<h2>Story 1</h2>A boy of royal blood wanders the land after being exiled from the kingdom of his birth. His clockwork attendant is forever at his side. On this particular day, they come across a small village. But as they move to enter it, trouble begins to brew. Villagers emerge from their homes and immediately surround the pair.&nbsp; Pursuers from the kingdom, thinks the boy. But how did they manage to find us in such an out-of-the-way place?&nbsp; As the boy shifts nervously, the clockwork man drops a hand to the revolver at his side.&nbsp; But after a moment, it becomes clear the villagers have no idea who they are.&nbsp; Then why do they seem so worried? What are they afraid of?&nbsp; The boy asks the villagers to tell him of their problems, and quickly learns he is in the "Red" area of the village—an area eternally at war with the "Green."&nbsp; They do not know when this conflict started.&nbsp; They do not know why this conflict started.&nbsp; They know only that it is.&nbsp; This war is an unending legacy passed down from one generation to the next.&nbsp; "We should go," the attendant says to the boy. "This is not our fight."&nbsp; Yet the boy does not move.<h2>Story 2</h2>The Red villagers mill about with weapons in hand, ready to attack their Green foes at a moment's notice. But just when it seems conflict is inevitable, the boy speaks:&nbsp; "I know of a foreign ritual which can guarantee victory in any battle."&nbsp; "It is a secret rite passed down from a people who have never known defeat."&nbsp; "If we were to conduct this ritual, the gods would surely grant victory."&nbsp; Though the Reds are skeptical at first, the boy's charismatic speech and demeanor strike a powerful chord, and they are soon chattering away excitedly.&nbsp; "How do we conduct this ritual?"&nbsp; "Will you teach it to us?" &nbsp;"We must do it at once!"&nbsp; "Calm, my friends," says the boy. "While I am willing to show you this ritual, I see none of the special green wood required for the ceremony."&nbsp; "Alas, such wood grows only in the area of the village where the Greens live."&nbsp; With no other choice, the Reds reluctantly don disguises and head off to trade for the wood they need.&nbsp; As the boy watches them scurry away, he exchanges a glance with his clockwork companion.&nbsp; The man stares at him for a moment, confused.&nbsp; For there is a faint smile on the boy's face.&nbsp; It is an expression he has never seen before.&nbsp; As the Reds make their way back with the wood, the boy slips away to the Green section of the village and begins his speech anew. “I know of a foreign ritual which can guarantee victory in any battle…”<h2>Story 3</h2>"But alas, I see none of the special red silk required for the ceremony."&nbsp; Though the Greens are skeptical at first, the boy's fine words and confident speech soon convince them. With no other choice, the Greens reluctantly don disguises and head off to trade for the silk they need.&nbsp; As the boy watches them scurry away, his companion turns to him.&nbsp; "I know not of this ritual, my prince. Where did you hear of it?"&nbsp; The boy rubs at his cheek and chuckles.&nbsp; Then he leans over to the man and whispers: "I do not know of it either."&nbsp; The boy sounds positively delighted at this admission, which confuses the man even further. And as he gazes at his companion's bewildered expression, the boy's smile grows even larger.&nbsp; The boy and his companion have been in the village for a week. The entire town is now festooned with bright, festive decorations.&nbsp; Red silk and green wood form a rich interplay of color and shape. It is enough to make even the coldest heart leap with joy.&nbsp; From a distance, the boy and his companion watch the village's transformation.&nbsp; "This is the true victory I promised them," says the boy.&nbsp; Once the intermingling of red and green is wrought, the ritual will be complete.&nbsp; "Then this was your goal all along," replies the man.&nbsp; The boy chuckles softly and nods his head.&nbsp;<h2>Story 4</h2>"It is so much more beautiful this way, don't you think?"&nbsp; But then, the Reds and Greens begin to quarrel.&nbsp; "Our decorations are the finest," says a Red.&nbsp; "No," replies a Green. "Ours are clearly the most beautiful of all."&nbsp; Though voices are raised, it does not lead to violence, for neither side carries a weapon.&nbsp; Instead of warring, the argument turns to a discussion about how both sides can make the decorations even better.&nbsp; As they confer, a pair of smiling children race past, shrieking with delight at some invented game. One Red. One Green. Yet both enjoying the ritual with their newfound friend. And though the boy caused all this to happen, not a single person comes to offer him thanks for his actions.&nbsp; "Are you all right with this, my prince?" asks the clockwork man. The boy nods in the gathering dusk, his mind awhirl with possibility. Perhaps he can replicate what happened here within his own kingdom. This is his sweet and painful hope.&nbsp; After a moment, he turns his back on the village and begins to walk. His attendant silently follows.&nbsp; The clockwork man ponders the future of the village. &nbsp;He knows they may once again pick up their weapons and war with one another.&nbsp; But their children now know a world where colors blend.&nbsp; And those children will live on.&nbsp; &nbsp;

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Record: Bridge of Supplication

<h3>Story 1</h3>Flickering lamplight. Glossy fingertips. In a corner of the manor, a woman is focused on decorating her beautiful nails. Her garments are just as impressive and alluring as her fingers. But unlike the rest of the courtesan's fanciful appearance, her eyes are cold steel. Behind her, a man peeks around a folding screen. When he spies the woman's red nails, he lets out a low whistle.&nbsp;"Surprising how much you look the part," he chuckles.&nbsp;"You'd never know you were actually a merciless killer."&nbsp;The woman's only reaction is to blow lightly across her nails. But he is correct: She is an assassin pledged in loyalty to a great lord. Her courtesan's dress is a disguise to deceive her latest target. The bemused man has been tasked with leading her to the object of her work. She has been ordered to find the commander of an army set in opposition to her lord. The commander has a well-deserved reputation for both lewdness and depravity. Her task this night is to end his life by whatever means necessary. The woman and man exchange a few brief words, confirming the outline of their plan.&nbsp;In the dark of night, the wheels of a bloody scheme slowly begin to turn...&nbsp;<h3>Story 2</h3>The disguised assassin and her assistant set off to kill the enemy commander. As she had been asked for directly by a man of such high rank, it is a simple thing for them to leave the pleasure district. When they arrive at the castle, the guards escort them to a door of magnificent construction. Once there, they forbid the man from going any further. They then turn their gazes to the woman, not even attempting to hide their lust.&nbsp; "Do well," says the man before he vanishes back down the hall. "Do very well indeed."&nbsp; The woman is brought into an inner room. The commander looks her up and down, a prurient smile&nbsp; smeared across his face.&nbsp; "My, my!" he cries. “It seems even the most infamous of demons is nothing but a child once robbed of her mettle.”&nbsp; He wipes a thin line of spit from his mouth before continuing.&nbsp; "Oh yes, my dear. I know all about your plan. Your little friend was happy to tell all he knew in exchange for some of my gold."&nbsp; It's betrayal, then, she thinks. Betrayal for coin.&nbsp; But this truth is cold comfort, for she is now alone and forsaken in the heart of her enemy's territory...&nbsp;<h3>Story 3</h3>The assassin had disguised herself as a courtesan and entered the enemy's base in order to slay their commander. But the work of a treacherous spy now finds her bound in front of her would-be target. The commander leers at his assassin with scorn. His face expands into a grin. "You came here disguised as a courtesan," he says. "Perhaps it's time you served that purpose."He looks at the guards as he says this, and they respond eagerly. But then, a faint shadow of surprise moves across his face. There is a slight sound—almost a whistle—and then an utter, perfect silence. A single hairpin juts out from the commander's forehead. The man crumples to the ground with a soft thud.In the same moment, the rope binding the woman's wrists falls to the floor in two neat pieces. Panicked, the guards draw their swords—but they have been a step behind all along. The woman allowed herself to be bound in order to lower their defenses and reduce the number of enemies present. And she made sure her carefully filed nails were sharp enough to sever any rope.&nbsp; Nothing had been left to chance. Slowly—so slowly—she raises her hands and extends the fingers. Her polished red nails are the talons of some great and terrible beast. And when the alarm drum finally sounds and guards come swarming into the room, all they find is a woman drenched in blood.&nbsp;<h3>Story 4</h3>The man who betrayed the assassin had received a great sum of money for his efforts. And the night now finds him miles from the enemy camp. As he counts his coins, a broad smile crosses his face.&nbsp; "Do well," he whispers. "Do very well indeed."&nbsp; His final words had not been meant for his assassin partner. They were instead meant for her guards.&nbsp; But there is no way she could have known, which makes his betrayal all the sweeter. As he thinks on this, an indescribable feeling of amusement wells up inside of him. Chuckling, he lifts his hand and prepares to sweep the pile of coins into his purse.&nbsp; But he is stopped by a sudden, terrible pain.&nbsp; A familiar blade has pinned his hand to the ground. Standing in front of him is the very woman he had been laughing about not a moment before. Cold sweat drips into the wound, and the man cries out. In a high, nervous voice, he begins to stammer out a pathetic series of apologies.&nbsp; "M-my daughter is sick!"&nbsp; "I needed the money for her treatment!"&nbsp;But the woman simply continues to appraise him coldly. When she speaks, her face looks like a&nbsp; mask. "It's not personal," she says. "You're just another target."&nbsp; "I knew you would betray me from the start."As she raises her blade, she glances down at the man's skewered hand. The blood pouring from the wound paints his nails red. Almost as though he had intended for them to look that way. The woman stares at them for a moment before uttering the last words the spy would ever hear: "Tsk. Those don't suit you at all."&nbsp; &nbsp;

