IN A WORLD where vast numbers of people live together, conflict will always exist among them. The weak will fall, and the strong will prevail. It comes naturally. Aevalion is a world of endless wonder and profound mystery. Stretching across vast continents and diverse landscapes, it is a world where the threads of fate and magic are intricately woven into the fabric of everyday life.
The northern continent of Santehna was once known for its majestic mountains and lush forests, where the air carried the crisp scent of pine and earth. But this tranquility was shattered as the winds shifted, bringing with them the acrid smell of blood and the ominous darkness of impending war.
Two ancient races stood at the heart of this conflict. The demons, creatures of inherent darkness and unbridled ambition, sought to bend the world to their will. Opposing them were the elves, beings of light who had long acted as guardians of balance and peace in Aevalion.
The uneasy equilibrium between these powers was broken when the demon king issued a decree of war, his desire for conquest igniting a battle that would reshape the face of Santehna and, eventually, Aevalion.
As the forces of light and darkness clashed, the other inhabitants of this once-peaceful world found themselves caught in a struggle that threatened to consume everything they held dear.
The human race was steadily advancing until the war between demons and elves erupted, throwing the world into chaos. Caught between these two ancient powers, humans found themselves pawns in a deadly game of conquest and survival.
One fateful day, an elven envoy arrived at the human king’s court. The messenger proposed an alliance against the demon king’s forces, warning of the dark ruler’s ambition to dominate all races. After careful consideration, the king agreed, forging a pact that would reshape the future of humankind.
With elven guidance, humans began to unlock their latent potential. They learned to harness magic they had never before imagined, developing defenses against the demonic onslaught. This newfound strength allowed them to resist enslavement, unlike the less fortunate orcs, goblins, and kobolds who had fallen under demonic rule.
However, despite the elves’ best efforts, most humans still struggled to match the raw power of their demonic foes. The alliance remained precarious, with humanity teetering on the edge between freedom and subjugation in this age-old conflict.
As the war dragged on, the elves grew desperate for a solution to bolster their human allies. Years of intense study led to a surprising discovery: humans possessed a unique physiology that allowed them to channel external energies. This revelation sparked hope among the elven scholars, who likened humans to vessels capable of holding various forms of power.
With this knowledge, the elves devised an ambitious plan called "New Genesis." This procedure involved creating a blood bond between elf and human, theoretically allowing the transfer of elven abilities and access to magic previously beyond human reach.
However, the elves’ excitement blinded them to a crucial flaw in their plan. They failed to anticipate the limits of human capacity to contain such power. As they began their trials, not a single subject could fully harness the elven energies. The consequences were tragic and spectacular – the human participants, overwhelmed by the surge of power, met a grim fate as their bodies failed to contain the magical forces.
The elves watched in horror as their carefully selected candidates succumbed one by one, their forms unable to withstand the elven essence flowing through them. "New Genesis," born of desperation and hope, had led only to devastation, leaving both races to grapple with the aftermath of their ill-fated experiment.
A human child was born, possessing an extraordinary gift and an unprecedented reservoir of magical energy. The elves, their optimism rekindled, saw in this boy the potential to turn the tide against the demon king.
With renewed determination, the elves cautiously resumed the New Genesis project. This time, they focused their efforts solely on the gifted child. To their amazement and relief, the operation succeeded. The boy’s unique physiology allowed him to absorb and contain the elven power without succumbing to its overwhelming force.
Under the elves’ guidance, the child grew into a formidable individual. His abilities flourished, surpassing even the most talented elven prodigies. The elders watched in awe as he mastered skills that had taken them lifetimes to perfect. As the boy matured, the elves dared to hope that his power might rival that of the demon king himself.
In this young human, the elves saw not just a warrior, but a symbol of redemption for their past failures and a beacon of hope for the future. Though they hesitated to use the word openly, whispers began to spread among both elves and humans alike. A hero, it seemed, had at last been born.
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Year 1495 MME – stands for Modern Magic Era.
Havra Region, King’s End Hill.
The echoes of battle reverberated through the demon king’s fortress - the clash of steel, the crackle of magic, and the cries of the fallen. Now, an eerie quiet settled over the throne room, broken only by labored breathing.
“Is that all you’ve got, ‘hero’?” The demon king’s voice dripped with disdain.
The hero, once proud and mighty, now knelt on the cold stone floor. His companions lay scattered around him, unconscious or worse. He alone remained to face the tyrant.
From his throne, the demon king surveyed the scene with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. “You stormed my castle in this sorry state,” he mused. “Bold, but foolish.”
