They say there was once a man who held them all— every gift, every Generation, every origin of power.
He was the first, the source before the system. A vessel too full of life to be human, yet too human to be god.
But he did not keep it.
In every century, he gave away a part of himself. And with each part, a new Generation was born— each one forged from a single piece of his soul.
The first, he gave water— calm or raging, still or rushing. It bent to their will like a living tide.
The second, he gave sand— summoned from thin air or drawn from the dust beneath their feet. It obeyed, loyal and swift, as if the desert itself were trained to answer their call.
The third, he gave thunder— raw, crackling force that did not strike alone, but fused with its wielder, becoming the storm.
The fourth, he gave magma— fire beneath the earth, splitting ground and bone with molten fury.
The fifth, he gave fire— pure and wild, ignited not by flint, but by breath, skin, or thought.
The sixth, he gave sound— where whispers could deafen, and silence could kill.
The seventh, he gave age— the veil of time, bending memory, youth, and identity.
The eighth, he gave life and death— granting breath or stealing it, raising the fallen… for a price.
And at last, he gave time— the most unstable of them all, fraying the past, present, and future like threads too thin to hold.
From his soul, the world was divided.
And from his scar, the Generations took form.
And then... he vanished.
Some say he died.
Others say he walks still, a ghost in the wind—watching the world unravel from what he once gave freely.
He watched the Eighth Generation grow reckless, playing god, reviving the dead,
cutting down the sick without mercy.
He watched as dungeons rose and the Vyraks spread— as Raikuro Tsukihana, wielder of three abilities, carved fragile peace from the bonds of chaos.
And then… he chose again.
Not a king.
Not a warrior.
Not even a leader.
Just a boy.
Quiet. Withdrawn. Scarred.
The Origin Scar appeared not on the day he awakened, but the day he was born—
etched deep across his back, where even mirrors refused to reflect it.
A mark long forgotten… now returned.
Only his family knows.
Even he doesn't ask.
But when the world begins to collapse,
when Generations clash and balance fades— they will remember the scar.
And the one who carries it...
will decide what remains.