The universe spread out like a never-ending painting of stars.
Countless lights shone in the deep, dark emptiness, like diamonds scattered on black velvet.
Old stars and new ones danced together in patterns only they knew, glowing with quiet power.
Giant galaxies spun slowly, like dancers in a show older than time.
Clouds of space dust bled colors into the blackness—deep purple, bright blue, and fiery red.
In this huge, silent place where no sound should exist… a tune floated.
"Hmm, hmm, hmm…"
It was a clear, beautiful sound, like it was part of space itself.
At the center of this sound floated Erza.
She moved through space like she belonged there.
Her dress had a high neck that showed off her strong shoulders.
The fabric had clever openings that revealed glimpses of her body—not fragile, but strong and graceful.
Her skin glowed with its own soft light, making her look lit from inside.
It showed her sharp eyebrows, straight nose, and determined mouth. She didn't just exist—she shone.
She wasn't made of flesh and bone.
She was pure energy given shape.
Her form shimmered, shifting between light and deep shadow.
Warmth poured from her, fighting the freezing emptiness around her.
Ribbons of colorful energy, like trapped northern lights, flowed around her ghostly figure.
She was a walking mystery: huge power wrapped in delicate beauty.
Her eyes, as big as the universe she lived in, scanned the stars until they stopped on one spot.
"Oh," she chimed. Her voice was like crystal bells kissed by starlight.
"What do we have here?" She drifted closer, pulled toward a world nestled in the shimmering folds of reality.
It looked like a glowing jewel against the dark space.
Seeing it sparked a divine curiosity in her… quickly followed by frustration.
A sour note in her song.
"Now, how do I manage this world?"
The question hung in the silent dark.
Making worlds was easy—a thought, a breath of life.
Managing them needed a gentle touch… and she couldn't touch it at all.
"Why can't I just step in?" she wondered.
The light around her dimmed a little.
Even with all her power, ancient rules stopped higher beings like her from meddling directly in mortal lives.
She needed someone else.
A soul shaped by life's hard lessons—someone tough, clever, with a hidden spark to rise above their limits.
"Where," she thought, her glow reflecting softly on the world's swirling clouds below, "do I find such hands?"
The world itself was a wonder. Ten times bigger than Earth, packed with impossible variety.
Erza's mind took it all in: mountains so tall they scraped the sky, their snowy peaks stabbing through clouds; oceans wide enough to gulp down continents, hiding huge creatures beneath the waves; jungles spreading like green oceans, thick and ancient, buzzing with wild life.
It was breathtakingly beautiful… and deadly.
A tiny insect here could drop a grown man. Ancient forests pulsed with a living, untamed will.
"Oooh," Erza breathed, her light brightening with excitement. "And they've grown this much in just a million years."
What truly hooked her was the world's song of progress.
Civilizations here mixed old magic and new tech like a wild dream.
Towers of enchanted metal hummed with power beside giant airships pushed by roaring steam and crackling magic crystals.
Down below, the view clashed: stone castles guarded by knights in glowing armor stood near shiny cities where ghostly pictures flickered above streets filled with magic-fueled cars.
This wild mix made the world feel alive… but unstable.
Like a barrel of gunpowder ready to blow.
"It needs protection," Erza realized, the thought heavy as stone. "Looks like I need someone to help me shield this gem."
Her gaze turned outward, past the glowing world, toward the creeping darkness.
The Void.
A place born from pure badness—hatred, sadness, war, and sin made real.
Its creatures were nightmares shaped from despair, hungry to swallow all light, all life.
They pressed against the thin walls of reality, hunting for cracks to flood this bright world and kill its light.
Erza's purpose snapped clear: stop the devouring dark.
To do that, she needed someone worthy.
This chosen one would set anchor points for a huge protective shield, letting Erza cast her safety spell from beyond the veil.
The champion would also be her eyes and hands, finding and fixing weak spots before the Void could use them.
Her mind stretched out, brushing countless realities, sifting through millions of mortal lives.
She hunted for that spark—the unbreakable fire hidden inside ordinary people.
Ages passed in a single focused moment… until her mind pierced the veil of a familiar blue planet.
There, in the boring buzz of a huge city, she found him.
A flash of knowing—bright and sharp—cut across the universe.
"What do we have here?" Erza whispered. Her glowing form leaned closer, studying the soul of a young man named Zen.