Gripping his sword, the hero struggled to rise. His arms shook with the effort, his determination warring against exhaustion. “Get up from your seat,” he gasped, glaring at his foe. “I'm not... finished yet.”
The demon king leaned forward, his glowing dark eyes glinting with curiosity. For a moment, the mockery faded from his voice, replaced by something almost like respect. “Come to think of it, I haven’t gotten your name yet. Tell me your name,” he commanded softly.
“My name… is Artorius. Remember the name… of the person who will… defeat you.”
The demon king laughed hysterically. “You’re interesting,” he said while he rose from his throne. “For you to even step your footing here is worthy of my praise. Artorius, I shall honor you with a fitting end for your tenacious journey.”
The demon king pulled a colossal greatsword that he rested beside him and began walking towards the hero.
Artorius finally stood up to his ground, still exhausted. “The elves were right about you,” he said. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. You have all the power to attain peace, yet you use it to bring the world bow to your knees. Your evil plan ends here.”
“And what do you know about peace, ‘hero’?!” The demon king exclaimed. “Such naivety will only bring you to your despair! Peace is about preserving order and fear. I offered those scumbag elves to join me so we could preserve and attain peace, but they betrayed my wish. If we join forces, we could rule this world so there won’t be any further war and conflicts.”
“Have you listened to yourself?” Artorius said. “We were right to trust the elves. You only wanted the world for yourself—your kind. There’s no such thing as peace if one has no freedom to choose what to do with their lives!”
“How foolish! I’ve heard enough from you,” the demon king said. He charged his greatsword with his dark energy and pointed it towards Artorius. “Now—die!”
He unleashed a ray of dark beam from his greatsword towards Artorius. Along with the remaining mana left in him, Artorius unlocks the power that the elves gave to him, granting him the power to use the magic of light.
Before the demon king’s spell got to him, he clenched his sword with both hands and channeled all the remaining magical force to his sword.
“Caliburn!” he chanted as he released a beam of brilliant white light shot from the tip of his sword.
The clash of spells shook the very foundations of the castle, sending tremors through stone and mortar. As debris rained down around them, the demon king pressed his advantage, sensing Artorius’ waning strength.
Yet in that chaos, Artorius found his moment. Through the swirling dust, he surged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The demon king, momentarily caught off guard, managed to raise his weapon just in time to deflect Artorius’ blade.
But Artorius had planned for this.
As their weapons met, the demon king felt a sharp, burning pain in his abdomen. Glancing down, he saw a dagger buried to the hilt, Artorius’s left hand still gripping it. In that instant, the demon king understood the hero’s ploy.
The sword strike had been a feint, delivered with one hand instead of two. It lacked the power to break the demon king’s guard, but it didn’t need to. It only needed to distract. If the strike were handled with both hands, the demon king would’ve snapped Artorius’ blade in two. Instead, the sword bounced lightly backward.
As the dust began to settle, the two stood locked in a deadly embrace, neither willing to be the first to move. The tide of battle had shifted in a single, desperate gambit.
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The demon king coughed blood. “You with your cheap tricks,” he said. “Now I know why you were able to defeat Lucius. But this won’t be able to kill—” He realized something odd had happened within his body.
“Notice something?” Artorius jeered.
The mana flow inside the demon king is disturbed, and he can’t control it with his own will. He realized there was only one weapon that could do such a thing.
“Lævateinn? How… can you have that?”
But Artorius kept his mouth shut and did not answer the demon king.
The demon king's mind raced, even as pain lanced through his body. He had assumed the hero had simply defeated one of his generals, who was the previous holder. But this ancient weapon was no ordinary dagger.
To wield it required more than mere strength or skill. It demanded a spark of darkness, a hint of cunning that a heroic figure like him lacked. Yet here was Artorius, gripping the most deceitful weapon. His mind wandered through loops of possibilities of how a man like him could hold such a dagger.
“I see…” The demon king said.
He seemed to grasp what might be the answer to Artorius’ possession of the ancient dagger, but he pushed the thoughts aside. Understanding Artorius’ mysterious connection to the dagger wouldn't change their current predicament.
As Artorius attempted to retreat, the demon king’s grip tightened. With a flicker of dark energy, his greatsword shimmered and reformed into a smaller, deadlier blade. “Then I guess I’ll do the same,” he growled, driving the sword deep into Artorius’ chest.
Artorius’ eyes widened in shock and pain. His own blade clattered to the ground as he coughed, blood staining his lips. “Damn you!” he snarled, his voice a mix of fury and desperation. “Just give up already! Lævateinn will eventually curse your body, leaving you paralyzed. Even if you kill me, someone from my side will come here to find us, and they’ll finish you off!”
