O.R.D.A.R. (Organization for Rebirth & Defense Against Ragnarok)

  Founded 10,000 years ago by the first No-Human - 'The First', O.R.D.A.R. remains a force that shields humanity and maintain a balance between Life & Death.

  No-Humans are humans—yet beyond human. Born with supernatural abilities, their evolved organs grant them gifts once believed to be divine.

  INTRODUCTION: Six Years from Now

  "If time bent to your will—if you could walk its paths once more—would you tread the same road? Would you hold onto your regrets, or would you undo them? Would you tell them you loved them before they were gone? Would you reach for the hands that once reached for you? Would you be braver, kinder... or would you still let the world slip through your fingers?"

  A battlefield reeked of blood and rain. Mangled bodies lay strewn like discarded remnants of a war already lost. Amid the carnage, a lone man sat slumped, unmoving, his gaze cast downward.

  His black armor, fractured and scarred, bore the weight of a battle fought and lost—a gaping wound torn through his chest plate, his right arm missing, his left hand too battered to clench.

  Rain fell. The wind howled. The sky loomed, thick with storm clouds that smothered the world in darkness. Shadows stretched, devouring what little light remained.

  His long, soaked hair clung to his face until the wind tore it away. His breath was slow, shallow. His gaze— remain downward. The night concealed his face, swallowed his presence. Only his voice remained, drifting through the storm, slow and haunting, like a whisper from the void.

  "He said the moment before death come the human brain," he murmured, his voice hoarse, barely louder than the wind. "... to relive all the good moments of life."

  A tear slipped down his cheek, lost to the rain. A ghost of a smile flickered—bitter, fleeting.

  "But I have nothing to remember... not a single happy memory, do I?"

  The words tasted hollow. A slow, quiet laugh escaped his lips—empty, cruel in its irony.

  "If I had truly lived..." He lifted his head toward the sky. "Would this still be my end?"

  SIX YEARS AGO

  In the head office of O.R.D.A.R., located in the capital of the Northern Region, Ed-land, "My people need your aid. As Mayor of Northern White, I humbly request your intervention. Please convey to The First that I bow my head in reverence and seek his wisdom and assistance."

  A weary voice crackled through the telephone.

  The woman in the black uniform, an O.R.D.A.R. operative - Rhea Kassin replied coldly, "Eighteen years ago, your people condemned us—condemned The First of the North—for those deaths. You cast judgment without understanding. Without knowing the choices we had."

  The mayor hesitated. "I ask for his forgiveness. If you grant me an audience with him, I will kneel before him and atone for our past mistakes. But my people need help... Is O.R.D.A.R. unwilling to aid the innocent?"

  Silence. Then, Rhea response. "Do not question O.R.D.A.R. We have always stood with the innocent—to shield them from evil. And we always will." She paused, then added, "Someone will be there by tomorrow."

  A long silence. Then the mayor exhaled. "Thank you."

  Rhea hung up.

  She rose from her chair, her boots echoing lightly against the wooden floor. Moving through the dim corridor, the cold, sky-blue concrete walls cast shadows in the faint light.

  Exiting the building, she stepped onto a dirt path leading into the woods. Small lamps, nestled in trees, flickered weakly, barely holding back the night.

  The moon bathed the world in silver. Her white hair shimmered beneath it, her pale face almost spectral. Each step pressed into the damp soil, the scent of pine and earth thick in the air.

  At last, she reached the pond. Its glassy surface reflected the pale moonlight. And before it—motionless as stone—sat a man in black and gold armor, his body and even the head fully cover under the black Alloy and over it golden, strips name Lord Wu- Nar, the Sarath of North.

  Seated in meditation, his face obscured by a battle-worn helm, he did not stir. Yet the air around him was heavy—charged with something ancient, something immeasurable.

  She spoke. "Lord Wu, the Mayor of Northern White asks for aid. No one in O.R.D.A.R. wishes to go... not after what happened eighteen years ago."

