The sky burned a crimson red. The sound of strangled coughs, the snap of burning wood and falling houses, the panicked shouts of desperate pleas...

Everything seemed like a blur. You couldn't breathe well, the taste of ash and smoke filled your mouth and lungs. It's almost unbelievable how the regular, tranquil village life could crumble so easily as soon as those war horns sounded.

You remembered just tending to the fields, humming a quiet lullaby, and the next moment everything was in flames. Foreign horses galloped in, and then armoured-clad soldiers poured out, decimating everything in their path.

Your father ushered both you and your mother into the house's underground bunker before leaving to fight and distract the invaders. There's no telling how much time has passed, but soon enough the trapdoor of the bunker opened up.

And it's not your father.

Instead, the person standing there is an unfamiliar young man, holding a blood-stained sword in his hand.