He tried to open his eyes. Only one responded.
He was lying on the ground. All around him, there was blood. One of his eyes was bleeding, but he didn't remember why. He lifted his head… and then he saw it: a sea of corpses.
Humans, but also beasts. Warriors and monsters. The remains of a war. The corpses of creatures and warriors felt alien to him, as if they belonged to a world different from his own.
He tried to stand up, but his body didn't respond as it used to. He felt smaller. Weaker. More fragile.
Still, he tried.
After several attempts, he managed to get up. But he didn't know what to do. Or where to go.
"What was this body that barely obeyed? What were those grotesque creatures, so different from anything he could remember?"
His mind was an empty echo.
He touched his face. His hand trembled as he felt a wound running from his eyebrow down to his left cheek. The blood was still flowing, warm. His skin was pale, almost as pale as his hair, white as ash. His arms were thin, fragile, covered in dust and dried blood.
He looked up and saw a figure in the distance.
It looked human. Desperate, he shouted with all his might:
"HELP!!!"
His voice… didn't sound familiar either. It was higher pitched. Strange.
Then he raised his hand. He wanted to be seen.
The figure began to move. It didn't walk. It floated just a few centimeters above the ground, though it seemed connected to the earth, as if something on its back kept it anchored.
It stopped. Stared at him intently from afar.
And then… it advanced. Fast. Very fast.
The ground beneath his feet cracked, as if something swam underground.
When it was close enough, the earth split open. A huge worm with jagged jaws emerged from the ground before the boy, its shadow covering him completely. It was going to devour him.
But a figure, like a lightning bolt, appeared between them.
It deflected the creature's charge and carried the boy away from the place.
It left him under a nearby tree and turned toward the direction they came from.
And said:
"Find him, Hikari."
From the sky, a single lightning bolt struck right where they had been seconds before. The impact roared like a thunder so powerful the boy covered his ears and looked away. When the smoke cleared from the smoking crater, a feline-looking beast, immaculate white and with eyes shining like the sun, stood tall. It was unlike anything the boy had ever seen before. It was Hikari.
Hikari emerged from the crater like a hunter smelling its prey.
He stopped. Raised his head. Let out a short roar, looking toward a small nearby forest.
The man looked at it and ordered:
"Bring him."
At that moment, Hikari moved so fast the boy couldn't follow him with his eyes.
"Prepare yourself, brat," the man murmured. "He's coming."
From afar, flashes of light were seen among the trees, then some falling. The worm was being driven toward them, chased by Hikari from behind.
The man drew his sword. Its blade looked like a lightning bolt.
The worm leapt again toward him, but this time it wasn't going to get away.
As the creature was midair, the man moved like lightning, spinning around it and slicing through its body in fractions of a second.
He touched the ground first.
The worm's body crumbled in midair as if cut by a thousand blades at once. Fragments rained down on the field, but none touched the boy.
The man sheathed his sword in a single motion. The metal still sparkled, as if the thunder didn't want to leave him.
He slowly turned around, walked toward the young boy, and knelt at his level.
He wore a white tunic stained by battle, but his bearing remained impeccable. He had golden hair, as if bathed in sunlight, and eyes of the same color that conveyed calm and firmness.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a firm but calm voice. "That wound on your face looks deep."
The boy shook his head. He didn't trust his voice. He didn't trust anything. He didn't even know who he was.
"Can you speak?"
The boy hesitated. Swallowed. Tried to say something, but only managed to whisper:
"I don't know… I don't know who I am…"
The man observed him for a few seconds. His golden eyes showed neither surprise nor pity. Only silent understanding.
"I see," he replied, looking away toward the horizon.
The boy looked at him, scared and confused.
"Where am I? What was that thing? Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He stood up and looked at the sky for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then he looked back at him.
"My name is Akiharu Sōya. I'm an Armonist from the kingdom of Albiria."
The boy frowned.
"Armonist…?"
"Don't you know what that means?"
The boy lowered his gaze. His thoughts were a whirlwind of questions, but none found an answer.
Akiharu crouched down again, looked him straight in the eyes, and with a slight smile said:
"I don't know what happened to you. But whatever it was… you survived."
The young boy lifted his head.