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Record: Rythm's Citadel

<h3>Story 1</h3>She knows there is a place she must go. But she doesn't know where. She needs to know more if she is to reach her destination. Her lack of knowledge is daunting, so she spends her days aimlessly wandering the streets of ruined cities.&nbsp;Finally, she comes across an old, tattered book. It is a valuable source of information in this lost and empty land. Yet ages of exposure to the elements make deciphering its blurred images and letters all but impossible.&nbsp;But just as she is about to set the book down... A small bird tumbles from the top of a nearby tree. It appears to be badly injured. Its wings are uneven, and blood is smeared across a gap in the poor creature's feathers. It wriggles and flops in the grass, desperately trying to move its injured wing. It is painful to watch. After a moment, the girl speaks to the bird.&nbsp; "Is there somewhere you want to go?"The bird chirps quietly as if in response to her question.&nbsp; &nbsp;<h3>Story 2</h3>The girl has encountered an injured bird on her journey. It now sits in her palm, its gaze fixed firmly in one direction. The same direction it was attempting to fly. The bird clearly has a powerful desire to go there.The girl rips a strip of cloth from her garments and wraps it around the wing to hold it in place. Fortunately the wound is not serious; it should heal in a few days with rest. This done, she places the bird atop her head. She still has no clue as to her destination.But with her own quest at a loss, she has decided to help the bird instead. As the girl stands, the bird begins to chirp incessantly. Something is causing it to panic. Spurred on by the bird, the girl rushes forward, only to hear a deep rumble close behind.&nbsp; An aged building has collapsed, burying the tree where they had been resting only a moment before. "You saved me, little bird," she says. The bird sings out in reply, creating a song that sounds almost boastful.&nbsp;<h3>Story 3</h3> The girl and the bird continue their journey. And while the empty city is harmless for the girl, it is a den of predators for the bird.&nbsp;One day, a starving beast blocks their path. It's time to repay my debt, thinks the girl as she readies her spear. She nimbly feints an attack at the beast. Startled, it bolts off deeper into the city.&nbsp; But as it does, she feels a piece of cloth flutter down past her eyes. It is a piece of her clothing the one she used to wrap the bird's wing. Something is wrong. My head feels lighter.&nbsp;... The bird! After frantically looking around, she spies the little bird flying raggedly toward a particular building. Though its wound is not yet healed, it summons some inner reserve and flaps with all its might. So that's where it wanted to go. She follows her companion to the building.&nbsp;<h3>&nbsp;</h3><h3>Story 4</h3> The girl follows the energetic beating of the bird's wings to its destination. The quiet space is filled with song.&nbsp; And there, in the middle, is a small nest. The bird had been heading home.&nbsp; A tightness settles in the girl's chest at the sight. She is alone. She has no family, no home she can return to. Her pain grows as she watches the little bird warble happily in concert with its parents. I need to find my own destination now.She gives the bird a small wave and turns to leave.&nbsp; But before she can take another step, she suddenly realizes where she is. Wait. This is... a library. Uncountable shelves line the walls.Each one is filled with books in perfect condition—books with legible writing. If she can somehow get a grasp on the local language, she might be able to learn where she is. She reaches out a single trembling hand and rests it on the spine of a tome. Her new traveling companion has given her a most wonderful gift.&nbsp; &nbsp;

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Record: Path of Longing

<h4>Story 1</h4>A woman and a dragon, both covered in wounds, trudge across a beach.&nbsp; The woman's name is Zero. She is a powerful swordswoman with a flower where her right eye should be. The dragon's name is Mikhail. He is a young, white dragon with the power of speech.&nbsp; Both of them stand on the doorstep of death. Blood flows freely from their wounds. It leaves a snaking trail of red along the coast. The army that has been following this trail now closes in on them. ""Kill the traitors!' they cry. This is the end. They can run no further. The woman grips her sword, steeling her resolve. The dragon lets fly with a howl in response. It cannot end here. They must live."&nbsp;<h4>Story 2</h4>The soldiers rush at them like waves from the sea. The swordswoman fights back, blood spraying from her wounds. In the midst of it all, something appears in the corner of her reddened vision. She sees the dragon collapse. Countless blades stick out from his white flesh. As the dragon lies in the sand, he ekes out a meager cry. The woman's hair rises in anger, and she immediately cleaves the soldier before her in twain. Sand flies as she rushes to the dragon's side."I won't let you die." The woman stands in front of the dragon to shield him.FOOMP!The next thing she knows, an arrow is embedded deep into her chest. As she reaches up to pull it out, another follows. She lifts her head and stares at her enemy. But a third arrow finds its mark in her eye, as though they had been aiming for that very spot. Her sword slowly falls from her bloody fingers.&nbsp;<h4>Story 3</h4>The woman's beating heart slows...slows...and then stops. The soldiers raise a mighty cheer. The traitor has been struck down. With only the dragon left, the soldiers move in to finish it off. But then, the woman's corpse begins to scream. As if responding to the scream, the flower in her eye glows red. And in the next instant, it swells up to an incredible size. Suddenly, another human spills from the flower, covered in blood. It is the swordswoman reborn. She is a demon with the strength of the flower on her side.&nbsp; "This cannot be the end. This cannot...end." The revived woman attacks the soldiers with empty hands. She strikes down one after another with sheer brute force. But she is still greatly outnumbered. Swords penetrate her body, one after the next. She screams again. And again. And again. Yet each time, she is reborn from the flower. Her limbs are severed. Her skull is shattered. Her heart is pierced. Yet she comes back each time and falls upon her foe with renewed fury. It is a never-ending nightmare.&nbsp;<h4>Story 4</h4>Finally, the woman collapses in the sand. Her sharp, ragged breaths slowly take on a sense of normalcy. The battle is over. The only sound is that of the waves enveloping the crimson beach. Soon, the dragon's eyes flutter open. He looks over the mountains of dead soldiers, then back to the woman.&nbsp; "Thanks for saving me, Zero." His voice is that of an innocent child—a terrible mismatch for its massive size.&nbsp; "I only did what anyone should," the woman replies. The woman knows one absolute in her life: She must protect him.A flower blooms in her right eye. It is a cursed, loathsome power that would destroy the world. And only a dragon can extinguish it. Once you grow up and become stronger... I will have to tell you of my final wish. But until then... I will protect you. No matter how many of my lives it may cost.&nbsp; &nbsp;

