The sky, distorted under the storm of war.
The sky was distorted, like a sad painting, carrying not a single color but conflicting and overlapping hues, as if it were struggling against something greater than itself. There was a pale light emanating from behind the heavy grey clouds, but it was faint, as if closing the horizon to any hopes. There was no brightness to reflect reassurance; the sky was only heavy.
It seemed to pull something hidden, like anger, into its folds, as if observing from a distance what was happening on the ground.
Below, two armies faced each other, one of them led by a strange being with engravings of the moon on his chest. On his back was the blazing sun, and he stood tall, his eyes glowing with a cold light that pierced the darkness. He wasn't wearing traditional armor; his body itself was the symbol, surrounded by statues of serpents, markings pointing to a power immeasurable, rooted in wars and history. Each of his movements was part of a mysterious system, vibrating with laws humans could not comprehend.
The other army was completely different. There was no leader standing. There was only a headless being, swaying unnaturally, as if his body moved through the air itself, not adhering to any physical rules. He had no features, no eyes. He was sending invisible vibrations through the ground, and every soldier behind him could feel something stirring deep within—fear, or emptiness, or indifference.
Behind these commanders stood a massive army of zombies, tied by a force they didn't know. Their features were deformed, their ages varied, but they all once lived in days long gone. Their positions were precisely arranged according to the rank they held in this broken army.
Each zombie looked like a distorted fragment of the being they served. Some had sunken eyes, others frozen expressions from long-past years. Some had broken or malformed limbs. Most moved without awareness, controlled by invisible signals, reflected in every motion they made.
There seemed to be a hierarchical structure. A more powerful being stood in front, resembling something alive, while the zombies in the rear appeared more shattered and weak, barely trying to move with broken arms and feet.
The air was charged with tension, wind slipping between the masses, while ash scattered upward as if trying to hide the scene. The ground bore the marks of a long-past battle—signs of blood and ancient scars that appeared everywhere in this world. Invisible weapons hovered, clouds gathered around the commanders, as if aiming to bring darkness over all.
No words were spoken among the leaders. The first commander stood still, contemplating chaos with the sun and moon engraved on him, while the other, headless being, stood frozen, incapable of taking any real step, as if orchestrating the fate of this hidden world.
Every movement he made sent invisible forces, affecting humans around. The zombie army waited patiently for the signal to launch.
"There's no time to wait for the end…" whispered Koran to himself.
His eyes moved between the torn ranks of the zombies and the shadows behind them.
It was as if every breath rebuilt the armies again. In all the chaos, the world breathed a new moment that meant horror. A moment where no step was taken. A moment that signified a beginning again.
Everyone was drifting to the edge of returnlessness, sensing a terrifying future like scattered bodies in a current.
As the armies drew closer, the first commander raised his hand in a mysterious way, sending invisible signals. The zombie soldiers in the rear began to move at the exact same moment. They all began walking with synchronized heavy steps. Silence hung as if the moment spun on the edge of a void.
Everything was accelerating. This wasn't the war Koran saw. It wasn't a fight. It was the thing he saw in his mind. He saw the armies move as if driven by an invisible system, the upcoming battle was unclear.
It was part of a larger scene, a mysterious plan soon to be revealed.
The sky remained distorted. The world waited. The land tried to hold itself, bearing signs of collapse. Yet it endured. Time and space shared a strange harmony, as if part of an ancient melody foretelling a grand explosion.
Koran and Timo were sitting at a table, each holding a small piece representing an army or a kingdom in a primitive war game. Weak light filtered from a window, casting shadows on the walls filled with books, electronic devices, and the ticking of a wall clock that moved slowly, as if watching time without meaning.
Timo, excited as usual, moved his piece across the board quickly. "Come on, try this one—if you move the soldiers like that, you'll win!"
His face was bright, his eyes sparkled. Every action he made at that moment was the whole game.
Koran tilted his head slightly, watching the pieces. He was less excited than Timo, but deep inside, he was enjoying it. He moved his piece slowly, maybe more than he needed to.
"Are you sure you want to move that one?" Koran asked.
Timo, already moving another small piece, replied, "You'll lose this round!"
Timo didn't care much about winning or losing. He grinned and shouted sarcastically, "Lose? I'm just getting started—you'll see!"
He pulled a large piece representing a full army and moved it in an unexpected direction.
Koran watched carefully. It was as if Timo was trying something risky. Timo giggled lightly, his eyes dancing between the pieces, full of joy and innocence.
Inside, Koran knew it was more than just a game. Every move crafted a small, special story.
"If I win, I'll be the first in history to beat you!" Timo declared.
Koran smiled slowly, pretending to be serious. His thoughts wandered between the board and the fantasy he was living in that moment.
Timo laughed again and moved a large piece. "I'm always the first! This time it'll be fun!"
The room was filled with laughter, playful touches, and light moves between the pieces. Timo didn't think about victory. Koran was absorbed in the concentration of each move.
Even though he knew this was only a game, it wasn't just entertainment. There was nothing beyond the simple idea: it was a game. Nothing more.
"Why are you trying so hard every time? You'll win anyway if you just stay like that," Koran said, moving a piece.
Timo replied enthusiastically, "Boring! If you think like that, games have to mean something!"
"Life too, if you think about it," he added as he moved another piece. "Let's just play like this—with everything!"
They lived in their own world. Every move mattered. No talk about fear or wars. Only laughter filled the room, not from the outside, just the game and children's voices on the board.
"Let's play again," Koran said calmly with a smile.
"Of course!" Timo replied excitedly. "This won't be the last time. Watch out!"
Their laughter filled the small room. In this world, it became just a way to escape from everything. The two children lived moments of innocence and joy. Far, far away from the massive war spinning in the sky.
At that same moment,
in the air: where the smell of blood and gunpowder spread for miles away, in the third kingdom
the door of the war hall exploded violently, and a soldier dragged his legs inside,
his voice trembling with exhaustion, shaking like a broken sword as he shouted:
"My Lord… terrible news! The King of the Five Kingdoms has been assassinated!"