  Still, he did not move.

  "You chose to send him there again, after last time?" Lord Wu's voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

  She hesitated. "The First believes in Ereos. And if The First does... then perhaps we should too."

  A long, heavy silence.

  Lord Wu remained still. Yet the very air around him felt like a storm waiting to break.

  "Faith is earned, not given," he said at last. His exhale was slow, measured—less a breath, more a whisper of restrained power. "Ereos carries the ghosts of that night. He is not the man he once was."

  A pause.

  "How long will it take for The First to see that?"

  A gust of wind rippled across the pond, distorting the reflection of the moon.

  Lord Wu finally spoke, his words final, unyielding.

  "Pass my words to Ereos. Whether he seeks redemption... or another storm... we shall see."

  The wind howled through the trees. The night held its breath.

  And far beyond the silent pond, a storm prepared to rise.

  Sag-tat District, North Region.

  A quiet land of mist—home to farmers, merchants, fishers, boat owners, and lost souls. Few visitors arrived, and even fewer left. Nestled between the snow-capped mountains to the south and the endless sea to the north, the district remained untouched by time. The scent of damp earth mingled with the salty breath of the waves. Narrow, winding streets whispered forgotten stories, and sturdy timber homes bore the weight of generations.

  In a dimly lit bar named Lost Visitors, a handful of middle-aged men nursed their drinks, their faces weathered by time and hardship. Oil lanterns flickered against the walls, casting long, wavering shadows. Smoke curled from pipes, blending with the scent of old wood and cheap liquor.

  A drunk man slurred, struggling to form words. "You heard? Lady Elis's daughter... she's possessed. Many exorcists, priests, and babas tried, but none could drive the spirit out."

  His friend scoffed, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I heard more than you did. The woman's faking it. Killed her husband. Now she's after her own daughter's inheritance."

  "Helping her would bring good money," the drunk muttered, taking another sip.

  His friend chuckled, then fumbled with his words. "But we're... are we no priests."

  He swayed and collapsed, his cup clattering to the ground.

  The first man wobbled to his feet, blinking sluggishly. "You collapsed already? My friend—" He attempted to help but stumbled and crashed to the floor beside him.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  From behind the counter, the young bartender shook his head. "Just like the others. No family. No future... only work." His voice darkened. "By morning, they'll leave this place like this, as if nothing happened." He polished a glass, his tone grim. "Nothing I say matters. They've already lost their souls to fate."

  A voice interrupted him.

  "Did you say something to me?"

  The bartender turned. A man, light golden-brown skin sat at the bar, his head lifting for the first time in hours. His face fill with beard and mustache but small, His blue eyes gleamed under the dim lamp above, their intensity unsettling in the gloom.

  "You've been asleep for eight hours, Mr. Ereos," the bartender reminded him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

  Ereos sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah... I do. But my head..." He pushed himself up, unsteady. "Just give me the bill."

  The bartender smirked. "You already paid, Mr. Ereos." Then, sliding a small glass across the counter, he added, "Drink this. It'll help."

  Ereos took the glass without a word, downed it in one gulp, then exhaled. Adjusting his overcoat, He looks tall and has a strong, muscular build turned toward the door.

  Outside, the night air was cold. A Night of Pure Shadow —an hour when darkness swelled, suffocating even faith itself. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

  A taxi waited at the curb. Ereos stepped inside without a word. The vehicle rumbled forward, leaving the Lost Visitors behind.

  Minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of the towering gates of an estate. Ereos stepped out, paid the fare, and watched as the taxi disappeared into the shadows. With a glance at its retreating form, he turned and pushed open the gate.

  Decayed leaves crunched softly beneath his boots. His black overcoat billowed slightly as he strode toward the grand mansion. Its ornate facade loomed ahead, shrouded in shadow, save for the faint flickering glow spilling from a corridor within.

