A short-haired, black-haired man fell into Hell

  Yet instead of heat and crimson flames, he landed upon soft snow and endless pine forests.

  He rose to his feet, brushing the snow from his clothes, and walked forward in confusion.

  Before him stretched a railway. He let his gaze follow the tracks—they vanished beyond the horizon.

  Suddenly, a young woman’s scream for help pierced the air.

  He sprinted toward the sound.

  There, he found a woman wearing a long black cloak, her hair white as snow. She was surrounded by mysterious men clad in cloaks with white hoods.

  The black-haired man lunged forward and drove his fist into the face of one of the hooded figures.

  The blow landed hard, but the man retaliated at once, striking him in the face.

  He answered with a swift kick to the man’s stomach.

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  The hooded man crashed into the snow and drew a knife.

  The blade shot toward his head—but in a split second, he ducked beneath it.

  At that moment, the world seemed to slow.

  Snowflakes drifted downward in suspended silence.

  A blue semicircle appeared beneath his eyes.

  He surged forward and slammed his fist into the hooded man’s stomach.

  “How can you move that fast?” the man gasped.

  The hooded figure collapsed into the snow.

  He scrambled back to his feet and swung his knife wildly, but no matter how many times he slashed, every strike missed. The black-haired man closed the distance and struck him square in the face.

  The man fell to the ground, blood streaming from his nose.

  “I’ll leave,” he muttered.

  The hooded man turned and vanished into the pine forest.

  The man then turned to the white-haired woman.

  “You possess the power of desire, don’t you?” she said.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  She raised a finger and pointed to his eyes.

  “That blue semicircle beneath them. You should join the Order. My name is Glacia.”

  She handed him a black train ticket.

  “I’m Fokusar,” he replied, accepting it.

  “Then where am I supposed to use this?” Fokusar asked, puzzled.

  A fierce wind swept in, lifting the black ticket onto the railway. Blue flames ignited across its surface.

  At once, a black steam locomotive trimmed in gold roared past them. Glacia’s white hair whipped violently in the wind.

  The train slowed and came to a halt before them. Its doors slid open.

  “Get in,” Glacia said