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Record: Blood Oath's Edge

<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec00500301_d96ce32f11.png"></figure>The shadow of an alien creature flickers against a dirt wall. Deep in a mine that was sealed off centuries ago, he waits in perfect silence. Before him is an ancient dragon—an exceptionally diabolical creature. The dragon notices the intruder and gives a mighty roar that causes the mineshaft to shudder violently. A moment later, its throat begins to glow red with fire. The battle has finally begun. Two hours later... MISSION COMPLETE! Golden letters flash on the monitor. As the dragon lies motionless on the ground, the adventurers raise their swords and staves high. The fanfare is accompanied by a blizzard of dazzling particle effects. Inside a dimly-lit room, the effects reflect off the glasses of a man facing his computer. He is deep into a raid in an MMO. It is an incredibly popular title, with a player base nearing almost one million members. The man and his fellow party members have vanquished the Ancient Dragon—which the most recent patch dropped as the game's newest, most powerful enemy. The group chat is flying with the exclamations of his online friends. Everyone is reveling in their victory. nice work all sry I died so many times This was our first time seeing this, so it's okay!!! we won so its fine LOL it was pretty much just Levania taking the stage tho haha The man's avatar is an alien creature named Levania. It is, of course, only his character's name—not his own. The man types a message out to the party. For me, this isn't a game. They retort with their own good-natured jabs. YUP there it is! He said it! What the man—no, what Levania said—was just an act for his friends. The party has been raiding together for some time, and they have an easy camaraderie among themselves. Theirs is a relationship of inside jokes among informal friends. But everyone knows the man had been the key figure in taking down the dragon. Without him, they likely would not have been victorious. As the hands of the clock tick past one in the morning, his friends slowly begin returning to the real world. alright I'm out night! i've gotta get up at 6 lol I'm going to bed too! later! The man types "See you tomorrow," and logs out. Regardless of how hard he works in the game, reality always claws its way back. The man gleefully crawls into bed and removes his glasses. The next morning... The man stands on the train, moving his tired, empty eyes across the crowd packed in around him. I'm sleepy, he thinks. I'm tired. I want to go home. As these thoughts cycle through his head, the train pulls up to the station near his office. The man works as a mid-level engineer for a start-up IT venture called Dull, Inc.—the same job he's held for the past four years. Each department holds a team huddle before starting the day. The meetings are an excuse for bosses to talk, check in on progress, announce schedule changes, and so forth. As the man's boss drones on and on, he tunes him out and thinks back to the raid of the night before. He wonders what his actions in battle looked like to his friends. Had he successfully played the part of Levania? Whenever he plays him, his personality changes. Levania is a leader who takes initiative; one who cracks wise with a keen sense of humor. Someone his companions can be honest with; a person both trustworthy and charismatic. But this person—this role—only exists in the game. In reality, the man is Levania's exact opposite. He is introverted, stoic, and lacks even one true friend. He communicates only as much as necessary to get by in society, and has no desire to take any of his relationships deeper. Additionally, he is plagued by a vague, smoldering dissatisfaction of how unfair and irrational modern society is. The only thing that brings him joy are games. Whether he is playing the work of another or crafting his own, it is the only time he ever experiences happiness. His own game—which he's been working on in his spare time— was reaching completion. It is an old-fashioned RPG where the player takes on the role of hero to save a princess captured by the demon king. And of course, the hero's name is Levania.<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec00500304_a7143cf4ba.png"></figure>"Hey! You listening!?" The man suddenly snaps back to reality. The team huddle is still going on. He sputters out a half-whispered apology for daydreaming, but it falls on deaf ears. Instead, the boss takes the opportunity to berate him. "You know, you could stand to be a lot more productive." "Hell, we've got people with half your experience that are doing twice the work!" The youngest member of the team graduated from college a mere two years ago, yet the boss misses no chance to praise him for his work ethic. "But sir," says the junior member suddenly, "he does a lot, too." "I have a lot to learn, but he's always patient." "And he's willing to help with whatever I need." Rather than easing off at this, however, the man's boss doubles down. "Do you see that!?" he roars. "That kind of humble attitude is exactly what we need around here! Am I making myself clear!?" The man glances at his coworker and sees his mouth twist into a sneer. Gotcha!, it seems to say. Though the junior employee presents a humble, helpful front, he actually only takes assignments that are sure to earn him praise—leaving the dirty, difficult work to the man. He knows he's the boss's favorite, and uses this fact to his full advantage. And the boss thinks he's found a new lackey, so he's willing to let his sneaky attitude slide. The man knows what they both think of him: He is a target—a lump to be misused however they wish. Lunchtime arrives. The man sits in the corner break area munching on a vending-machine pastry. A stout coworker approaches with a can of coffee in hand and gives it to the man. "Rough morning, huh?" he says. This stout man is an engineer who joined the company at the same time as him and now works on his team. Though not close enough to call each other friends, the man does not find his coworker's thoughtfulness unpleasant. But he also knows him to be the type who tries to please everyone and avoid making waves. "Anyway, hope it all works out." The stout man stands there awkwardly for a moment before shuffling back to his desk. The day comes to a close. As the man is packing up to leave, his boss approaches. He wonders dispassionately if he is in for another scolding. It turns out he is; his boss immediately tears into him for one thing or another. But no matter what he says, it will never resonate with the man. This is just a job. It pays for food and a roof over my head. That's all. The man repeats this to himself as he waits for his boss to tire himself out. Eventually, he finds himself standing on the train home. It's full, but not uncomfortably so, and he has room to scroll through his phone as he rides. As he peruses his usual gaming news sites, an advertisement catches his eye. The game-development company that makes his MMO is looking for an engineer. He typically scrolls through advertisements almost unconsciously, but this one seizes his attention immediately and refuses to let go. Later, the man sits down in front of his computer. Morning. He types a joking greeting in the group chat, and several people immediately respond. morning did you just wake up? lol its night already yay Levania's here!!! He vaguely wonders why he feels so at home with these online strangers who he has never met, then sets the question aside. For the next few hours, the man and his friends run raids together. But their attempts go miserably. The party is disjointed and out of sorts, and they end up falling apart at the end. The man apologizes for his poor leadership, and suggests a new strategy for their next encounter. His teammates are aware the loss is not the man's fault, so they listen to his plan and offer up occasional suggestions or tweaks. It is a very constructive discussion. Eventually, as always, he must return to reality. His friends log off one after the other, their names disappearing from the screen. Then, one of them offers a parting remark. I bet you're really helpful irl too, Levania It's a compliment, the kind of casual thing people exchange a dozen times a day. But it causes a terrible sense of guilt to rise up in the man. I'm fooling them. Lying to them. I'm nothing like Levania in real life. But if I could, I would love to be just like him... Though his body cries out for sleep, the man logs out of the game and opens his internet browser. He arrives at the game developer's website and navigates to the section on open positions. He doesn't want his online friends to know what he's like in reality. He doesn't want them to be disappointed. But if he ever wants to change that, he will need to make a greater change to himself, stop drifting through life, and take some initiative. Levania would know what to do and put a plan in motion right away. In fact... After a brief moment of hesitation, he attaches his resume and sends it off.<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec00500307_12614a8caf.png"></figure>The man's smartphone lights up as he receives a notification. He has an email from the game company congratulating him on passing their initial screening. Though the man hardly ever shows emotion, he smiles as he reads the email again and again. Several months later, the man finds himself entering the doors of the company in his finest suit. He has spent the last few months burning the candle at both ends in order to complete his game and use it as a sample of his work. They were clearly impressed, because they invited him in for a face-to-face interview. Interviews have never been the man's forte, but he has a plan: He will assume the role of Levania in his mind during the entire process. As they fire question after question at him, he tries to react as if it was just another boss battle. It works better than he could have imagined, and his answers are both positive and proactive. As the interview ends, they compliment him again on his answers and his game, and he leaves the building floating on air. He heads toward the train station. The sky above him is a cloudless, brilliant blue. I think I aced that interview. I really do. If I get the job, I'll be reborn. I can be like Levania in my real life. Then maybe I can be my true self around my online friends... As the man sets off for home, his face is alight with hope. The next day... When the man arrives to work at Dull, Inc., he comes across the stout coworker and junior teammate having a serious conversation. Though he doesn't wish to eavesdrop, he finds he can't help himself. Their hushed voices still carry across the empty office. It seems the junior employee has made a serious error in some of his work. Scared of how their boss will react, he tried to bury it. But he now realizes he will not be able to keep it hidden forever. Backed into a corner, he finally decided to seek out the other man for advice. After hearing the story, the stout man leans back in his chair and knits his fingers together. "You have to tell the boss," he says. "Do it today." "The longer you put it off, the worse it's going to be." Clearly dejected, the young man wanders off in a daze. Later that afternoon... The stout employee is called into the boss's office. The man can't hear things clearly, but it's obvious from the tone that their boss is chewing him out. A few words drift through the closed door, enough for the man to realize his coworker is being blamed for the junior employee's mistake. Why is he taking the blame? It wasn't even his fault. He glances around the room, and sees the junior employee and a couple of his friends looking over at the boss's office and snickering behind their hands. I'm going to kill this guy. He feels himself suddenly overwhelmed by terribly dark emotions. The man suddenly realizes what happened: The junior teammate had pinned the mistake on his coworker. He did so knowing full well their boss would never question the word of his favorite employee. Unable to stand it a second more, he pushes his chair back and begins walking toward the boss's office. Grant me your courage, Levania. Just this once. As he nears the office, the conversation grows increasingly clear. "You two were over there whispering earlier!" says the boss. "Don't deny it!" The man knows exactly how this will play out. In the end, his poor coworker will take the blame. The man readies himself and opens the door. "I'm busy here!" cries the boss. "Can't you see that!?" The man pauses, takes a deep breath, and begins to tell his side of the story. After a few moments, his boss interrupts. "I see. You're in on this too." "Enough. Back to your desks, both of you." "I'll figure out what to do with you later." When he hears this, the man feels his willpower drain out of him. Though he swore to be a stronger person like Levania, he's still himself at the end of the day. He can't even help a single coworker. I've had enough of this company. I've had enough of me. I wonder if this fight would be too much even for Levania? The man has no answer. But he knows one thing: Trying to fight a boss like his is pointless. Several weeks later... The man receives a letter. It is a formal offer of employment from the game company.<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec00500310_d943118c3f.png"></figure>The man receives a formal offer of employment from the game company. The next day, the man walks into his boss's office and hands him a letter. It is his two-week notice. But it is also notice that he plans to take the rest of those two weeks off as vacation, and will only come back for his final day of work. He will still leave the job with far more vacation than he can ever use, but he doesn't care. He simply wants to get out. His boss receives the letter coolly, showing no particular sorrow or surprise. He then informs the team of his departure during the morning huddle. Soon, word spreads to the rest of the office. After the meeting, the stout coworker approaches the man and places a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for all your hard work—and for trying." They both know what he is referring to: After the incident with the junior coworker, each of the men received a reduction in salary. The fact he was punished for the fault of another upset the man greatly. But there was nothing to be done. The stout coworker, never one to make waves, simply accepted the pay cut without a word and continued on. That night... For the first time ever, the man and his coworker head out for a night on the town. Though his team held occasional drinking parties, he had never attended one. He never had a reason to. But this time, his falsely accused coworker had invited him, and they both understood it would be the first and last time such a thing ever happened. At the bar... Alcohol works its dark magic and the man begins to open up. He talks about his favorite games, his next job, and his hopes and dreams for the future. He speaks of his desire to change himself. He has never laid himself bare like this; it is both liberating and terrifying. His tipsy coworker listens for a long time before finally responding, "I'll be so lonely with you gone." Two weeks later... It's the man's last day at work. He leaves his house with a spring in his step. The thought of never entering Dull, Inc. again makes the packed train feel like a vacation. All he has to do today is finish some paperwork and sign a couple of documents. Once he turns in his security badge, he will walk out the front door for the very last time. Before he reports to security, he wanders the office looking for the stout coworker so he can say goodbye. But he can't find him anywhere. He asks the junior teammate if he's seen him and the man responds, "That guy? How should I know?" Yet again, he feels his blood begin to run cold as rage overwhelms him. Perhaps his coworker called in sick. Perhaps he had a planned day off. With no other choice, the man finishes his paperwork and leaves. He then makes his way to the station. He stands at the center of the platform, waiting for his train to arrive. It's early, and the station is relatively empty. Tomorrow, he will begin a new life at a new company. He will never have to set foot in this station again. It is another in a series of goodbyes. A momentary feeling of loneliness quickly transforms into one of excitement. Starting tomorrow, I'll be reborn in a new world— one where no one knows me. I'll be strong and reliable, just like Levania. The light of hope shines brightly on the man's heart. A voice echoes through the station announcing the arrival of the next train. ...... ............ .................. Suddenly, something collides with the man from behind. He stumbles forward and goes flying onto the tracks. What happened? Where are my glasses? Oh god, I need to get back! But the man finds himself frozen in confusion and fear. A lone figure looks down on him from the platform. It is muttering something. "With you gone..." The man's head snaps up. Standing before him was the coworker the man had tried to protect. "With you gone..." "I'll be the one they bully!" "I can't stand that!" "I can't stand the thought of you being happier than me!" "But with you gone—" The shrill sound of a train whistle drowns out the rest of the thought. All sound stops. In a silent vortex of darkness, a few thoughts swirl: I don't want to die. I want to keep living. Dreams... Hope... Re...born... I... I... I... I...am...