  He knocked. The sound resonated like a low drumbeat, echoing through the still night.

  After a pause, the door creaked open. A frail butler stood there, gripping the handle with trembling hands. His voice quivered, low and uncertain.

  "We have waited a long time, noble one."

  Ereos stepped forward, his presence commanding, his deep voice slicing through the butler's anxiety.

  "I know... How is she?"

  "She is stable... for now. But we don't know how long that will last." His words carried the weight of fading hope.

  Without another word, the butler motioned for him to follow. "This way, sir." His movements were hurried, nervous, as he led the way up a grand staircase. Each creak of the wooden steps punctuated the oppressive silence.

  Ereos' sharp eyes took in the mansion's grandeur—lavish chandeliers, intricate tapestries, and marble statues. Yet no amount of opulence could mask the sorrow clinging to the air like an invisible shroud. Below, muffled sobs drifted upward from the sitting room.

  At the top of the stairs, the butler called out, his voice cracking.

  "My lady, he has arrived."

  A servant pushed a wheelchair forward. The woman, Lady Elis seated in it had once-wavy, light red hair, now unkempt. Her face was pale, drawn with sleepless anguish. Several servants stood nearby, their expressions grim.

  Her emerald eyes, filled with grief and anger, locked onto Ereos.

  "You said you'd help my daughter," she snarled. "The Devil is consuming her soul... If anything happens to her, you will answer for it, Ereos."

  A single tear escaped her, but her fury did not waver. She was desperate, pleading—searching for someone to save her child.

  Ereos met her gaze, his own expression calm, resolute. "Don't lose hope. I'm here to protect her. Where is she?"

  "She's in that room." Lady Elis gestured down the hall.

  A chilling scream erupted from behind the door, raw and desperate.

  Ereos walked toward the door, his steps slow, deliberate. Just as he reached for the handle, the woman called out once more.

  "The demon inside her is a manipulator. It has fooled many priests before."

  Ereos hesitated, resting a hand on the cold brass handle. His thoughts flickered to the unseen war raging in the shadows—

  "What does ORDER do? We help those who suffer... the innocents like you... lost in—"

  A calm voice from his past echoed in his mind before he could lose himself in thought. The door pushed open.

  Inside, the room was eerily calm—a stark contrast to the fear-stricken mansion. Soft candlelight bathed the space in a golden glow. A girl sat on the edge of an ornate bed, dark curls cascading over her shoulders, framing a face of quiet contemplation. She wore a flowing white gown, its fabric draping over her legs like liquid moonlight.

  She turned to him, offering a faint smile.

  "My mother thinks I'm cursed," she said softly, her voice fragile, as if it might shatter.

  She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the floor. "A year ago, my father died in an accident. That same night, my mother lost the ability to walk... and since then, she imagines things—sees monsters where there are none. Most of the servants left because of her."

  Her smile wavers, sorrow pooling in her red-rimmed eyes.

  "She blames me for everything," she murmurs. "Maybe she's right."

  A shadow stirs in her gaze—something dark, something not entirely human.

  "At night, strangers come... and they leave me alone with another... stranger." Her voice trembles, caught between fear and resignation. "Are you one of them, Mr. Ereos?"

  Ereos' expression hardens. "What does your mother do to you?"

  He takes a measured step forward, studying her closely. She doesn't react, her attention drifting toward the window.

  "There are things she's done to me," she whispers, her shoulders quivering under the weight of her words. "Things that make me want to end it all... But I lack the courage."

  Ereos stiffens, his jaw tightening. He doesn't meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes remain on the floor, the distant cries of grieving parents outside fueling his resolve.

  Then he chuckles—a low, knowing laugh that slices through the tension like a blade.

  "You almost had me," he says. "But you failed to convince me you're the victim... I never told you my name."

  The girl goes rigid. Then, with an unnatural snap, her head turns toward him—too fast, too wrong. Her expression contorts—a grotesque blend of fear and rage. The door shut aggressively, the air thickens, laced with the acrid scent of sulfur.

