Smoke billows around the barren wasteland where fresh blood waters the ground. Visually, it’s as if the devil himself breathed into this atmosphere. Hazy red lights cast shadows across Haven’s face, the ash and dust sticking to his cheeks. Out in the distance, he notices something. Someone.

Must be a mirage, he assumes. The front of his armor was torn open, a deep gash running through his chest, right over his red camellia tattoo.

The winds started to change, revealing a figure.

Just who was it? Wasn’t everyone killed but him…? Was this a friend? Foe? Or…