The crackling sound of firewood did not merely fill the cave; it fought against a silence that had reigned for centuries.
Inside the damp stone hollow, located high within the jagged peaks of the Mistwood borders, the air was heavy with the scent of pine resin and old, stagnant mana.
Aethelred Vi Regis sat alone, a silhouette of broken majesty. His cloak, once a vibrant symbol of his house, was a tattered rag of midnight blue, stained with the iron-scent of dried blood.
Across his chest and arms, fresh scars—souvenirs of the failed rebellion—glowed a raw, angry pink in the firelight.
Before him, resting on a flat slab of granite, lay the Chronicles of the Fallen, an ancient historical tome of Velgrith.
Its leather binding was cracked like parched earth, and its pages were as thin as a dragonfly's wing, yet the ink seemed to pulse with a sacred weight, as if the words themselves were trying to breathe.
Aethelred leaned forward, his crimson eyes glinting like embers. He traced a calloused finger over a passage written in a dialect older than the kingdoms.
"So this is it..." he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Velgrith's truth. The foundation of our cage."
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The Genesis of the Union
According to the tome, the world did not begin with chaos, but with a descent of absolute light.
Year 1 of the Velgrith Union was marked by the arrival of Elmyria, the World-Class Goddess.
She descended from the Sky Above Time in a cascade of eternal brilliance that burned the very fabric of the void to create a new reality.
With her divine authority, she summoned six subordinate gods to serve as the pillars of existence:
Ignir, the roaring God of Fire.
Maris, the Goddess of the endless Water.
Sylphar, the God of the whispering Wind.
Terranis, the God of the unyielding Earth.
Raikenzul, the God of the piercing Lightning.
Umbyas, the God of the primordial Dark Magic.
Together, these entities labored to shape the continent.
Ignir forged the volcanoes; Maris filled the basins that became the history-laden oceans; Terranis raised the obsidian mountains that now guarded the Demon Empire.
Elmyria and the four elemental deities—Fire, Water, Wind, and Earth—crafted the humans and the balanced races of the fields.
However, Raikenzul and Umbyas sought to create something in their own image.
In an act of divine imitation, they combined their powers to birth the Demons—beings of immense pride, burning ambition, and a magical capacity that far outstripped the mortals of the light.
To ensure the survival of her favored children, Elmyria etched two absolute laws into the firmament:
The Law of the Inviolate Oath: Any promise sworn in her name became a literal shackle on the soul. To break such an oath was to invite immediate erasure by the hand of death.
The Law of the Seventy Percent: If the human population of Velgrith ever fell below the threshold of seventy percent, every demon would be instantly expelled from the physical plane.
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The Century of Shadows
For over a hundred years, a fragile peace prevailed, but the inequality of power was a poison.
In the 107th year of the Union, Raikenzul and Umbyas could no longer stomach the Goddess's restrictions.
They granted their demonic followers a surge of forbidden power and rose in an open, bloody rebellion.
The balance of the world collapsed; humanity, once equal in spirit, became the prey of the very creatures they had once lived alongside.
Elmyria, unable to directly unmake her own creations without shattering the world itself, looked to the stars.
In the year 109, she performed the first Great Summoning, pulling a soul from the World of Presence to act as her sword.
The Enigma of Nyxarion
His name was Nyxarion.
In his original world, he had been an ordinary boy—a dreamer who spent his nights lost in video games and tales of chivalry.
But when he arrived in Velgrith, the Goddess blessed him with the Silver Flame, a light magic that bypassed all demonic defenses. Aethelred read the account of the final battle with a trembling hand:
"Nyxarion, the Savior of Humanity... the hero who slew the gods of Lightning and Darkness."
The pages detailed how he drove his blade through the hearts of Raikenzul and Umbyas.
Their physical forms were unmade, yet their magic was too vast to be destroyed. The remnants of their power were sealed deep beneath the foundations of the Demon Capital, guarded by a treaty that Nyxarion himself had authored.
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The Hidden Apostasy
But as Aethelred turned the final page of the historical section, the text shifted from the golden calligraphy of the Church to the jagged, desperate scrawl of the Demon Records.
Human history claimed that after his victory, Nyxarion accepted Elmyria's offer to return to his world to live in eternal peace.
This was the lie fed to every child in the Ironwood and Silverwood kingdoms for a century.
The Demon Records told the dark reality. Nyxarion remained.
The boy who had once adored heroes had been seduced by the very power he was sent to suppress. He had seen the "undeniable truth" of Elmyria's laws: that no matter how many times humans were saved, they were fundamentally weaker than the demons.
If he returned to Earth, he would be a nobody; if he stayed, he could be a god.
Twisting the legend to his favor, Nyxarion deceived the Goddess and the mortal realms alike.
For over a hundred years, he had lived within the deep shadows of the continent, manipulating both the human monarchies and the Demon Lords to maintain a perpetual "False Peace"—a managed conflict that kept the world in a state of profitable terror.
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The Vow in the Dark
Aethelred shut the tome with a resounding thud that echoed through the cave like a gunshot. His heart was a leaden weight in his chest, and his eyes blazed with a renewed, cold fury.
"So the 'Great Savior' is nothing more than a puppeteer," Aethelred hissed, staring into the dying flames.
"He sold the future of this world for a seat in the shadows. He used the blood of my comrades to lubricate his machine of control."
He stood up, the pain in his body forgotten. He looked at his scarred hands, then out into the storm-tossed night.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a mocking echo of the gods who had allowed this lie to persist.
"If this world is meant to be our inheritance, then I will not let a ghost from another world hold the deed," he vowed, his voice gaining a terrifying clarity.
"If Nyxarion seeks only power, I will seek the freedom to destroy it. If he manipulates both sides, then I will be the one to unite them under a single truth. My people did not die for a script."
Suddenly, the air in the cave grew frigid. The fire guttered, the flames turning a sickly, nervous blue.
From the unseen shadows near the entrance, the sound of slow, rhythmic footsteps approached.
A cold, calm voice—one that resonated with the weight of centuries—whispered from the gloom.
"…Aethelred Vi Regis. A noble sentiment. Let us see if your dream truly shines brighter than mine... or if it is merely another candle waiting to be snuffed."
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✦ To be continued...