---
Zen's life, from the outside, was plain as toast.
He was the guy you'd walk past on the street without noticing—neat haircut, average face, body neither skinny nor heavy.
His plain black shirt and gray pants were like a uniform of invisibility. Only if you *really* looked might you see the steadiness in his eyes, or how his hands rested easy at his sides.
Eighteen.
Fresh out of high school with average grades.
No trophies.
No scholarships.
No big stories.
He lived alone in a small, dusty apartment that always smelled faintly of old takeout and wet concrete.
He scraped by on forgettable part-time jobs.
But under this ordinary surface, a fire raged.
Zen lived for adrenaline.
He was a thrill-seeker trapped in a world that felt too safe.
"Should I try mountain biking?" he muttered, weaving his beat-up bike through busy afternoon traffic.
The city air tasted like car fumes, hot pavement, and distant fried food. Car horns, chattering people, and far-off sirens were his daily soundtrack.
He craved moments that broke the boredom—climbing the rusted frame of an old factory, barely dodging cars on his bike, the raw burn in his muscles when he pushed too hard.
His personal rule was simple, carved deep in his bones: "Life's an adventure. If you're not chasing excitement, you're not really living."
To Zen, a life without that heart-pounding rush was a slow, choking death.
Why bother if it wasn't fun? This belief shoved him into risks that would freeze others—a rebellion against the gray, boring life that tried to swallow him after his parents died years ago.
Then, one sticky evening, the boring script ripped apart.
Walking home under streetlights that threw long, twisted shadows, Zen turned into a narrow alley.
It stank of rotten garbage and wet brick.
The scene froze him: three big, mean-looking men had trapped Lena against a wall covered in graffiti.
The girl whose laugh had lived in his head since middle school.
The raw terror in her wide, wet eyes lit something wild inside him.
"Hey, let me go!" Lena's voice—usually bright and warm—was sharp with panic.
Zen didn't think.
Adrenaline, cold and electric, flooded his veins.
He stepped forward, yanking his phone from his pocket. His hand shook only a little.
"Hey!" His voice cut the tense air, steadier than he felt. His heart pounded like a drum.
"The police are on their way!" He held the phone to his ear, thumb hovering over the screen like he was about to press it.
Fake confidence. "Yeah, alley behind Seventh and Maple. Three guys. Hurry."
The men froze.
Rough, ugly curses slithered through the dark.
They swapped nervous looks.
The threat of cops popped their tough-guy act.
With a final nasty glare, they vanished into the alley's deeper shadows.
Their footsteps faded fast.
Lena slumped against the wall, shaking hard. Tears finally fell.
She looked at Zen, breath catching. "Thank you," she whispered, voice thick with relief and leftover fear.
"No problem," Zen said. His own knees felt weak. He stuffed the phone away. The adrenaline faded, leaving him shaky. "Want to walk together?"
"Sure," Lena breathed, pushing herself up. She wiped her cheeks with her hand.
They walked side-by-side. The alley's heavy air lifted as they reached the brighter, tree-lined streets near the city park.
Tension melted, replaced by a fragile quiet. Lena glanced at him. A small, thankful smile touched her lips.
"You really scared them off," she said. Her voice still trembled, but warmth returned. "That was… amazing."
Zen scratched his neck—a habit when he felt awkward or proud. He tried to sound cool. "Yeah, well… couldn't just watch. Glad you're okay."
The truth of it echoed inside him.
They drifted into the park.
The smell of cut grass and damp earth washed away the city's grime.
Under old oak trees hung with fairy lights that threw dancing shapes on the path, talk turned to easier times.
"Remember," Lena asked, her tone lighter now, almost teasing, "how we practically lived here as kids?"
A grin split Zen's face. "Of course. You were dead set on climbing that huge tree. Couldn't even reach the first branch. I had to lift you up every time." He laughed at the memory. "Then you'd get halfway down and freeze. Scared stiff."
Lena rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. "And you never let me forget! 'Short stuff' this, 'peanut' that. All the time."
"Hey, you got payback," Zen shot back, chuckling. "That fake rubber snake in my backpack? I thought my heart stopped. Nearly died in Mr. Davies' class."
Lena covered her mouth, giggling. "Your scream! Oh god, Zen. The whole class jumped! Mr. Davies spilled coffee everywhere. I laughed till I cried."