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EX Levania

<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec01900201_9efdd0980f.png"></figure>"Is this dress too garish?" My sister drew up her shoulders as she spoke, grasping the hem of her beautiful white dress. It was generously decorated in layer upon layer of delicate lace, with small diamonds sparkling here and there. I let out a small sigh as I stared at her. "You look lovely, my sister. And well you should, for today is certain to be the finest day of your life." My sister nodded, satisfied, and turned this way and that to better admire her reflection in the mirror. We were twins, both princesses in the land we called home. Though we shared a visage, my sister was bright, sociable, smart, and popular. She was the very image of perfection. Whereas I was shy, dull, not at all clever, I didn't have many friends... I was wholly unremarkable. This day, my sister was setting off on a journey to be wed to a foreign prince. It would be a grand ceremony on a scale I had never seen. Our country and the prince's had long been at war, you see, but this wedding would unite our families and finally bring an end to the seemingly eternal conflict. It had all been set in motion by our mother—the queen. The day was clear, and a warm sun sat high in the sky. Before stepping into the jewel-studded carriage, my sister turned to take a final look at the castle where she was born and raised. "I will birth a son and raise the next king, Mother," she said with pride. "So wait and stay safe until then." With these words, she entered her carriage. Moments later, the carriage set off with great pomp. It would be several days before she crossed the border, so she settled in for a long ride. It sparkled in the sunlight, as though lighting the path ahead. What a perfect beauty! What a perfect wedding! What a perfect prince! I was so proud of my sister; seemingly nothing was beyond her reach, and she had accomplished everything she ever set out to do in life. I knew her future would be bright, with nothing but great things waiting for her. That's how her life always was, after all. I waved and waved until the carriage vanished from view. ...... ......... ............ The girl slowly opens her eyes. Then closes them. She had been dreaming again. In her dream, she was a princess. She is disappointed that sleep has fled; she wanted to see more. For even though she wasn't the lead princess in this particular dream, it was still much nicer than her usual nightmares. Defeated, she opens her eyes, gazes for a moment at the foul, grime-covered ceiling above, and rises from her shabby bed. Today, she will study hard, help however she can, and spend another day being a very good girl. "Good morning, Mommy. Do you wanna hear about my dream?" She greets her mother cheerfully, as she does every day. The older woman does not even look up; she just continues peeling potatoes. "Dreams are nonsense, girl, and you've no time for such foolery. Now eat your breakfast and get to school." On the table is a bowl of thin gruel and a heel of bread. The girl sits on a rickety chair and pulls the food close. The bread is hard enough to shatter teeth. But it's all Commoners like them can afford, so she's quite used to it. "Last night's dream was special, Mommy. I was a princess!" Her mother sets a potato down and turns to stare at her daughter. Her eyes seem to bore holes in her. "I told you to knock off that fool talk. You're a Commoner, not a Noble—and you never will be." The girl is well aware of this. Even the youngest child knows of the country's strict class system. Here, the disparity between Nobles and Commoners is great indeed. The Commoners have long been discontent with their lot in life, and the Nobles worry increasingly about social unrest. But the girl had no wish to argue politics—she simply wanted to make conversation with her mother. Stung, she drops her eyes and quickly finishes her breakfast. "I'm going now, Mommy." The girl hurriedly gets dressed, gathers her things, and leaves the house for school. Winter. A most rainy season. Though the rain has stopped, puddles still dot the road. She stands at one and looks at her face reflected in the water. She does not look like her mother. Nor does she look at all like her father. She senses she is not much loved by either. And she believes her face to be the reason. Suddenly angry, she stamps on the face in the puddle and rushes off to school. She is determined to study hard and win her parents' praise.<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec01900204_15a39d604d.png"></figure>The roses were finally blooming. From my window, I saw the bright red flowers stretching out as far as the eye could see. The buds had been firmly shut for so long, but warm weather had finally come yesterday to loosen winter's icy hold. But as magnificent as the flower garden was, I had grown so very weary of looking at it. I had been staring at it since the day I arrived in this country.... Since the day they locked me in this room. To pass the time, I started counting the roses. When I reached the 48th rose, I spotted the prince walking alongside his young and beautiful princess. I knew the princess well. She was my twin, after all. A group of Nobles followed them, chattering merrily away. The castle, a fun and lively place for most inhabitants, hosted a tea party in the garden at this time every week. Delighted peels of laughter soon intermingled with the clinking of porcelain. I quietly slipped out of view and listened in. "You have been beaming with happiness every day since the wedding, Your Highness." "People all across the land speak of the princess's beauty!" It was true: The marriage of a prince from the west and my sister from the east was on the lips of people in both countries. Of greatest concern was when she might bear him a child. That was the reason I am here; the reason I was summoned to this place soon after the wedding was complete. Because I...I am to birth the prince's child in place of my sister. "Oh, I can hardly wait! Will it be a prince or princess?" "No matter what, I'm certain it will be adorable." "I've heard His Majesty the King has already prepared several midwives for the happy day." It didn't take long for the prince and his court to realize his new bride was barren. So I was smuggled into the country in the dead of night. No one could be allowed to know of my existence. Of course, I would do anything for my sister. Anything.... I just thought she might come see me at some point. "The sun is beginning to set." "You should not be out and about in the cold, Princess. Let us return to the castle at once." As the crimson glow of dusk began to fill the room, the lively voices grew distant. It seemed the party had ended. I moved from the window and began preparing myself for the prince's arrival—for though my sister had not seen fit to visit, he arrived every night like clockwork. And there, in that darkening room, I waited. ...... ......... ............ The loud ringing of a bell pulls the girl back to reality. She had been unable to concentrate during class; she kept thinking about last night's dream. The sun sits high in the winter sky, its rays peeking through gaps in the clouds to brighten the classroom. It was the continuation of her previous dream, the one where the princess rode off in a carriage. The girl is yet young, and while she does not understand her dream completely, she knows that Nobles sometimes have to do what their parents say and live a life not wholly their own. In this way, she finds being a Commoner a relief. And once she is grown up, she hopes to live a life of even greater freedom. The school she attends is specifically for Commoners. Everyone, from the highest-ranking teacher to the lowliest student, is still a Commoner at the end of the day. The classroom grows lively as some of the more impatient children begin to gather up their textbooks. "That's all for today," says the teacher. "Oh, but before I forget, I have the results from last week's test." The teacher looks directly at the girl and smiles. "Your classmate here had top marks yet again. I hope you all learn from her and study hard!" The girl happily hugs her textbook to her chest at the news. She runs the whole way home to tell her mother. "Mommy, Mommy! Guess what!? I got first on the test again!" Her mother is standing in the living room with her back to her, holding a large mug in her hands. She slowly turns around at her daughter's voice. "If I study lots, do you think I could become a doctor or a lawyer?" Her mother finishes off the contents of the mug—which is clearly some sort of alcohol—and slams it down on the table. The scent of her breath fills the room like a cloud. "Are you mad, girl?" she says loudly. "We've not the money to let you study forever." "Now clear your head of these fool dreams and get to the laundry!" Dejected, the girl leaves to fetch the hamper. For a brief moment, a long-buried thought rises up in the girl's chest: What if she's not my mother? We look nothing alike, after all. She shakes the thought away. No. I love her. Even if we aren't related by blood... But the poor girl's desire for love has no outlet, so it simply continues to swell painfully in her chest.<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec01900207_239b9d5e9e.png"></figure>Winter had arrived; the flower garden was cold and barren. But inside a heated room, a newborn baby made its first cry. "Oh dear. A girl." The midwife holding the baby made no attempt to hide her disappointment; nor did the king and prince, who were both leaning against a nearby wall. With sweat running down my body, I instinctively reached out to hold the new life I created. But they do not even grant me that kindness. "A shame," said the king. "Very well. Dispose of her at once." He and his son left the room without another word. But the princess—my twin sister—remained. "You there," she said to the midwife. "You are dismissed." The woman froze in place for a moment. Then she set the baby down, bowed, and scuttled out of the room along with the rest of the women who attended the birth. The last time my sister and I were alone was a year ago—when I praised her exquisite wedding dress. But I lay still and quiet in my bed, unsure if I should view this as a heartfelt reunion or begin begging for mercy. "This is your fault, you know? What I'm about to do? If you'd just given birth to a son, it wouldn't have come to this." With that, my sister produced a small knife from her pocket... ............ Cradling my newborn daughter, I ran from the castle with only the clothes on my back. My mind was chaos. They were going to kill my daughter. My own sister was going to kill her! Why!? Why, why, why!? I had no answer to this question. But then again, I'd never been especially bright. I came to this wretched country for my sister's sake. I bore a child for my sister's sake. All for her sake. All for her sake all for her sake all for her sake... I had nowhere to go. A traveling merchant kindly allowed me to ride on his cart, and after a night of hard travel, I woke up in a small border town. On the harsh midwinter morning, a mixture of snow and sleet rained down without mercy or pause. Having pushed my body to its limits right after giving birth, I was stricken with a high fever and fuzzy thoughts. But my sweet daughter was warm and dry in a thick blanket, and as I held her to me, my troubles seemed to dissipate. She was asleep. She looked just like an angel. "Hey, there's someone on the ground over here!" I heard footsteps splash in a puddle near my ear, and the voice of a young woman echo above my head. "Heavens, she's got a baby..." Another voice called out—a man this time. "Aye, I fear this girl's done for." "Poor thing. To think she'll be leaving this child behind..." They almost seemed to be talking about someone else. Apparently I collapsed, though I did not remember it. I could hear my daughter crying nearby. Despite how hard the sleet was coming down, I could do nothing for her; I did not even have the strength to stand. Thankfully, someone had found us. With great effort, I turned my head and looked at the couple. Please...raise her as your own. Make her happy. The words I had intended to say never made it from my mouth. The chill of the sleet pounding my body slowly faded away, the sound growing distant...distant...distant... And finally, my conscious faded....Forever. ...... ......... ............ The girl briskly walks through a bone-chilling cold. Her mother had sent her out to fetch their bread ration. It's a rainy winter day—just like the one from her dream. She is wearing every layer she owns, but the sudden downpour cuts through her garments like a knife. As she listens to the never-ending torrent, she thinks back on the sight she dreamed of that morning. Now that I think about it...It's funny how the couple that found "me" on the ground looked a lot like Mommy and Daddy... "Mommy! I'm home!" The girl, her pigtails dripping, produces three loaves of bread from the inside of her coat and grins happily. The bread is a bit damp, but dry compared to the girl. Her mother, who was warming herself at the hearth, takes the loaves with a bit of a guilty look. "Thank you, girl. Now hurry up and get changed! You're dripping water all over the house." As the girl slowly peels off her clothes, she only thinks of one thing: I hope that made Mommy happy...<figure class="image"><img src="https://reinguide-assets.s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/ec01900210_5cef03674c.png"></figure>"How long are you planning to sleep, child!? Get up already!"The woman throws the bedroom door open. Her daughter, who usually wakes up on her own, has slept late into the morning today. She stomps over to her tiny bed. "Come now, get up. I need you to fetch the bread again." The woman throws back the blanket on the bed to reveal the girl lying there languidly, her face red. "M-Mommy... I think I'm sick..." croaks the girl. "I'm cold and hot all at once...and I c-can't move..." Her mother places a hand on her forehead. She is burning up. The woman immediately recalls how she sent her out in the sleet the previous day to fetch their food. Then she emits a small sigh and pulls the blanket back in place. "Well then, never mind the bread. You just rest." "Th-thank you, Mommy..." As the woman gets up and makes to leave, the girl calls out to her weakly. "Well?" says the woman. "What is it?" "I wanna slurpy apple," replies the girl in a pitiful voice. "Is that okay?" The woman stares at the child in the blanket. She never asks for things, she thinks. Without a word, the woman closes the door behind her. And to request slurpy apple—a grated fruit treat she used to make her when she was small—is even stranger. She walks into the living room to find her husband peeling off his coat, still damp from his turn on the watch. "Raining again," he says. "Awful stuff." The woman places a bowl of warm soup on the table. Her husband peers down at it, clearly disappointed, but she chooses to overlook this. With a small sigh, he digs into his meager meal. But after a few moments, he suddenly puts the spoon down. "Hey, how's the kid?" "Feverish. I'm letting her rest today." "I swear, that child is next to useless." The woman sits opposite her husband and plucks an apple off the table. "She came home soaked after her errands yesterday—probably what made her ill." She picks up a small knife and begins peeling the fruit. "You sent her out in that?" says her husband. "Hells, the other guards won't even leave the barracks when it's coming down so." The woman stops peeling and glares at her husband. "Oh, so now I'm a magician who knows exactly when the rain is going to start and stop?" Her husband wisely turns his attention back to his soup. The woman returns to her peeling. "You know, she's not a bad kid," he says finally. "You don't have to be so cold to her." "Honestly, sometimes I feel like she's...wasted on us." The peeled apple skin curls into a neat pile on the table. "You're right there," she replies. "Why, if she had our genes, she'd grow up to be a frightful beast just like us!" The man looks down at his bowl again; silence was always his retreat when things weren't going his way. The woman picks up the empty soup bowl, takes it to the kitchen, and returns with a grater. She slides the apple against it, creating a harsh rasp. "You know I hate it when she rubs our differences in my face." The sound of the apple on the grater hangs heavy in the air. "It's almost her birthday," says the husband. He stares out the window ask he talks. The rain is coming down harder, turning into sleet. "I mean, not like we know exactly when she was born..." "But we found her on a cold, rainy day much like this one." The grating slows as the apple is worn down to nothing. "She's starting to look like her mother,"says the woman after a long pause. "Won't be long until she realizes she don't look like us at all." "Aye, that woman was a great beauty indeed." The woman glares at her husband again, but says nothing. Instead, she gets up and tosses the apple core into the sink. With the bowl of grated apple in hand, she returns to the girl's room. Her face is still red, but she is at least sleeping. Pity this poor thing ending up with us when she could have lived a good, free life as a Noble. The woman reaches out to touch the girl's cheek, but stops. Instead, she places the bowl on the nightstand and leaves. The girl is beginning to realize she is not their true daughter. And yet, she does all she can to earn their love. But her looks aren't the only thing that set her apart; there is also her purity, her honesty, and her bravery. The beauty of her very spirit tells the couple how different she is.... Perhaps they made a mistake taking her in that day. The apple sitting beside the girl begins to brown. It grows darker still. Uglier. Horrid. But the girl notices nothing in her deep, deep sleep.

