The Armadillo with No Heart

Prologue

In the southern part of the Sungema continent, by the seaside, was a vast, wide valley formed by many lush hills, gently sculpted over centuries by the Green River. It was here that the river finished its long journey, coming all the way down from the distant Mount Grahze, the tallest mountain in Sungema.

At the bottom of this idyllic valley, around the mouth of the river, lay Greentown, the home of a peaceful and friendly race of armadillos known as the Dillos, who had lived there for nearly two hundred years.

The Dillos were an unassuming race better known for their modesty than their bravery. This valley had welcomed them after their former home was destroyed during a war in which these armadillos, docile as they were, had not even actively taken part. There were few of them left then – most were killed in the war, and many of those that survived it did not make it through the journey for a new place to live. Once they made it to the Green River, however, fortune finally smiled on them. After they settled in their new home, the Dillos slowly recaptured their ideal lifestyle. Although not an especially large city, Greentown had become a thriving port town from which cargo ships sailed to all over the world. It had both the tranquility of small towns and the prosperity of capitals, without leaning too far towards either.

What kept Greentown from growing too large was, at least partly, the thick, mysterious forest that enclosed the town, covering most of the surrounding hills – the Nymphwoods. The Dillos had crossed it during their long journey in the past, and it had claimed the lives of many of them. Even now, few dared enter the forest, though it had inspired many stories. Older Dillos often spoke of the strange and terrifying things that supposedly lived there, but nothing more dangerous than a wolf was to be found in the outermost part of the woods, and Greentown's guards kept these out of the city. The citizens knew they were not in any danger as long as they kept out of the forest.

To an observer, the steady and leisurely march of life in Greentown might seem perfect, but the Dillos were not a wholly carefree race, much as they appeared to be. There was still one worry on their minds – not savage creatures, not the prospect of being caught in another war, not even the superstitious belief that peace can never last for long. What they feared was one of their own.

On top of a hill, at the border of the woods, was a single house, overlooking the town, and in that house lived a single Dillo – a Dillo whose sad tale begins with a prophecy made in a very distant past, before he was born, before the Dillos came to the valley, even before the war that had cost them their original homeland.

This prophecy had become the stuff of legend, being passed down from generation to generation for as long as the Dillos could remember. It said:

One day, during the peaceful times that are to arrive in the distant future, a Dillo will be born with a cross-shaped mark over his heart. This Dillo is the Dillo with No Heart, harbinger of pain and suffering, and his mark is the Mark of Sin. The Dillo with No Heart must be sacrificed when he is sixteen years of age, or he will bring the era of peace and prosperity to an end.

The Dillo with No Heart spoken of in the prophecy had been born fifteen years and ten months ago, and he lived in that solitary house on the outskirts of town. His name was Kuro Trivol.