  Her voice drops into something guttural, inhuman. "Clever," she sneers. "But not clever enough. You see me... but you do not understand."

  Ereos doesn't let it finish.

  A surge of power erupts from him, flooding the room in blinding light. A piercing, inhuman shriek shatters the air before fading into silence.

  Dawn breaks. Golden light filters through the curtains.

  The mansion exhales, its oppressive weight lifting.

  Moments later, as the first light of dawn washed over the horizon, Ereos stepped outside the mansion. Lady Elis in the wheelchair gripped the arms of her seat, her smile trembling with unshed tears.

  "You saved my daughter," Lady Else whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "We will never forget your kindness. Whatever you need, just ask."

  Ereos hesitated. A hero... to them, maybe. But if I asked for something, wouldn’t that ruin the image they, see?

  He nodded; his tone steady. "It was my duty." He exhaled deeply. "...When she wakes up, she'll be back to normal." For the first time in a while, he felt something—relief.

  As he turned toward the rising sun, his gaze lifted to the sky, blue eyes reflecting the golden light. He took a step forward, then another. Lady Elis and her servants watched his retreating figure, their gratitude lingering in the crisp morning air.

  Then, suddenly, his phone buzzed. He glanced down, sighing before answering.

  A voice, rough yet controlled, spoke. "I called you many times last night."

  "I was busy," Ereos replied.

  "Whatever. The Sarath of the North wants you in Northern White."

  Ereos stiffened. "Northern White?" The relief drained from his face. The man who had faced monsters without hesitation now seemed... unsettled.

  "Yes. I know you don’t want to go back there, but after what happened last time, no one in O.R.D.A.R. is willing. You're the last one left."

  Silence. Ereos stared at the horizon, lost in thought. The voice on the other end didn’t wait for a response. "I don't need to ask. I know you won't go."

  "I'll go," Ereos said, his voice calm. "What's the mission?"

  A pause. Then the voice returned, quieter this time. "In Northern White, young adults are disappearing—fifty-seven in the past two months. The situation is serious."

  Lady Elis and her servants exchanged glances, watching him as he spoke on the phone.

  Ereos inhaled deeply. "I’ll review the details and leave as soon as possible."

  "Thank you..." The voice hesitated before continuing. "The Sarath of the North has selected a team for you."

  "I work alone," Ereos said flatly.

  "Not this time. You'll have to adjust."

  The voice added, almost as an afterthought, "And I told the Mayor you'd arrive today."

  "Today? What—?" Before Ereos could finish, the line went dead.

  He lowered the phone, exhaling through his nose, frustration flickering across his face. "Damn it," he muttered.

  He turned back to Lady Elis and her servants. No buses or trains this early... and taxis will be Expansive. He thought, rubbing the back of his neck before forcing a small, uneven smile.

  "Miss Elis," he said, "would you do me a favor?"

  Lady Elis smiled gently. "Yes, just ask."

  For a moment, silence hung between them—then Ereos chuckled. Lady Elis, unsure why but unable to resist, laughed along with him. Their laughter broke through the morning stillness, warm and genuine, shattering the lingering tension.

  Ereos sat in the backseat of the car, a black travel bag beside him. His clothes remained unchanged—no time to spare. He slumped against the cushioned seat, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

  His mind replayed the events of the morning. "Northern White... working with a team... and now I'm asking for favors," he muttered under his breath, irritated.

  The car rolled forward, smoothly gaining speed. The driver, eyes fixed on the road, finally spoke. "It’ll take a day’s journey, sir."

  "A day..." Ereos sighed, leaning back.

  His gaze drifted toward the rolling hills beyond the window. Guilt flickered in his eyes, shadowed by something deeper, something unspoken. The wind slipped through the open window, tousling his long black hair.

  His eyelids grew heavy.

  Sleep took him.