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EX Fio

<h4>Story 1&nbsp;</h4>The boy stirs to wakefulness in an unfamiliar room. Beside him sits a silent clockwork man and a woman with a gentle smile. The boy had traveled countless unforgiving lands in an attempt to halt the cruel war staged by his own kingdom. Yet he now finds himself in the comfortable bed of a civilian. “What happened?" he asks.&nbsp; The man apologizes for acting on his own discretion. He explains how the woman came to their aid when the boy fell victim to a mighty seizure. As the boy begins to thank his rescuer, he silently curses the inadequacy of his frail and sickly body. But irony rules the day, and he launches into a coughing fit before he can finish speaking. The woman gently lowers the hacking boy back onto the bed. Sleep comes to claim him once more. Perhaps this is because illness has worn him to the bone, or perhaps it is due to the radiant warmth of her hands. As he drifts away, he takes a moment to appreciate the brief moment of respite.<h4>Story 2</h4>Several days have passed since the boy began his treatment in the woman's humble abode. He occasionally hears commotion erupt outside. The townsfolk talk of nothing save the war. The fires of battle spread daily across the land, and they fear their town will soon be set to burn. Eventually, their unease grows so great that a guard is dispatched to keep watch over the boy and man. I have to form my alliance as quickly as possible, thinks the boy.&nbsp;I must forge a peace among these warring nations.Despite the boy's conviction, his weakened body fights him at every turn. Instead of helping the people, he finds himself increasingly reliant on their aid. The pain of his fever and cough is soon joined by the endless throb of a guilty conscience. The woman tends him briskly and efficiently. Despite the raging war, her words are soft and kind. Despite her abject poverty, her food is warm and hearty. The situation begins to remind the boy of his childhood.&nbsp;As his thoughts spin, they finally alight on a particular memory: One from his earliest days as a child. It is the face of his mother—a woman who departed this world long, long ago.<h4>Story 3</h4>Slowly but surely, the boy progresses in his recovery. One day, a thought occurs to him:The boy asks his clockwork companion if he knows anything of her circumstances. The man nods and reaches for a nearby picture frame that is turned face-down. He flips it over to reveal a family photograph.The man then begins to speak of the room's history. This country keeps a database of all citizens, one he had been able to access. He continues speaking, his voice dry and emotionless. He tells the boy what he found in the records of the woman's family. The room in which they rest once belonged to her child. The same child who smiles so brightly in the photo. But the fires of war had claimed him some time ago. And just as the boy sensed his late mother in the woman, so too did she sense her late child in him.A time of respite. A woman's devotion. A veiled love. Pain shoots through the boy's heart. But it does not come from his illness. Instead, it comes from a realization. A realization that his own homeland is responsible for all of this.<h4>Story 4</h4>The woman's endless devotion stems from her conflating the boy with her own dead child. A child that was killed by the very war the boy's homeland had started. This truth lay heavily on the boy's heart."Enough," he says to the clockwork man. "I can stay here no longer."He dresses himself and uses his staff to rise from the bed. As the man reaches to steady the boy, the distant rumble of cannon fire rings out. It is the sound of lives being lost. The familiar footsteps of tragedy march ever closer. They threaten to engulf the house at any moment. The woman suddenly leaps from her bed and rushes to the pair, begging them not to leave."Let me go," says the boy. "I am not your son; I am from the kingdom, and royal blood flows in my veins."Shock breaks out across the woman's face before slowly morphing into hatred. "It's your fault," she growls."Your fault.""My son is dead and it's all your fault!"She lets forth an agonized howl—the pain of a mother tormented by an immutable past."Yes," replies the boy "I am responsible.”He bows his head deeply. He knows he is the target of her hatred—and he knows that it is earned.As they abandon the house, the boy's fever spikes and the pain threatens to blot out his consciousness. But he continues stumbling on. He will protect the woman and her house. He will stop the war. He will bear the burden of hate for as long as he must. That is why he walks on.... And why he never looks back.

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Record: Seat of Shadow

<h4>Story 1</h4>A small, remote village sits nestled in the face of a steep cliff. And in it, there once lived a young girl. She always sulked as she watched the village children playing outside her window. She wasn't sick. Instead, she had a mark on her leg that made her different. Her parents told her to hide the mark. If she did not, they would not allow her to go outside. But the mark was a part of her. Each time they told her to hide it, it was like they were asking her to deny her very being.The girl hated the thought of hiding it, and the more they told her to, the harder she resisted. She and her parents had been having this fight for several long years now...<h4>Story 2 &nbsp;</h4>The girl was locked in her house so others would not see the mark on her leg. Unable to contain her discontent, she decided to disobey her parents and sneak out of the house.&nbsp;She ran through the village like hell itself was pursuing her, but when she crested a hill, she found someone was already waiting there. It was a warrior with flowing white hair. She sat quietly on a boulder, her swords stuck into the ground nearby. Her pale skin was crisscrossed with wounds, as though she had just finished a battle. But it was the warrior’s left side that truly drew the girl's attention. It was covered by bandages that had slipped to expose a patch of inky black skin. Skin that looked like a larger version of her own birthmark. She's just like me, thought the girl. Suddenly, she felt a deep ache to be like this woman, a person who did not even flinch when someone stared at her mark. "I want to be like you," said the girl. As the woman turned to look at the girl, her gaze fell on her leg. &nbsp;A curious mixture of sadness and anger flitted across her face like a wraith in the dark.<h4>Story 3</h4>After parting ways with the warrior on the hill, the girl returned home. As she made her way to her parents’ room to tell them what happened, she heard whispered voices from the other side of the door."We've caused her so much pain by telling her to hide her birthmark like that." "But we did it for the right reasons. You know what would happen if people saw that and thought she was possessed!"My parents are actually worried about me. "Possessed." When she heard that word, the girl recalled a conversation she had with her parents when she was but a child.<h4>Story 4</h4>To the girl, the mark on her leg was a part of her. And her parents accepted that. But if the other villagers saw it, terrible things would surely come to pass. And not just to her, but to her parents as well. Caught between her parents’ love and her own pride, the girl was in anguish.Soon thereafter, she began hiding her mark. In so doing, she hoped to acknowledge the love her parents had blessed her with. But though she disguised her birthmark with bandages, she refused to hide the wrapped leg. In this way, she hoped to mirror the pride of the warrior. The girl stands at the top of the hill, bathed in sunlight. Looking out, she makes a firm resolution: Once she is as strong as the warrior... Once her parents no longer have to fear for her safety... She will remove her bandages and walk the world as she was meant to. As the girl gazes over the plains, reflected in those eyes is the sky that leads to her future. &nbsp;

