In a quiet valley beside a flowing river, Serk, a 14-year-old boy, dreamed of adventure beyond his village, Arula. One night, as he slept, a heavy shadow rolled over the mountain. This dark presence consumed the light from the stars and village torches, moving into the valley. It invaded homes, stealing the life from the villagers. Those it touched became lifeless stone figures.

Morning arrived, and the shadow vanished as abruptly as it had come. Serk awoke and quickly dressed. He grabbed his longsword from its sheath and headed downstairs.

Silence filled the air. His mother was usually in the kitchen by now, but today she was absent. Sometimes she slept in, but his father was an early riser, always busy with chores. The lack of noise was unsettling. The usual morning bustle of the village was absent.

Serk felt a chill run down his spine. Something was wrong. He stepped outside, scanning Arula. The streets were empty. Not a soul was in sight. It was eerie. A dead silence hung over the village.

Serk stepped outside, heart racing. The sun had barely risen, but a thick fog hung over the village like a shroud. It smothered the usually vibrant mornings of Arula. He called out for his mother, his voice echoing back at him. No response. No footsteps. Just the river's distant gurgle, mocking his isolation. Panic clawed at him. He moved deeper into the village, noticing the doors of homes stood ajar, swinging slightly in the breeze.

As he approached the first house, he felt a heaviness in the air. The door creaked open. Inside, the furniture lay undisturbed, but the table was set for breakfast. A bowl of porridge sat cold, untouched. His mother wouldn’t leave breakfast without a word. Something was wrong. A chill crept over him. Serk stepped back, dread pooling in his gut. He felt as if he was being watched.

He moved to the next house, the same scene repeated. Empty. Silent. The absence of life weighed on him like a stone. Where were the usual morning sounds? The laughter of children? The chatter of neighbors? It struck him like a blow to the chest. The shadow. Had it come for them? An image flashed in his mind—villagers turned to stone, their faces frozen in screams. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. No. That couldn’t be.

Then he heard it, a faint whisper carried on the wind. It beckoned him, pulling him toward the village square. Serk hesitated but felt an unshakeable urge to follow. He trudged forward, each step heavier than the last. The square lay empty. The fountain, usually a gathering point, stood still. But in the center, something glimmered.

Serk approached cautiously. Lying at the base of the fountain was a stone figure. It was his father. The sight hit him hard. A lump formed in his throat. He knelt beside the figure, feeling the cold stone beneath his fingers. His father’s expression was one of pain. Fear. Despair. Serk’s heart raced. Tears blurred his vision. He shook his head, whispering a desperate plea. “Please, no…”

But it was too late. His father could not hear him. The shadow had taken his family, and Serk was left alone. He stood, fists clenched. Anger surged through him. He had dreamed of adventure, but this was not what he wanted. This was a nightmare. Yet, now he had no choice. He needed to find answers. He needed to fight back.

He turned away from the fountain, determination igniting within him. He grabbed his sword, tightening his grip. The village might be lost, but he was not going to give in. He would search for survivors. He would seek out the source of the shadow. The valley was not going to keep him captive. Serk stepped away from the square, heart pounding, ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.

Serk wandered through the village, his heart heavy. He returned home and stepped inside. An unsettling chill wrapped around him.

What he saw was shocking. His mother, sister, and two brothers lay still in their beds. They didn’t move. Even the family dog and the cows stood frozen, as if time had stopped.

He shuffled to the kitchen, hoping for a warm meal to lift his spirits. But his heart sank. The food, once fresh, was now lifeless stone. Everything he cherished had turned to rock. The weight of despair pressed down on him.

As he sat at the table, trying to figure out his next steps, the front door burst open. A woman entered—stunning, glowing with energy. She wore a white dress, golden bangles jingling on her wrists.

“Serk,” she said. “The Gods chose to protect you. The Shadow Mimasa was released by a powerful Demon. Every living creature on this plane has turned to stone because of the Demon Lord's dark desires.”

His blood ran cold. He was usually quiet, but this time he managed to nod. “When do we start?”

She smiled, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We start at the mine nearby. The Shadow Mimasa has stirred ancient monsters, drawing life from your friends and family. You need to defeat them to bring your loved ones back.”

Serk followed her to the entrance of the mineshaft, absorbing the details of his mission. He learned her name was Serine. Together, they descended in the elevator, with Serk pulling the rope to lower it.