The shared laughter felt warm and real, wrapping them in comfort.
The alley's horror faded behind the easy friendship of years.
As they neared Lena's brownstone building, glowing soft yellow under old streetlamps, Zen found his courage.
He stopped under one lamp. Its light caught the gold flecks in Lena's eyes.
"Lena," he said, voice quieter, serious. "Would you… like to get coffee with me? Maybe this weekend?"
Lena's smile softened, warm as sunlight. "I'd like that, Zen."
The walk back to his crummy apartment felt like floating.
City noises sounded muffled. The air seemed sweeter.
He'd faced danger, saved Lena, and got a date.
He felt unstoppable, teetering on the edge of something amazing.
Luck, it seemed, agreed.
Stopping at a grubby 24-hour store buzzing with fluorescent lights and smelling of old coffee and hot burritos, Zen bought a lottery ticket with his last wrinkled dollars.
Minutes later, he stared, stunned, as the cashier said he'd won.
Not millions, but enough—a few thousand dollars.
Joy fizzed in his chest.
A better apartment?
A real gift for Lena?
Possibilities exploded like fireworks in his mind.
Fate, though, was just winding up for a brutal kick.
Leaving the store, greasy bag of winnings clutched tight, Zen sensed movement in the next alley's shadows.
His blood turned to ice.
Three figures stepped from the gloom.
The same three men.
Their eyes locked onto him. Recognition flashed, then hardened into hate.
One nudged another, like a hunter spotting prey.
"That's the guy," a low voice growled. "The little hero who called the cops."
Another voice, thick with greed, cut the night. "And look… he's got cash now." The man's eyes stabbed at the bag in Zen's hand.
The leader stepped forward, lips twisting in a cruel smile. "Hey, kid. Remember us? C'mere. Need a word."
Zen knew them. The thugs who'd cornered Lena.
Every instinct screamed RUN! He didn't pause.
Clutching the bag, he spun and sprinted into the dark street.
"Boss! The kid's running!" one thug yelled.
"Then why the f*ck are you standing there? GET HIM!" the leader roared.
The chase was pure nightmare fuel.
Zen ducked into stinking alleys thick with garbage and the smell of pee and rot.
He jumped low fences into messy backyards.
He dashed across wide roads, car horns blaring as tires screeched to miss him.
His lungs burned.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Sweat stung his eyes.
Adrenaline pushed him way past his limits.
For one sweet moment, reaching the dirty front of his apartment building, he thought he'd lost them.
The street behind was empty, quiet except for the city's distant hum.
Fumbling with slippery keys, he finally jammed the sticky lock open.
He slammed the heavy door, throwing the deadbolt with shaking hands.
He leaned back on the peeling paint, gasping air that tasted like copper and fear.
The relief lasted seconds.
Heavy footsteps pounded the creaky stairs outside.
They stopped at his door.
The cheap lock rattled violently.
Before Zen could move, the door frame splintered with a sickening crack.
The door blew inward.
"Knock, knock," the leader sneered, stepping over the wreckage. "Daddy's home."
His buddies shoved past him, filling the cramped, messy room.
Their faces looked ugly with anger and greed in the weak light from the dirty window.
"Thought you were smart, huh?" the leader spat, stepping closer. "Thought you could play hero and skip away?"
Cold panic sliced through Zen.
His eyes darted around the filthy room—overflowing ashtray, old pizza boxes, piles of magazines.
He lunged, grabbing a chair leaning against the wall.
He swung it hard, wood whistling through the air. "Get out! Get the hell out!"
His voice shook with terror and desperate rage.
The leader dodged the clumsy swing easily.
A harsh, mocking laugh burst from him. "Oh, look! The little boy fights with a stick!"
His buddies laughed too—a mean, ugly sound in the small space.
One thug moved like a snake.
A thick hand clamped Zen's wrist like a steel trap, fingers digging deep.
Pain shot up his arm. He yelled. The chair clattered to the floor.
A second blow—a hard fist smashing into his ribs—exploded in his side.
Air rushed from his lungs in a gasp of agony.
He crumpled.
Stars burst behind his eyes as he hit the thin rug. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
They showed no mercy.
They took the winnings first, ripping the bag from his grip.