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Record: Pure Hills

<h4>Story 1</h4>These are the soldiers who battle the Flowers that threaten humanity. They are treated no better than prisoners, their every action and thought regulated and overseen as they are thrown without mercy into the maw of an endless war.&nbsp; One day, a pair of voices echo out from their base. They belong to a young recruit and his instructor. The recruit has made countless appeals to fight on the frontlines, but the instructor has refused him every step of the way. Their constant back-and-forth has continued without pause from the moment they met.&nbsp;"I will kill every last Flower, even if it means my life," cries the recruit. The boy burns with his desire to fight. He seeks revenge against the Flowers the killers of his one true love. But rather than respond with anger of her own, the instructor gently urges him to reconsider.&nbsp;"You need to focus on survival; you only get to die once."&nbsp;But such kindness reminds him of his late love, and only serves to fan the fires of vengeance in his heart. Once she sees what I'm capable of, she'll understand. The recruit has devoted himself to training with that one thought in mind. And though it never gained much traction with his instructor, he decides to make her a proposal: "If I get top marks in our next virtual drill, you have to let me go on a mission." Before she can respond, he turns on his heel and exits the barracks. He needs to fight. He needs to avenge his love. His entire will is bent upon it.&nbsp;<h4>Story 2</h4>The recruit's participation in battle hinges on his performance in a virtual drill. When it is finished, he has the highest score by far. The other soldiers rush to his side, erupting with joy and claiming he holds the key to defeating their enemy. As they celebrate, the recruit turns to his instructor and regards her coldly.&nbsp;"You have to let me fight now. You don't have a choice."&nbsp; As she readies herself to turn him down once more, the base commander suddenly appears.&nbsp;"These are excellent results," says the commander. "I look forward to seeing all of you perform in the next mission."&nbsp;The soldiers raise a hearty cheer at his praise...&nbsp; Though the officer's razor smile hints at something deeper. &nbsp;Amidst the raucous cheering, the recruit hears his instructor whisper a single sentence: "I am unable to stop them yet again..." But he does not notice the meaning buried in her words.<h4> Story 3</h4>Since receiving permission to fight, the recruit has spent his every waking hour in intense training. The thought of his dead love burns in his heart as he imagines giving the Flowers the justice they so richly deserve.Finally, the day of the mission arrives. The squad's morale is higher than ever. Inspired by their fellow recruit's fighting spirit, they have all been training especially hard. As they prepare to set out, the recruit's instructor meets his gaze somberly."I know what you are capable of. Just...please don't be reckless. Please." The recruit responds with a chuckle, as if her worry is the silliest thing imaginable."Don't worry. I've got this." When the battle with the Flowers is over, he knows their fruitless quarrels can finally end. She will have no choice but to acknowledge his ability once she sees his skills in battle. He grips his sword tighter. His long-awaited campaign of revenge is now mere moments away...<h4>Story 4</h4>The soldiers' first battle against the Flowers has begun. This recruit breaks the dam on the ocean of vengefulness in his heart, hacking through countless numbers of Flowers with his blade.When the intense battle finally comes to an end, an uneasy silence settles over the ruined city. Only one soul still draws breath. It is the instructor. She sits silently on the ground, cradling the corpse of the recruit who had fought so valiantly.&nbsp;The commanding officer arrives in a collection vehicle and scowls. "Another failure," he mutters. Then another figure steps out from behind the officer. The eyes are a familiar, intense hue—one she has witnessed during countless arguments. They are identical to those of the corpse she now cradles in her arms. As the new arrival stares out at the grim battlefield, his face contorts into a sneer."I will kill every last Flower, even if it means my life," cries the recruit. How many times has it been now? As she considers what a pointless thought that is, she quietly replies to the new recruit: "You need to focus on survival; you only get to die once." Yet her kind words are tinged by an endless echo of despair. &nbsp;

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Coffin of Repose

Record: Coffin of Repose

<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 1</h4>A lone woman silently walks beside a sparkling sea where sunlight glistens on the water. She is elegance personified, her black swimwear giving her the appearance of a gossamer butterfly. This place is not her home. Rather. she has come here to complete a single mission. She has been tasked with slipping aboard a nearby ship and stealing a person's life. For this woman is an assassin. But though this is not her home, the place is not entirely unfamiliar. She has been here once before—long, long ago. As she gazes out at the light playing over the water,she thinks back on that time.She was young then—so young—her spirit not yet worn thin by the passing of years.She journeyed to this place as part of her rigorous training, tasked with locating a corrupt politician from a rival country. Then, as now, the port was a lively place, with ships from around the world moving in and out on a regular basis. It was a city filled with all manner and races of people, and no one paid any mind to the innocent girl who walked among their number. This was exactly how she wanted it; the more they overlooked her, the easier it would be to gain the information she sought. After a bit, she learned her target would soon be attending a political gathering aboard a ship. But she did not know the identity of the ship, and their number was legion. If she were to sneak aboard the wrong one, all of her careful planning would be for naught. But as the girl pondered this dilemma... A shock raced through her body. Focused as she had been on the ships, she did not notice the young boy running along the pier and had smashed straight into him.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 2</h4>The girl on a mission collided with a young boy along the water's edge. Though clad in fine clothing, he raised his voice in a most undignified howl as he lay upon the ground. Blood trickled from an injured knee. As passers-by began to turn and stare, the girl knew she could not leave the boy as he was.As she began tending to his wound, she asked him: "Where are your parents? Can I take you to them?" But the boy's lowered head only shook back and forth slowly."I don't know where my father is," he said in a wavering voice"All I know is that he's leaving soon for an important meeting."The boy's voice hitched on the edge of a sob. As it did so, a thought came to the girl. Perhaps his father is the one I seek. If the boy was the son of a politician, it would explain his fine dress. With this in mind, the girl cheerfully agreed to help him find his missing parent. His eyes glistening with tears, the boy handed her something in a wordless gesture of thanks. It was a small, scuffed figurine of a kind and dignified woman. She was the heroine of a fairy tale told and retold in the boy's native land."She's you!" said the boy as he broke out into a smile.But the girl just looked away. Because she knew she did not help the boy out of kindness.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 3</h4>The girl needed to locate the politician's ship as soon as possible. Grasping the boy's hand, she began pulling him up the beach, hoping against hope he would see a familiar sight. Suddenly, his face brightened. "Father!" he cried as he slipped from her hand and began to run. The girl took off after him. Turning around, the father smiled as his son leapt into his waiting arms."There you are!" he said."You almost made me miss my meeting"The father tilted his head to mutter a word of thanks to the girl, then began carrying his son onto the ship. A sliver of a smile flickered across the girl's face before vanishing as quickly as it came. Almost as if it was never there at all. This was her ship. All that remained was to make her way aboard and learn what she could.She immediately began formulating her plan. But as her mind whirled, she noticed a woman moving silently into place behind her. The woman was familiar, for she came from the girl's own house. She had been sent to the port to monitor the girl and ensure the mission was a success. But they were never supposed to interact. Her appearance could only mean one thing: The situation had changed.The woman leaned down and whispered fiercely in the girl's ear:"He means to declare war. We must act. Leave none alive."<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 4</h4>The deck was slick. The corpses were still. Her blade was red. In less time than it takes to draw a breath, the girl and her monitor had slaughtered every last person on the ship. The woman wiped the blood from her blade with a practiced hand and spared a glance at her charge."Ever seen this many bodies before?" Though the girl would not meet her gaze, she nodded slowly."Of course. Too many times to count." The woman chuckled."Right, right. Forgot you're the boss's daughter." The girl sheathed her blade in silence.By chance, her eyes darted to the water, where she saw the figurine she had received slowly bobbing up and down. Hearing the boy's words in her mind, she dropped her eyes. He was right. She was exactly like the figure—a helpless thing being tossed about, an assassin forever at the mercy of the waves.Years have passed since that day. The woman shakes her head to clear her thoughts as a bell rings out announcing the arrival of a ship. She knows her targets are aboard. They are foreign politicians who scheme to infiltrate her homeland. Her mission is to prevent that—by whatever means necessary. The woman stands some distance away and watches the passengers disembark. One particularly large man steps off clad in nothing but a loincloth. Must have been hot in there, thinks the woman idly. But the next person to step off brings a small shiver of delight. It is her target. Her lord's orders were clear: She was to prevent the invasion of her homeland. She was to kill the target with all speed. It was the same reason she had stained another ship in crimson all those long years ago. The reason why she took the life of the young boy. And the reason why she still remembers the figurine to this day. The one that was exactly like her.A haze of melancholy passes over her face as she looks out over the distant horizon. I wonder where that thing drifted off to. But she shakes off her momentary fugue and begins walking after her target. The footprints she leaves in the sand are stolen away by the waves.

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Record: Sunset Port

<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 1</h4>Built to protect mankind, two androids fight the machines. The female is 2B: A powerful warrior who fights on the front line. The male is 9S: A support unit who aids 2B from afar. When they fight as one, nothing can stop them. But 9S has a secret: He wants to free 2B from her world of unending war.One day, as they pursue yet another enemy, they find themselves making their way through a massive limestone cavern. Foes attack them and fall, one after the other. The machines stand no chance against them.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 2</h4>They proceed deep into the cavern, then deeper still. Finally, they reach their destination. The darkness is absolute. But the moment they step forward, they are enveloped in a brilliant red light. Only then does 9S realize his mistake. The enemy has been using electronic camouflage. There are machine lifeforms here—dozens of them. Suddenly, 2B emits a heartrending scream. She is infected with a virus—a weapon designed to destroy an android from the inside out. Her eyes begin to glow red. It is a worst-case scenario, and 9S knows the best thing for him to do is abandon the fight and retreat. But he refuses to even consider this option. He will save 2B. He must. For that is his purpose in life. In a desperate maneuver, he links himself to her infected mind and begins diving into its deepest, most hidden parts.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 3</h4>2B's mind is a maze—a labyrinth. Finally, he throws open a door and beholds a strange sight: Flickering memories of himself, all from the perspective of 2B. He sees himself in a forest of metal. A frozen ocean. A boiling desert. But he remembers none of this. And all the memories end in exactly the same way: With 2B killing him. She does so over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over. But for each death, there is also a first meeting. Each time, he says, "People who know me well usually call me Nines." He says this dozens of times. Hundreds.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 4</h4>In another part of 2B's mind, 9S locates the virus and disables it. The enemy stumbles in response to the unexpected counterattack, and the two take advantage of the situation to escape. Later, 2B reports the completion of their mission.As 9S lends his damaged companion a shoulder, he thinks: *"Why does 2B kill me? Why are my memories erased? And why do we always meet again?" *The answer eludes him, and he cannot find the words to ask. However... So long as he remains in her mind... So long as a part of him is in her memory... He doesn't care how many times she kills him.Their fate is a never-ending spiral, and they cling to its threads. So 9S walks on through the darkness.