“May I see your sword?” she asked. Serk handed it over without a second thought. Her hands began to glow as she examined the blade. “This sword is enchanted to absorb the power of every monster you defeat. It will grow stronger as you do. You'll come across others like it, but be cautious—if it breaks, it turns to dust and becomes worthless.”

She returned the sword and handed him five glowing orbs. “These will fully repair your sword. You might find more in the dungeon, and your local blacksmith will have some after you free some souls. Repair orbs are among the finest creations by human mages.”

As they reached the first level of the mine, she said, “I’ll wait by the entrance. If you get hurt, I’ll be here. If you need to go back up, I can help with that.”

Stepping off the elevator, Serk took in the grim scene. The darkness enveloped them until Serine waved her hand. Torches flared to life along the walls, revealing the filthy red clay smeared with green mold. The stench of decay filled the air.

Serk took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness of the mine. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the stench of decay. He moved forward, each step echoing in the silence.

Serk faced a skeleton. Panic surged within him, but he pushed it down. With a roar, he charged, swinging his long curved sword. The two blades met with a loud clang, each struggling for control. Serk fought harder, finally overpowering the skeleton and sending it crashing to the ground, its weapon clattering away.

But the skeleton was relentless. Piece by piece, it began to reassemble itself. Serk braced for another attack. This time, he swung with precision, cleaving the skeleton's skull in half. Dark energy seeped from the broken remains, drawn into his blade.

A flicker of light appeared above him, rising through the ceiling. He had freed one of the villagers. Pride swelled in him as he picked up the fallen sword. It felt solid, a dependable backup for when his own weapon dulled. He sensed a faint surge of power within it. Gripping it tightly, he focused. He could tell it was close to breaking. It was in decent shape, but he needed to monitor it during the chaos of battle.

The mine was filthy, crawling with monsters. Serk understood the risks. Each battle brought him closer to his goal, but he had to stay sharp. As he scanned his surroundings, a giant hedgehog, towering nearly to his height, spotted him. It unleashed a barrage of quills. Serk dodged just in time, but one quill pierced his shoulder.

He yanked it out, blood spraying. With a growl, he charged, driving his sword into the creature's chest. Darkness flowed into his blade, and another soul ascended through the ceiling. Another villager freed. Wincing, he turned and made his way back to the entrance, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

Serine stood beside him, her hands radiating warmth as she swiftly healed his injury. The wound vanished completely. “I sensed two souls returning. We should check on the village,” she said.

Serk nodded, a flicker of hope igniting within him. Maybe one of those souls was his father. He longed for guidance and a sparring partner. At fourteen, he was strong, but after facing the giant hedgehog, he realized he needed sharper tactics.

They descended the mineshaft in an elevator, Serine channeling her power to move it, giving Serk a chance to rest. When they emerged into the daylight, a piercing scream shattered the air. Serk rushed toward the sound.

A little girl knelt beside her mother, who laid frozen as a stone statue. “Don’t worry, Alice. I just freed you. I’ll free her too,” Serk reassured her, watching the girl dry her tears.

“Really, Serk? That’s amazing! I’ll be good while you do your thing,” Alice replied, her excitement replacing her sadness as Serk prepared to leave.

“Good luck, Serk,” she called after him.

He wandered through the village, searching for answers. Eventually, he arrived at the Mayor's house. Inside, he heard the elderly Mayor, Dadelus, moving about as if nothing had happened. Serk knocked on the door.

“What brings you here, Serk?” Dadelus asked, confusion etched on his face as he ushered Serk inside. They settled down, and Serk explained the troubling situation.

“That explains everyone’s absence,” Dadelus said, glancing around the empty mansion. “How can I help?”

Serk paused. “I know,” he said, pulling five repair orbs from his pocket. “All the food has turned to stone, or I’d offer you some.”

With a respectful handshake, Serk left the Mayor’s home and headed back to the mine, where Serine awaited him.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He nodded. Together, they descended the elevator, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Serk stepped into the mine, feeling a surge of confidence. The skeletons that had once posed a challenge fell easily before him. After the fight, his sword radiated energy, becoming white hot for a moment before cooling down.

He spotted another hedgehog. With a swift strike, he severed its head before it could react. Four souls were freed. He took a moment to meditate on his sword's condition. It was wearing down, so he activated a repair orb, restoring its sharpness.

