Right, well, I suppose I should start somewhere, shouldn’t I? Introductions seem like a proper beginning, so here we go. My name is Kain Pendragon, and I am 17 years old. I am the crown prince and sole heir to the human kingdom. My mother, Queen Mari, rules the kingdom, she is a wise ruler or at least she was before… well, before the so-called gods scrambled her mind.

I doubt you have any idea what I’m talking about. And if this book, NOT a diary mind you, is found in some glorious future where those monsters have vanished from existence, then let me say this: congratulations. You’ve no idea how fortunate you are. I envy you. Truly, I do. It must be lovely to live without the constant weight of knowing they exist.

But, alas, for my time and my misfortune, their presence is the greatest blight upon us all. The ‘gods,’ or as they so arrogantly call themselves, the Alphas, claim to have created everything: the universe, the stars, planets, mountains, and even life itself. And of all the worlds they supposedly brought into being, they chose ours to settle upon. Charming, isn’t it? Being graced by the presence of our so-called creators?

Except it’s not charming. Not one bloody bit.

The Alphas are cruel, petulant creatures. They start wars for their amusement, unleash plagues that decimate entire populations, and treat us like nothing more than toys—disposable things to be used and discarded when boredom strikes. They are untouchable, invulnerable. Their bodies are made of light, and no weapon, no spell, nothing we can muster so much as scratches them. They heal from any damage in an instant, as if to mock our attempts.

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Ah, yes, magic. Let me explain that before I forget, in case it’s gone by the time someone stumbles across this book. Magic is the very essence of creation, the purest form of energy. We mortals—those of us clever and disciplined enough—can channel it within ourselves to achieve small miracles. Lighting a fire with a flick of the wrist or floating above the ground are but minor feats of what magic can do.

In the past, magic was far grander. Or so the stories say. There was a time, supposedly, when a single mortal could scorch an entire nation with a spell. Nowadays, if you can burn down a castle, people call you a legend. Quite sad, really. Some scholars theorise that magic is fading, that it’ll vanish entirely in a few hundred years. Personally, I find that idea both tragic and infuriating.

I, of course, am a bit of a prodigy in dark magic—not that I’m bragging. Spells like Shadow Cloak and Shadow Walk are my bread and butter, so to speak. I could explain how I perform them, but this isn’t about me, is it? Well, mostly not.

I’m writing this to tell my story—a tale of one remarkable human daring to stand against the tyranny of the so-called gods. Perhaps, in doing so, I can prove that we mortals are more than mere playthings. And who knows? When I ascend to the throne, perhaps I’ll find a way to end their reign.

Though, if I’m being honest with myself… after what happened to my mother, I suppose that’s nothing more than wishful thinking.