"I don't even know my name…"
Akiharu looked at him a moment longer, as if evaluating him. Then nodded firmly.
"Then… from today on, you will be called Arata. Until you remember your true name."
A strange feeling of relief and warmth squeezed his chest. It was a name, a beginning.
"Arata…?" the boy repeated, feeling the syllables on his lips like a promise. A faint smile, the first he could remember, formed on his face, and he nodded silently.
Akiharu stood up and extended his hand.
"Come. We are in a war zone, it's not safe for you to stay alone."
Arata looked at it for a few seconds… then took it.
The journey from that field of ruins to the heart of Albiria lasted almost two months. They crossed valleys dotted with wildflowers, rivers sparkling under the sunlight, and forests where creatures could be seen in the distance, watching the white-haired stranger with curiosity.
During that time, Akiharu spoke little, but his actions spoke for themselves. He shared his food, taught him to recognize the most dangerous creatures by the sound of their footsteps, and every night, before sleeping, made sure Arata had enough warm clothing. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but a serene one, full of the quiet that only comes from trust.
For his part, Arata didn't know what to ask. Without memories, without a real name, he felt any attempt at conversation would be fake. But in the middle of that emptiness, Akiharu became a beacon.
One rainy night, while camping under a cave, it was Akiharu who carefully cleaned Arata's facial wound and applied a medicine that stung but relieved.
"It won't stop hurting completely," he said, securing the bandage, "but it will heal."
And although the scar remained forever, from that moment on, Arata stopped touching the wound. He was beginning to trust.
When they finally crossed the last hill, the capital of the kingdom of Albiria unfolded before them like a living painting. White stone towers rose among huge trees, hanging bridges crossed streams that ran through the streets, and familiars of all kinds—from flaming birds to figures of shadow and wind—walked alongside humans.
Arata stopped without realizing it. For a moment, he forgot his emptiness. The bustle, the colors, the harmony between people and creatures… everything seemed so different from the world he had left behind, or maybe one he had never belonged to.
Noticing his expression, Akiharu simply said…
"Welcome to Eirenwald."
As they walked, the citizens stopped, bowed their heads, or smiled respectfully. Some whispered Akiharu's name. He responded with discreet gestures, without stopping. Arata, not fully understanding, began to sense the weight that man carried on his shoulders.
The Armonist Academy of Belgrán rose in the center of the city, surrounded by gardens and a living wall formed by trees trained to grow in symmetrical shapes. The central tower shone under the sunset light, adorned with stained glass depicting scenes of ancient pacts and legendary battles.
Upon entering, Arata felt his breathing slow. Not from fear, but from the overwhelming beauty and grandeur of the place.
"Will I really live here?"
In the reception hall, several high-ranking officials waited. Their attire was neat, their presence firm. There were teachers, researchers, even what looked like high strategists. Their gazes fell on Arata with a mix of curiosity and caution. One of them spoke first.
"Is this the boy you found?"
Akiharu nodded.
"His name is Arata. He doesn't remember who he was. But he deserves the chance to live, learn, and grow."
A woman with gray hair crossed her arms.
"We have no records of him. What if he represents a risk?"
Akiharu didn't raise his voice, but his tone left no room for doubt.
"It will be my responsibility. Arata is my son from today on."
A heavy silence filled the room.
"What?!"—The word escaped him, barely a choked whisper. Son? He, who remembered nothing, who had nothing, suddenly had a father?
"Adopted son," Akiharu repeated, turning to him. "I will give you my surname, if you agree."
Arata didn't know what to say. Something squeezed his chest. He had never felt that kind of warmth before. He didn't know if it was happiness, fear, or something new, but he nodded slowly.
The adults accepted the decision, some with reservations. But no one dared contradict the man even the high commands silently respected.
That night, Arata received his room. It was simple but cozy. A neatly made bed, an empty bookshelf, a desk with new ink and paper. When he closed the door, silence enveloped him. He approached the dresser mirror.
The face looking back was that of a stranger. Left eye closed, crossed by a scar descending to his cheek. White hair, as if time had touched him too soon.
He sat on the bed, slowly. He didn't know who he had been. He didn't know why he was there.
He thought of Akiharu. Of his calm. How he cared for him without asking for anything. How he called him "son" without hesitation.