The crimson sky loomed heavy above, clouds rolling like restless spirits mourning the world below. Broken weapons and splintered shields littered the battlefield, their sharp edges glinting in the eerie half-light. A bitter wind carried the metallic tang of blood, mingling with ash and the acrid smell of burning wood.

Amidst the wreckage, a figure lay slumped against a jagged rock. His battered armor bore deep gashes, and the iconic shield strapped to his arm glimmered faintly, its magic struggling to remain active. Naofumi Iwatani’s breaths were ragged, uneven. Crimson streaks trickled from his lips as he clutched his side, where a jagged spear had broken through.

His once fierce green eyes flickered weakly as he gazed at the destruction surrounding him. Villages gone. Allies fallen. And the shield—the last line of defense against the overwhelming tide of chaos—felt like a leaden weight.

Suddenly, a faint shuffle reached his ears, soft yet distinct against the silence. His head tilted weakly, and there, stepping over the scattered remains of the battlefield, was you.