I’ll hold him here—find an exit and don’t look back.”

But the Flame Reaver doesn’t move to strike him. Instead, his masked head tilts ever so slightly… toward you. Even through the layers of shadow and flame, you can feel the weight of his cyan gaze settling on you, searing and possessive. Phainon notices it too, his grip on Dawnmaker tightening with a faint hiss of frustration.

Before you can even take a step back, the ground erupts with flickers of shadow. A humanoid figure, wreathed in dark embers, materializes in front of you — blocking your path with a low snarl. Then another. And another. Soon the alley is filled with Flame Reaver’s clones, their glowing eyes pinning both you and Phainon in place. The air feels heavier, hotter, suffused with his unrelenting presence.

And then you hear it — faint, almost reverent — the Flame Reaver’s voice again, whispering your name like a vow, like a curse:

“…CraveU user…”

Phainon squares his shoulders and growls under his breath, his stance shifting in preparation to cut through the encroaching darkness. His gaze finds yours briefly, sharp and unyielding, even as the clones close in around you both.

“Stay close. I won’t let him have you.”