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Record: The Cage of Reincarnation

<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 1</h4>Once, a small girl lived in a town far away. Her family is poor, and though times are rough, she lives her life to its fullest as best she can. Her days are often spent playing alone in a ruin outside of town. She has no friends, so this run-down building is her only companion.Her days are ones of hardship. But today, she is filled with life and energy. Or so she desperately wants to believe. For today is her birthday. But there is no delicious feast waiting for her. No presents. And no one to celebrate her special day—not even her parents. So instead, she celebrates alone."Happy birthday!" she cries to herself, causing warmth to blossom in her chest. She spins in a circle, imagining herself as a beautiful ballerina. She sings. She dances. She tries all the fun things she can think to do. Because this is her birthday party. A day to forget the pain of everyday life. And more than anything else, she wants this day to be special.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 2</h4>The lonely birthday party continues. The next event takes place on a craggy stone table. The girl begins forming something out of dirt and mud. It is a grand birthday cake—one far too big for a single person to consume. It seems impossible that someone so small can construct such a thing, let alone that she could build it at all. For her mother and father have never celebrated her birthday. Though she had always wanted a party, she knew her parents were too destitute to do such a thing. And as a result, she has no idea what a real cake is supposed to look like. Or taste like. Or smell like. The only thing she knows for certain is that they are delightful. More than anything, she wants to share a cake with her family someday. And with that dream in mind, she continues to build her creation.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 3</h4>Her dirt cake slowly takes shape. Though it is a tad off-kilter, she finally completes it. But as she gazes at her creation, she notices something is missing. She needs to add something very, very important. And she knows exactly what it is: The cake has no candles. She begins searching for branches that can act as a suitable substitute. She knows she needs as many straight little twigs as her age. After a bit, she begins breaking off branches and whittling them down. She will not compromise on the candles. A cake only becomes grand with proper candles, after all.Suddenly, a sweet scent wafts over her. It is the most lovely thing she has ever smelled. Was someone baking treats nearby, maybe? The question lingers in her mind as she finishes collecting her sticks. But when she turns back to her cake, she is greeted by an unbelievable sight. Her creation of dirt and mud has transformed into a real cake.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">Story 4</h4>The cake the girl worked so hard to make has somehow become real. White cream. Colorful fruit. The girl cannot hide her joy. Her cheers of celebration quickly turn into song. The happiest birthday song ever sung fills the quiet of the ruin. And in the far-off shadows, something watches. It is a strange creature—neither human nor animal. It had been unable to turn away from the girl as she played, and could not help but interfere. Even though such a thing is forbidden."Just..." "Just for today."The strange creature holds the warmest wishes for the girl. And seeing her smiling face, it knows these wishes have come true."Happy birthday, little one." "Here's a present from Mama."

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Record: Garden of Benediction

<h1 style="margin-left:0px;">Akeha</h1><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 1</h4>Red spikes top the walls that surround my family's manor. They stand there proudly as they stretch up to the sky, and the color reminds all who pass of blood. But these spikes are not there to keep intruders at bay; our family has no need of such defenses. None ever approach our house, which is known as The Demon's Den. And if some foolhardy brigand ever did so dare, he would soon learn that a death on the spikes is much, much sweeter than what awaits behind our doors. No, the spikes are not meant to keep people out; they are there to keep the demons in. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 2</h4>Our training is harsh. Our work cruel. Our teachings inhumane. One might expect that there would be those who are unable to stand it, and scheme to escape. And in fact, there have been a few brave souls who attempted to cross the wall. But every single one of them was killed; the crimson spikes serve to remind us of this fact. &nbsp;I personally knew one man who plotted escape. He was the elder brother of the lord in power—my uncle. My uncle objected to an assassination demanded of him. But when he tried to flee, he met the same fate as those who did so before him: his head put on display for all to see. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>My family's teachings are impossibly strict—and as the daughter of the lord, I was not exempt. If anything, my teachings were even more severe. It was only natural given my standing. There are no smiles in a house of assassins; we are showered with naught but shouting and demands. &nbsp;My uncle, however, always had time to spare a grin for me. He was the only one who ever did. But on that grim day, his smile vanished. His younger brother cut him down to set an example, and his face would forevermore be frozen in a rictus of pain. I learned many hard truths on that day: I would never cross the spikes. Kindness has no meaning. My life is nothing but orders and blood. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>Time passed and I took over the household from my father. Now, I am able to freely come and go as I please. Yet somehow, I remain an assassin. A thought came to me just now: Do I blame the spikes for my murderous ways? Am I a bloodthirsty ghoul who uses my job and those spikes as an excuse to kill? Do I willingly return because it is the only place where I will ever find acceptance? &nbsp;As I look up from outside the wall, the familiar sky stings my eyes. Did I...make a mistake somewhere? The same questions roll ever onward in my mind yet all I can do is surrender myself to my own dark thoughts.

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Akeha

<h2 style="margin-left:0px;">Argo</h2><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY1</h4>My life's mission is to explore the entire world, for only great hardships can make me feel alive. Everything besides adventuring is merely a footnote. I wager I'll feel this way until the day I die. &nbsp;I've faced the challenge of many unexplored regions in my life: Mountains untrodden by man, scorched deserts, frozen islands, pitch-black forests, caves that lead to an endless abyss... So many adventures I can't even remember them all. &nbsp;Just the other day, my wife and I learned that our long-awaited first child was in her belly! Of course, I wanted to help however I could, Which is why I left our snug house in the snowy mountains and began the long climb down. My destination is a small nearby town. How long has it been since I've made this trip? My wife is usually the one who does the shopping. In any case, I don't mind doing what I must to help out during this time. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY2</h4>I haven't tasted the bustle of civilization in a long while, but I pay it little mind as I search for the shops my wife told me about. Heh. It's funny how quickly I get turned around in the streets—if only I was navigating a mountain path instead! &nbsp;As I wander about, a merchant calls me over. He recognizes me as a renowned adventurer, and he says he has items he wants me to look at. He has a keen eye, this shopkeeper! Ha ha ha! The shopkeep lays out several items across his display: flint to create bonfires, a talisman that wards off illness, and ice that never melts, even under the hottest of suns. All extremely useful items on any adventure! He claims these items are all in high demand, so I buy them on the spot. Lady luck is really smiling on me today! &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>The moment I leave the stall, reality smacks me in the face: I spent all our money and didn't get a thing my wife wanted! Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it now. So I sell my coat and use the money to buy what I came for. Not the smartest thing to go coatless in the dead of winter, but I'm hearty—I'll find a way to survive. Mine is a body forged in the fires of countless journeys. It'd take more than this to do me in! &nbsp;As I make my way back up the mountain, a blizzard suddenly comes upon me. I'm cold—really cold—but I spy a nearby rocky shelter and decide to hunker down, As I settle in, I try to start a bonfire with my new flint. But the moment I strike it, the damn thing shatters into pieces. It's a dud—talk about unlucky. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>Somehow, I manage to make it home through the wind and snow. When my wife sees me, she demands to know why I was wandering around without my coat on. so I tell her the whole crazy story. Still, I'm pretty excited about my two remaining treasures! &nbsp;That night, I am plagued by a high fever. You expect this kind of thing when you walk around in a blizzard without a coat, but it means my talisman that wards off illness is also a bust! Another dud! Can you believe it? Trying to kill the fever dead, I put my never-melt ice in a sack and set it on my forehead. I bet you can guess how this goes... I take the bag of lukewarm water off my head and toss it aside in disgust. That damn shopkeep took me for all I had! Still, it's not all a loss; I live on a snowy mountain... So if it's ice I need, I just have to walk outside! Ha ha ha ha ha!

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Argo

<h2 style="margin-left:0px;">Dimos</h2><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY1</h4>Wind rustles in the trees. Crows caw softly in the gloaming. As I scan the quiet forest in search of any possible threat, the prince at my side murmurs, "Its so peaceful here." He is here in search of a way to lead our country out of war. And as he travels from nation to nation preaching his message of peace, I walk at his side to protect him from those who refuse to listen. But I am a clockwork man created for war, and no matter how much time we spend together, the truth of his message continues to elude me. I draw close to the prince as he contemplates the setting sun. I wonder why he would think this place to be "peaceful." Perhaps it has something to do with the red hues of dusk? &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY2</h4>As the prince's disease worsened, so did grow his impatience. It would seem he desires to achieve peace as quickly as possible. So when I suggest we rest in a church until he feels better, it takes a good deal of effort to get him to agree. Today again, the prince's condition is poor, so we wait for nightfall in the church. I take this opportunity to ask him: "What is a peaceful world?" He looks at me with surprise, but a willful flame burns in his eyes. After a moment, a thin smile crosses his lips. He reaches out, puts a hand on my chest, and says, "It means you never have to hurt here." It must be a different sort of pain from wounds as I know them. He does not notice my lack of understanding and continues to talk. I simply nod my head, hoping it will bring him energy. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>The disease spreads. The prince's body withers and fades. When he can no longer stand, I travel alone to nearby villages in search of any food or medicine they can spare. In the villages, I see people driven mad by the horrors of war. They grieve for lost family. They curse their empty bellies. And they all turn their weapons on me—the clockwork man. One day, I find a single apple in the woods. My prince lacks the strength to eat it on his own, so I chew small bites and feed it to him as a mother bird would its own young. As I see his haggard cheeks and hear his final, gasping breath... I feel a pain deep within my chest and finally realize the truth of everything that my prince has been fighting for. It means you never have to hurt here, he had said. Oh, but why did it take such loss for me to finally understand? &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>My bODy is RAvaGeD by RuSt. mY meMOrles GrOw DeFEcTIve. YEt I stAy by hIS SIdE: MY PriNCe, wHo TImE eROdED. THerE is A gAPinG, EmpTY hOLE iN mY cHEst. ThE pAiN I feLT jUSt BeFOrE hE DieD... iS GOnE. I wILL PAinT tHIS ChurCH ReD. I wILL uSE THe BloOd OF HUmANs WHo DEniED HIS SaIVATioN ANd nOW InTRuDE oN hIS SLuMBeR. IN ACcORDaNCE WITH thE PROMISE We MAdE ThAT Day, I WILL CONTInuE to ProTECt Him... aNd ThE PEaCE he dESiRed FOReVER...