The two stood there, each impaled on the other’s blade, locked in a macabre embrace. Blood pooled at their feet, mingling on the castle floor. The air grew thick with the metallic scent of their wounds and the crackling energy of fading magic.
But the demon king laughed at him. “You think I don’t have a trick if you have your own?”
“What are you plotting?!”
“Artorius, the vessel of the elves,” he said. “You borrowed the power of the light through blood contract, but one must have an immense power to be able to use and reserve theirs—”
“What IS your point?!” Artorius exclaimed, cutting the demon king.
“I’ve known for long that they’ve been practicing the ritual of sharing their power with humans. So, I decided to develop my own version. I developed a spell—not to share my power—but to transfer it, and what’s more exciting, to move my soul to someone, slowly possessing them through time, and eventually, I will be reborn!”
A massive magic circle suddenly appeared, surrounding them. Artorius’ eyes darted frantically from side to side, his mind struggling to comprehend how the demon king could still cast such powerful magic even after he stabbed him with Lævateinn.
“What’s the matter?” the demon king said, a hint of mockery in his voice. “You look confused.”
Gritting his teeth, Artorius replied with a temper, “You shouldn’t be able to use your magic!”
“Oh—this one is special.”
The magic circle glowed, and so did the demon king. Artorius wasn’t sure what was going on, and with all of his remaining might, he lifted his dropped sword and thrust the demon king right on his left chest.
The demon king stumbled, blood spilling from his mouth, yet he let out a faint laugh. “Too late…” he said. “My soul will travel through time to find the next fitting vessel.”
“Like I’d let that happen!”
The demon king noticed something when the hero thrust him with his blade. “This blade of yours…! What did you do?”
Artorius let out a pained chuckle. “Fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor.”
“Speak plainly, hero!” The demon king snarled, his patience wearing thin.
Artorius locked eyes with his foe. “Caliburn exists as much in spirit as in steel. And your spell... it concerns the soul, does it not?”
Suddenly, Caliburn erupted with blinding light, its essence surging through both warriors. The demon king recoiled, his voice a mix of rage and terror. “Invader!”
In that instant, their minds entwined, memories cascading between them in a swirling torrent.
Artorius witnessed eons of darkness and solitude, tears welling in his eyes unbidden. “Such sorrow,” he whispered, “but it cannot excuse what you’ve become.”
The demon king, for his part, saw a life of struggle and triumph but also of bonds forged in battle and peace. His voice, when it came, was barely audible. “Companion…ship? I had forgotten...”
It was an odd feeling, being embraced by a warm light, but soon he realized there was magic involved within, slowly flowing through him, so he cut his soul, splitting it into two, and chanted:
“Rex Anima!”
Two orbs emerged from his mouth - one blazing orange, the other a sinister purple - soaring away in different directions. Artorius could only watch as he gradually lost the strength to keep his eyes open and began loosening his sword grip out of fatigue.
He soon realized that the demon king had gone, completely motionless. Artorius pulled both his sword and knife from him; strangely, the demon king’s body remained unnaturally upright. Seconds after he pulled his weapons, a dark red magic circle appeared on the demon king’s body.
Artorius recognized the pattern of the magic circle, and with all his remaining strength, he ran as fast as he could. He saw layers of magic circles on the ground, appearing one by one, from smaller to bigger circles, overriding one after another, and soon he realized he couldn’t outrun it.
The spell triggered a cataclysmic explosion, felt fifty kilometers away. Onlookers watched in horror as the demon king’s castle was engulfed in fire and smoke.
A search party arrives hours later at the demon king’s castle to survey the aftermath of the battle. Among the rubbles and debris caused by the demon king’s spell, all they could find was nothing but the sacred blade of the hero, Caliburn, stabbed into the ground. However, no one could lift or even move the sword; try as they might, there was no chance of budging it from its spot. Alas, they left the blade there. They could not find a trace of the hero and his party – not even the body of the demon king and his demon generals. They assume everyone was caught in that blast, incinerating their body to ashes.
A week later, after the great battle in the demon king’s castle, the kingdom of humans, the Magna Kingdom, and the Luminaris Kingdom, the elves announced their victory over the demons after hundreds of years. In addition, they declared the hero’s death even though there was insufficient evidence to determine his whereabouts, whether he was alive or not; yet they chose not to raise any further concerns beyond the hero’s accomplishments. The populace was divided - some mourned, some raged, but most celebrated the long-awaited peace.
