This fairy tale begins in the darkness of night, where endless stars shimmer above, their light blending with the gentle glow of a half moon. Bamboo sways in a humble rhythm, while lush green leaves and grasses rustle softly. A swift breeze flows through the land, accompanied by the creeping chorus of crickets and the flickering dance of fireflies.
Amidst this tranquil scene walks an old man—bald in the front, with thick hair flowing at the back. He wears robes resembling those of a Buddhist or Hindustani monk. Quiet and composed, he moves steadily through the night.
As he walks, memories begin to surface.
Earlier that day, he had been in an enormous temple, meditating in silence and harmony. Suddenly, the temple gates burst open, and strange figures entered. Among them was a man dressed in pure, holy garments, carrying himself like one in command.
"Old man," he called, "why are you still in this temple?"
The old man gave no response.
"Ignoring me?" the man said with a smirk. "Fine. This is your final warning. Leave this temple. We will build our cathedral here."
As he spoke, he casually sat on the palm of a six-handed statue.
"Why do you refuse to leave?" he continued. "Don't you realize you could change fate—make this place something greater? Leave now… or we will take it by force."
He stepped down and began to leave. As he did, he grabbed a precious jade jar and walked out with his followers.
At the entrance, he turned back one last time.
"You know what to do now."
Then he hurled the jar against a dragon-scaled pillar, shattering it into pieces.
Still, the old man remained silent.
The memory fades.
Back in the present, the old man climbs a set of man-made stairs. At the top stand two handcrafted lion statues—one on the left, the other on the right.
He reaches into the mouth of one statue and retrieves a hidden key.
With it, he unlocks a tall red barrier marked "Home" and steps inside.
Beyond lies a vast compound filled with many rooms, scattered like separate houses, surrounded by beautiful sights and stretching across a wide land.
As he walks forward, the trees suddenly make a disturbing noise.
With his hands tucked into his robe, he moves cautiously until he reaches a peach tree beside a small pond. The water glows softly as fish swim beneath its surface, while peach leaves drift gently above.
Then he sees it—a cradle.
His eyes widen.
Removing his footwear, he lifts his robe and steps into the pond, the water rising to his knees. Slowly, he approaches the cradle, which sways gently from a tree branch.
He turns it around.
Inside lies a baby.
Wrapped in white garments, the child sleeps peacefully. A four-leaf clover drifts down and lands on the baby's nose.
The baby sneezes.
Startled, the old man reaches out, but the child gently grabs his robe. The man pauses and lowers his hand.
The baby opens its eyes—pale and colorless, as though blind. Its hair is white as snow, yet faint colors shimmer at the back.
The child reaches out and tugs the man's long beard.
Calmly, the old monk frees himself, then lifts the baby and holds him close. The child nuzzles against his chest.
For the first time, the old man smiles.
He steps out of the pond and enters a quiet room meant for rest. He places the baby gently into a basket and begins his prayers.
Moments later, something feels wrong.
He turns.
The basket is empty.
Alarmed, he notices another door slightly open. He rushes toward it and finds the baby inside his weapons room, holding a pair of nunchucks.
The baby swings them.
They snap back and strike his head—but he shows no reaction. Instead, he crawls toward a shelf filled with larger weapons.
The shelf begins to shake.
It's about to collapse.
In a flash, the old monk rushes forward and saves him. The shelf crashes down—but in the blink of an eye, everything is somehow back in place.
Before he can react, the baby slips from his hands and crawls rapidly into another room—one filled with fireworks and explosives.
A lamp flickers nearby.
The baby grabs a firework and tosses it at the lamp.
It falls.
Flames spread.
"No!" the old man cries.
Fireworks shoot wildly across the room, bouncing off walls and exploding in bursts of light. One flies straight toward him—he ducks just in time, but it explodes behind him, knocking him down.
The baby laughs.
The old man rises, only to realize his hair has caught fire. He quickly extinguishes it, tearing part of his robe to smother the flames.
But another spark ignites a box—the baby is inside.
The box spins wildly as fireworks burst everywhere.
The old man runs desperately, chasing it until he finally catches it and pulls the child out.
At that moment, all the remaining fireworks explode at once, lighting the midnight sky with magnificent colors.
The room fills with smoke.
Exhausted, the old man holds the baby close.
Noticing the child's burned garment, he realizes—it is a boy.
"What a stubborn one…" he murmurs.
He bathes the child, dresses him in fresh clothes, and lifts him gently.
As the night breeze flows through the window, he whispers:
"Who are you… and where did you come from?"
After a moment, he makes a vow.
"From this day on, I will raise you as my own."
He places the baby back into the basket, but a strange stillness comes over him—as though he briefly steps outside of reality. Then it fades.
He secures the basket and lies down to rest.
Moments later, the baby begins to cry.
Sighing softly, the old man takes him in his arms and lays him beside him. He places his hand gently on the child and says:
"From now on… you will be called Mysteries."
Instantly, the baby grips the man's bald head and falls asleep.
Moments later, the old man drifts into slumber as well.
Far away, on a fog-covered hill, a lone figure stands in an unknown place, gazing down at a horrific sight.
In a chilling voice, it speaks:
"The nightmare… has only just begun."