Then came the kicks—thudding into his stomach, back, legs. Each hit brought new waves of sickening pain.
They took his pride, mocking his weakness, his failed hero act.
Finally, as Zen curled into a ball, vision blurring, choking on blood and hopelessness… they took his life.
The leader pulled back his heavy, worn boot.
He drove it forward in one last, savage kick.
CRACK.
It hit Zen's temple with a wet, awful sound.
The world didn't fade gently.
It shattered.
Light broke into jagged pieces.
Sound stretched, warped, then muffled into thick silence.
Pain vanished, replaced by a scary numbness spreading from the blow.
Lying on the cold, gritty floor, the iron taste of his own blood thick in his mouth and nose, Zen's last thoughts were a bitter, silent curse:
He cursed the bad luck that took him down that alley.
He cursed his weak body for failing.
He cursed the cruel unfairness of it all.
One rasping breath escaped his bruised lips, barely a whisper, heavy with his stolen future:
"Why me? I was just… just starting to get it right…"
Then… nothing. Endless, silent dark.
---
"AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"
Pure, total agony yanked Zen back to awareness.
This wasn't the dull ache of the beating.
It felt like every tiny piece of him was ripped apart, melted into nothing, then hammered back together in a white-hot fire.
He screamed, but the sound drowned in a deafening, everywhere roar.
He forced his eyes open—they stung like they were full of sand—and saw only a blur of impossible colors streaking past: deep blue, electric green, liquid gold.
He wasn't lying down.
He was falling. Plunging through a strange sky at terrifying speed.
Wind screamed past him, tearing at his clothes—clothes that felt weirdly whole, but totally wrong.
It ripped the breath from his lungs. The force crushed his chest.
For one clear second in the chaos, his vision focused.
He saw a sky bigger than anything, painted with colors Earth had no name for—swirling purples and space oranges bleeding into deep blue.
Below, an impossible world opened up: mountains like giants wearing snow hats punched through thick clouds; forests so huge and dark they looked like seas of green and black; rivers like liquid silver curling through valleys too big to believe.
His deadly fall gave him a horrifyingly clear view. Then he saw something impossible: a distant town huddled around a thing that ate the horizon.
A sword.
A truly massive sword, big as a skyscraper, buried to its handle in the ground. Its blade, even far away, shimmered with a cold, ghostly light, throwing long, dark shadows.
The sight was awesome, beautiful… and terrifying.
Reality smashed back as the glowing treetops of a huge forest rushed up to meet him. Fast.
"OH, COME ON!" Zen howled into the rushing air, curling into a ball.
"AAAAAAHHHHH---"
CRUNCH!
Impact.
He hit the treetops like a cannonball.
SNAP!
Thick branches—glowing faintly from inside—broke like dry twigs under his falling weight.
Each crash sent fresh agony through his screaming nerves, but each also stole a bit of his deadly speed.
Leaves big as plates, shimmering with their own light, whipped past his face.
THUD!
He tumbled, crashed, bounced, finally smashing into a thick patch of springy, thorny bushes with a bone-shaking THUMP.
Silence fell.
Only the chirps of unseen creatures and Zen's own rough, painful gasps broke it.
Every muscle screamed.
Every bruise throbbed.
His ribs felt crushed.
He groaned, the sound raw in his throat.
"Aaghh…" He lay stunned, staring up through the broken treetops at the impossible sky.
Pain burned everywhere—proof he was alive. Terrible, real proof.
He pushed up on shaky elbows, wincing as fire-needles stabbed his side.
Huge trees surrounded him, trunks wider than buses.
The air felt thick, buzzing with strange energy that made his skin tingle and hair stand up.
It smelled overpoweringly green—wet dirt, rotting leaves, weird flowers, and something else… sharp and wild, like lightning mixed with crushed pine needles.
He touched his aching ribs. His fingers came back sticky. Not quite blood—darker, thicker, smelling faintly of copper and burnt sugar.
"Where… the hell… am I?" he croaked. His voice sounded alien in the quiet, glowing woods. The giant sword flashed in his memory. "Is this… heaven? Or hell?"
The question hung in the buzzing air.
Then, cutting through the forest's strange sounds, a voice echoed—not in his ears, but deep inside his bones.
Soft, yet filled with ancient power. It sounded like starlight and the deep hum of the earth itself:
"You are in Narza."