In the shadowed heart of the Demon World, where twisted trees whispered secrets and moonlight barely pierced the canopy, Yuske trudged forward with the Spirit Fox padding silently at his side. The forest was ancient—older than memory, older than war—and it pulsed with a magic that felt both sacred and sorrowful. They came upon the stone by accident, half-buried in moss and veined with glowing runes. Yuske knelt, brushing away the decay, and read aloud the inscription etched in silver flame: “The very last unicorn is now hidden well by those who have placed him under a spell Four centuries, four decades ago From that afternoon at the end of November Before the blue moon If he loses this chance to rise and depart All magic will fade from his horn and his Heart