As he sheathed the sword, he glanced at the vorpal sword. Its durability was low too. He used another repair orb on it. He considered using both orbs at once, but he wasn't ambidextrous. That was a tactic for another time. Instead, he chose the vorpal sword for the next encounter.

The next challenge appeared quickly. Three gelatinous blobs bounced toward him. Serk readied his blade and charged, slicing through each one. Gelatinous goo splattered everywhere, burning his skin with acid. But the slimes were defeated.

He made his way back to Serine, his skin mottled with burns. She healed him fully, warning, “Be careful. Some monsters have toxic properties. Use magic against slimes.”

Serk sighed. Magic had never been his strong suit. “I’ll teach you a simple spell to start with,” she said, guiding him through the incantation. “This lets you throw fireballs, as long as you have mana.”

After their lesson, Serk returned down the hallway. All the bodies had vanished. Another acid slime approached. Remembering the spell, he focused. A fireball formed in his palm. He hurled it with force. The slime ignited and evaporated into nothing.

He stopped for a moment, taken aback by the strength of a simple spell. Delving deeper into the mine, he had already freed eight souls. Nothing could stand in his way. The dual swords in his grasp pulsed with energy when Serine appeared.

“Now, I’ll show you how to combine your weapons,” she said. “You can turn two swords into one. Focus on the sword you want to discard. It will transform into an Orb. Attach this Orb to your other weapon. When that weapon levels up, it will absorb the Orb's properties.”

Serk glanced at the Vorpal Blade. It was weaker than the other sword. He concentrated, and the blade glowed, shifting into a small orb that fit perfectly into the handle of his Longsword. Serine vanished as he nodded in understanding.

He continued his quest, defeating one monster after another. Each victory brought new discoveries: a shiny silver key, another Vorpal Sword, sparkling gold coins, and precious gems.

As he integrated each gem into his sword, the blade began to change. The Vorpal Orb pulsed with energy during his next power boost.

Serk watched in astonishment as his sword transformed. The blade bent, taking on the sleek shape of a katana, no longer resembling a longsword. It was too long for its sheath, a sign that this change was more than just an appearance. It felt like his weapon was evolving, mirroring his own journey.

Then, without warning, a dark shadow struck him from behind. Pain shot through his body, and he crumpled into a pool of his own blood. Everything went black.

Suddenly, he found himself in his bed. Confusion washed over him. Was it all a dream? Had he truly died? The vividness of it all felt too real for mere imagination. He pushed the covers aside, stepped out of bed, and walked toward the door.

As he moved, he heard noise and instinctively drew his sword. It still held the curved katana form. This was no dream.

He heard a cough. It sounded like his father. Serk sheathed his sword and hurried down the stairs. Relief flooded him when he saw his father moving around.

"Serk. What happened? The rest of the family are stone statues," his father, Relz, asked, concern etched on his face.

Serk shared everything—the mines, the gods, the fight that had led to his death.

Relz's eyes widened. "You’re saying the world has turned to stone, except for a few of us?"

Serk nodded, explaining how he had died in the mines yet found himself alive in his bed. He revealed the sword he had been honing.

"The same one I gave you? And it changed like this?" Relz was stunned. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

Relz answered, revealing Serine. This time, she didn't glow but offered a warm smile.

"Everything he tells you is true," she said to Relz. "I saved him from death last night, but he can't keep relying on that. He needs training. And you are the strongest warrior in the village."

Relz nodded, taking in her words. "And who are you?"

"I am Serine, an emissary of the gods. Serk is our chosen warrior," she explained.

"I'll make sure he’s ready. Just give us a few days," Relz replied confidently, glancing at Serk.

Serine nodded. “I need to go back to the gods. I used a lot of my power to save your son. I’ll be back in seven days.”

Then, she disappeared in a bright flash.

Father and son stood in silence for a moment, absorbing what had just happened. Soon, they were outside, wooden swords in hand. They trained hard, pushing each other with every swing.

There was no time for breaks. Serine would return in a week, and Serk needed to be ready to confront the darkness waiting in the mines.

Thank you for taking the time to read this story. This marks the beginning of the Lore series set in the Shadow Mimasa universe, inspired by the RPG classic, Dark Cloud.

If you found the story engaging, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

And if it didn’t resonate with you, please share your reasons. Your feedback is valuable. Thank you once again.

- CLS