A young boy named Naxi is determined to capture all twelve Garnian Stars from locations across space to avenge the death of his brothers.
There, on the dry, dusty ground, lay Naxi's knife. His only knife. The knife that has aided him through his hardships and ordeals for these past months. It was just sitting there, reflecting the bright moonlight into Naxi's eyes as if to mock is incompetence. The desert life seemed to suddenly grow quiet. The eyes of his rival grew with a certain pleasure at the though that he may have the upper hand now. "Looks like this is the end, kid," Farot teased with a menacing smile.
The knife had very clearly landed much closer to Farot, and was also very clearly going to be the cause of Naxi's death. This time, there was no miracle or some second chance where he could win. This was it. Farot took three large strides toward the knife, emitting the same annoying squeaking sound caused from his leather pants. He took no hesitation to slowly bend down and pick up the purple knife. The wind was now calm, but still there, and it seemed as if time has slowed down as well. Naxi took large, shaky breaths as he stared down at the compact sand with wide eyes. He fell to his knees to accept his fated death. The wind picked up again. Farot's smile grew to a sickening, twisted menace.
"I'm sorry father, I really tried," Naxi spurt out in between tear filled breaths. The only thing he felt next was a sharp, sudden pain in his chest. He instantly could not think straight. His vision blurred, although he could still make out Farot's laughing figure from across the platform. He clutched the point where he felt the pain, and his hand came in contact with a knife. His knife. The warm blood seeped through his fingers and dripped to the ground. Naxi's vision was getting worse. He finally fell to the sandy ground, unable to move. Unable to live.