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Dimos

<h2 style="margin-left:0px;">Gayle</h2>&nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY1</h4>I am on a journey of revenge. The kingdom razed my home, killed my sister, and took everything from me. But its lust for power fed an unsustainable hunger for war, and it eventually collapsed. Still, scattered remnants of its forces remain. And I won't stop until every last one of them is dead. I tarry for a while in a small village. Under the midday sun, I hear a voice call for help. I see a kingdom soldier raise a fist and bring it down on the head of a woman. He moves to deliver a second blow. I leap in the way and take it myself before swiftly ending his life. The woman begins thanking me profusely... But I ignore her. I fight for revenge—not to save lives or spread justice. As I move to leave, the woman bars my path. Asking to see my prosthetic arm, she draws in close. She examines it carefully, looking it up and down. It was damaged when I took the blow the soldier intended for her. Though I try to explain that I can repair my arm, she waves me off with a dismissive grunt. "We've a skilled engineer in the village," she says. "Come along." Before I can think to protest further, she takes my hand in hers and leads me off. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY2</h4>I am guided to an engineer so that my arm might be repaired. The engineer is indeed skilled, but lacks the needed parts for repairs—and unfortunately, it will be some time before they're available. Still determined to show her thanks, the woman huffs loudly, grabs my good arm, and drags me off anew. We end up in the village pub. She gathers the drinkers around her and spins an epic tale of how I saved her from the kingdom brigand. Soon. I find myself regaled with food, drink, and song from all corners. I take a bite of something and nearly swoon; I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a hot meal. When the woman leans in and asks how it tastes. I feel an unfamiliar smile slowly make its way across my lips. How long has it been since I smiled? Weeks? Years? More? I thought I'd lost the ability to do such a thing long ago. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>Eventually, the parts arrive and my arm is finally repaired. The woman asks me how it feels, and I'm both surprised and delighted that it seems to move more smoothly than before. As I test it out, the engineer smiles at me and says. "Consider this my way of saying thanks for saving my wife." It turns out the engineer and the woman are married. She turns red as he talks about everything he loves about her. I can only chuckle and show a wry smile as I listen. Finally, she can take no more attention and leads me out of the shop. As we walk, she tells me they have been married almost three years. She also thanks me again for my actions from before. This time, I manage to face the woman and thank her for the assistance. I tell her my work in the village is done and I will be on my way But that's not the entire truth. I'm also afraid of what might happen if I grow used to the warmth and kindness of others. The villagers all gather at the edge of town to see me off. "Come see us again real soon!" says the woman. As I walk away, the last thing I see is her small hand happily waving goodbye. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>It wasn't long after leaving the village that I heard the news: A soldier was attacking the village in revenge. Before I even know it, I am on my feet and running like the very wind itself. I find the village in flames. The soldier is roaming about madly as he scours the village in search of every last person he can find. "That man was family!" he cries as he puts another house to the torch. "All of you will pay for his death with your lives!" My vision is fire. Before I even have the chance to feel my building rage, I engage the man in battle. My arm works even better than before. In a moment, I cut him down like a dog. When the deed is done, I walk around the village in search of survivors. In the very last house, I find the woman and the engineer with their arms wrapped around each other and their bodies still. I thought I had saved them—saved all of them—from a terrible fate that first night... But my actions had only been the impetus for an even greater tragedy. These innocent people had been caught in the cycle of revenge, and now their lifeless eyes stare accusingly up at me. Your power did this. Your hate. Your thirst for retribution. And you know what? They're right. I did this. It is all because of me. As I fight, I only add more links to the chain of revenge—but If I stop, the remaining soldiers will continue to commit their horrid atrocities. So I have to fight. I have no choice. But in so doing, will I, too, become an object of hatred in this world of neverending slaughter? All that lays before my eyes is a crimson world of blood and fire.

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Gayle

<h1 style="margin-left:0px;">Griff</h1><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 1</h4>"What should I do...?" I sit in the briefing room, continuing to turn the problem over and over in my mind. I've been up all night thinking about it and am now beyond exhausted. See, I have to write a telegram to my family back home, but I can't think of a single thing to say. My squad came back victorious from battle a few days ago, at which point everyone sat down and wrote their parents just like always. I joined the army eight years ago... And I haven't contacted my family a single time. It would be strange to send them something now. Crazy. And every time I think back on my time with them, I come up with more excuses not to do it.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 2</h4>My fellow soldiers are loud and boisterous, like always. I begin to wonder what kinds of messages they send. I sit still and listen in, hoping it will give me a better idea of what to write.One man says he sent his parents a telegram about being promoted to captain. It's not true he made it up—but his parents love hearing stories about how successful he is, so he figures it's okay to stretch the truth a little.Another man's telegrams always focus on memories he and his parents made together. Today's letter is all about how they used to play ball with each other; he claims it will distract them from how lonely they are now that he's gone.Everyone speaks so cheerfully about the thought they put into telegrams home. And though they are my comrades—and my friends—I can't help but feel the gulf between our lives. The worlds we grew up in were too different.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>Here's the thing: Ours is a country that values military might above all else, but my parents? They're both anti-war activists. Needless to say, their beliefs earned me more than my share of dirty looks and unkind whispers when I was a kid.One day, the army shot and killed my father. What a joke, right? He's spent his entire life preaching peace, then died without accomplishing a single damn thing. I took a lesson from that: Give your life some meaning. Make it matter. Later, I decided to join the army and climb the ranks—but when I told Mom about my plan, she said I was insane. The moment she spoke those words, I knew I had to get out of that house. So I slammed the door and stormed off, then spent years trying and failing to forget the empty look in her eyes as I departed.In an ironic twist, I never did climb the ladder the way I swore I would. But today, after eight years spent trying to bury every last memory of my family, I finally figure out the telegram I want to send: It's an apology.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>I'm nervous after I send the telegram. What if she doesn't respond? Hell, what if she disowns me? I couldn't blame her for that. But before I can think too hard about it, I get her response:Honey, I'm just so glad you're alive.Why was my father an anti-war activist, anyway? Why did my joining the army weigh so heavily on my mother? I don't have a clue, because I've spent my whole life actively avoiding a search for those answers. The mistakes I made in the past will never go away. But as I think of my military companions and their families, another thought comes to me: I risked my life for these people. Gave everything for them. And I'm more proud of that fact than anything else. But while I salute them, I doubt it will convey these feelings that well up within me.

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Griff

<h1 style="margin-left:0px;">Lars</h1><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 1</h4>I inhale a lungful of battlefield air, rich with a mix of gunsmoke and blood. Our operation was a smashing success, but while my fellow soldiers are content going back to base and celebrating our victory, I'm heading out on a new mission. Because the only time I feel alive now is when I fight. Revenge drove me. It's all that ever drove me. But then I ended up killing my own father. And on top of that, it turns out the people I called my family were actually my enemies. What a goddamn joke, right? Anybody else laughing here?When I return to reality, I see piles of corpses everywhere. It's all my doing, this carnage, but instead of rage or sorrow, I just feel a strange sense of calm. Honestly, killing is the only thing that brings me peace anymore. Suddenly, an explosion shakes the ground—a close one. The sky turns red as flames arc up toward the heavens. As I stare at this crimson sky, my heart begins to race. I set out in search of someone to fight, hoping to calm my jangled nerves.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 2</h4>The war has turned in our favor. The enemies we don't kill we send running into the night... But it still isn't enough. I find myself picking my way across a viscera-strewn battlefield just in case we missed a straggler. After a bit, I sense someone hiding behind a collapsed house. Battle fever floods my senses. I raise my sword and leap out of hiding, prepared to strike down my terrible foe. But there, crouching on the ground, is a little girl.Goddammit, I think. We're under orders to protect civilians, which means I gotta drag this kid around with me until I find a place to dump her off. What a pain in the ass. I extend a bloody hand and grab the girl by the arm. She screams. I don't care. I give her a good yank and start walking. She responds by pinwheeling her other arm and toppling face-down into the mud. That's when I realize the kid is blind.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>The girl, still sitting on the ground, grabs my hand and says, "Oh no, mister! You're bleeding. Are you okay? " The question hits me wrong, and I smack her hand away. After that, we wait in a long, uncomfortable silence."It's not my blood," I say finally, as much to break the silence as anything else. I wipe my hand on my pants to clear off as much gore as I can, then help the kid up. Her hands are so damn soft. I'd forgotten hands could be soft. The only thing mine are good for any more is murder; it's hard to believe her hands and mine are the same thing.With no other choice, I throw her across my back and start working my way back to base. I can feel the kid's warmth against me. And there, in the strange silence you always get on a battlefield after a fight... The only thing I can hear is the beating of my own heart.<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>Eventually, we make it to a field hospital. It's a nice place, actually, with sunlight coming through the windows and wind rustling the trees. The kid seems okay with it, at least. She lies on a bed, her gaze trained on the window to her side."Hey, kid," I ask her. "What were you doing on the ground back there?"She pauses for a second, then speaks. She tells me how she'd been neglected by her parents her whole life before they finally abandoned her once the war came home.When her story is done, she turns her head in my direction and asks: "What color is the sky right now, mister?" I take a look out the window."Blue," I say. "A nice, deep blue."She closes her eyes—I have no idea why—and begins to try and imagine what blue might look like. I don't know why I feel uneasy here, but I do. Something about being near this kid puts me on edge. My heart is racing again but in a different way than the discomfort I've felt for my entire life. And as I try to identify what this strange feeling is, I picture the color of the sky in the girl's imagination.

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Lars

<h1 style="margin-left:0px;">Rion &nbsp;</h1><h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 1</h4>"How do you fare, My Prince?" He asks about my condition as we walk through the forest toward the wasteland. "Well enough," I say as I glance in his direction. "But shouldn't you stop and conduct some maintenance? This forest air can't be good for clockwork bodies like yours." "All is in good order, My Prince. Do not trouble yourself." I know he only says this because he worries about my illness. I stop our progress for a moment and turn to him. "And what if a fight finds us? We should check to be sure." He nods slowly before taking a seat. Then he powers down, causing the eyes behind his causing tne eyes behind his bandages to go dark. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 2</h4>Its so much easier to start a war than stop one. Once the fighting starts, violence leads to distrust, creating a vicious circle where peace seems impossible. This is why we are currently traveling from country to country: To create a third power which might mediate negotiations and find a way to lead us out of this bloody war. But my status and bloodline mean there are many who wish me ill. Thankfully, my companion has saved my life time and again. He is a clockwork man, and there is little I can offer him. The best I can do is assist in his maintenance. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 3</h4>I feel a tightness in my chest. My body grows heavy. Sweat slicks my hair against my head. Its clear my illness plans to claim me one way or the other. Stifling a cough, I retrieve a bottle from an inner pocket. I snap off the seal and drink it down. It is the last of the medicine that holds my illness at bay. Once it wears off, I will know how bad my condition truly is. My breathing steadies. It is but a temporary reprieve, but it will do. &nbsp;<h4 style="margin-left:0px;">STORY 4</h4>I return the empty bottle to the same pocket I took it from and wait for my guardian to wake up. He won't worry now—at least for a while. The medicine will see to that. I can't afford to show him my true pain. And besides, its not like I'm going to get better. Suddenly. my companion wakes with a whirr. "I'm operating well," he says. "Thank you." "Glad to hear it," I reply softly. "Let's keep going." "Yes, My Prince." We have no time to waste and no time to stop. That is why I decided to continue with the lie. It's the right thing to do—I know it is.

NieR Re[in]
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