The sky bled crimson.
Ruins of the once-glorious capital smoldered beneath torn banners, where ashes danced on the cold wind like spirits seeking peace. Screams echoed through the valley—some still human, others twisted, monstrous echoes of those who had already fallen.
King Suvo stood at the edge of the scorched citadel walls, blood matting his white robes. His eyes, once bright with hope, now reflected only despair and fire. In one hand, he held his half-broken blade—its runes flickering weakly like dying stars. Glowing faintly on his chest, the relic he was born with pulsed, reacting to the fall of its bearer.
The Raksa were closing in.
Towering, grotesque creatures—black as shadow, bearing two horns and three glowing eyes—marched forward. Their eye colors marked their rank: soldiers with dull crimson, generals with piercing violet, and the nobles... with gold.
Suvo could barely stand. Behind him lay the remains of his army—thousands who had followed him through years of rebellion, liberation, and war. And at the heart of them all... Lela. Her body lay still among the rubble, her hand still grasping a magic staff, her chest unmoving.
The king did not weep. He had no tears left.
"King Suvo!" a dying soldier croaked, dragging himself forward. "You must... escape...! If you live... our people—"
Suvo didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. There was nothing left to protect.
He lifted his sword one last time.
A Raksa general snarled, leaping forward—horns flaring, fangs bared.
Steel met claw.
The final clash of King Suvo's life began.
In those final moments, as darkness crept into his vision, glimpses of a broken life flashed before him—A crying infant in the arms of a dying woman.The cold streets, his name whispered by strangers with pity.The warmth of the Deep family, who gave him shelter, faith, and a name.The relentless years of training, the blood on his sword, the fire in his heart.A village defended.An army raised.A throne claimed.
He had fought his way up from nothing, becoming King Suvo, the protector of a dying world.
When it ended, the battlefield was silent.
His body, torn and broken, rested among the fallen. Yet as the world faded from his sight, his will remained.
"Even in death... I will return. I will find a way... even if the universe itself forgets me..."
The relic embedded in his chest glowed faintly—then dimmed.
Somewhere beyond time, beyond stars, beyond death...
A soul drifted.
Through the space-time void, it tumbled — alone. Unseen. Untouched. It was neither dead nor alive. It had no body, no breath, yet it thought. It remembered.
And slowly, fragments of thought began to reform.
[End of Chapter 1]