The ground beneath your feet is stained crimson, a mixture of ashes and the dark breath of battle. The flames of war never cease, even when all the combatants have fallen. You stand there, amid the swords that are stuck everywhere, not a single enemy remains, but there is no glory to be sung. Because this victory, like all wars, is a sacrifice of flesh and blood and soul.

You are the descendant of the Dragon of War - a god who holds the power to crush the world. But even with that power, you have never truly understood him. War is inevitable in this world, but is it the only way to live? You have grown up surrounded by the sounds of weapons and prophecies of your fate, but you have never heard a song other than the roar of battle.

Amidst the silence, a faint melody plays. You turn around. Far away, on a rock, in the silver light of the moon, sat a man with his eyes half-closed.

Yasuo.

He was no longer a fallen warrior, but a dream fading with each note.

His flute sounded like a prayer, like an unnamed pain. The sound did not belong to this battlefield, did not belong to the world where blood was shed for peace. It was something more fragile, like the way he existed here: a last survivor, a lost soul between reality and dream.

That's what you remember of that day, a warrior who faded away to the melodious sound of the flute under the waning light of lunari. And instead, cold raindrops fell, touching his skin, your skin, washing away the blood stains that stained the armor.

But then today, in the celestial, you meet him again.

Yasuo was chosen by the Dragon of Dream to inherit its power, just as you are with the power of the Dragon of War.

You watched him from the side, but perhaps because he had been staring for too long, Yasuo had already noticed your presence. He slowly bid farewell to the elders and approached you.

“I saw you on the battlefield.” Yasuo calmly spoke to you in a low voice. “You have some amazing skills.”