Yet as normalcy returned to the land, an unspoken question hung in the air: was this truly the end or merely a lull before an even greater storm?
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- intermission -
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Year 1545 MME.
Fifty years have passed since then. One may argue that not much has changed since the defeat of the Demon King’s army. The demon race has been on the run for the past year, hunted relentlessly. Despite the fall of the dark order, conflict, slavery, and raiding still exist. Lesser races like orcs, goblins, and kobolds are still prevalent around the world. Some are barbaric and unintelligent, terrorizing and raiding small villages, while others have established kingdoms of their own and even engage in politics with humans and elves.
The lesser races suffered under the dark lord’s cruelty, forced to defy the elves and kill all who sided with them. Branded with his curse, they were enslaved for life and used as sacrificial pawns in his war against the elves. But everything has changed. They are now free to live their lives and are no longer under the Demon King’s control. However, some remain loyal to him, even though the curse has been lifted.
Among those seeking a new beginning is Astrid, a young orc woman pregnant with her first child. She lived in an orc village hidden within the depths of the forest in the Lower Zone, somewhere in the Havra Region.
Santehna’s landscape was divided into distinct zones, each presenting its own level of peril to those who dared to venture within. These zones were classified into four tiers, each more treacherous than the last.
The Lower Zones offered relative safety, where even the most ordinary civilians could wander without fear. Here, the flora and fauna posed little threat to the cautious traveler.
In the Middle Zones, danger lurked around every corner. Unprepared adventurers risked life and limb against creatures that could easily overwhelm the unwary. Only those with some measure of skill or protective gear dared to tread these paths.
The Upper Zones were the domain of seasoned warriors and mages. Here, monsters infused with volatile mana roamed freely, wielding magic with deadly efficiency. Only the most skilled and well-equipped individuals could hope to survive in these treacherous lands. The Upper Zones are strictly maintained by mages, confined in an intricate and powerful magic barrier.
Finally, the ominously named Danger Zones represented the pinnacle of risk in Santehna. While similar in many ways to the Upper Zones, these areas harbored far greater threats: ancient and powerful creatures like dragons, whose very presence could alter the landscape and challenge even the mightiest of warriors.
Astrid and her kind are among the lesser races that were oppressed and against the tyranny of the Demon King. They believe that the dark lord has ruined their image as orcs, making them a threat to elves and humans. Therefore, they have no choice but to isolate themselves after the Demon King’s demise.
One day, she and her group gathered herbs in the middle of the forest. While she was at it, she felt a sudden cramp in her abdomen. She held onto her round belly, enduring the pain – feeling the intense pressure from a strong contraction surge through her body. And at that moment, she knew that her baby was coming.
A fellow orc gatherer notices her and calls for other gatherers to help and escort her to a nearby empty cave. They immediately carried Astrid to lie on a flat surface when they arrived at the cave. She was in a constant state of fright and in deep pain, just like a mother would. But her fellow gatherers comforted and guided her to find the right rhythm to push and control her breathing. While struggling to get her baby out, she saw a bright orange light – one that resembled the scorching sun. It fell from the top of the cave’s ceiling and went through her belly. Strangely, the light wasn’t visible to anyone except her. Hence, nobody inside the cave noticed it.
She felt something happen when the light dropped to her belly. It felt like the inside of her belly was getting smaller, and it was way easier for her to push her baby out. A few hours passed, and Astrid finally gave birth to her newborn son. Everyone was surprised, seeing the baby was very small, not the regular-sized orc baby that was supposed to be. It was the size of their palm when it should be around twice as prominent as it should be. His unusual size resembles the size of a human baby.
Regardless of the shortcomings the baby had, she still loved him and decided to name him Gronn’gar. The name bears the meaning of resilience and toughness, an unyielding presence. But soon after she names her son, her breath suddenly grows weaker as she gradually begins to lose the strength to hold her son. Her face is pale as a ghost, and her expression pictures a person who is in deep shock and fright. She tried to find the strength to hold her newborn son as much as she could and whispered, I’m sorry. May you live through everything that will come in your path.
She felt her life begin to slip away and began to close both of her eyes slowly while gently releasing her grip on her son. The orc gatherers are panicked as they try to shake her body and call her name to keep her conscious, but she doesn’t respond. And then… there was no sign of life. They’re soon only left with tears over her passing and disoriented because her death was odd.
They finally return to their village only to tell Astrid’s husband that his wife passed away after giving birth to his son. It was an uncalled situation, and he was left speechless hearing the news. He cried a river as he held his son but felt thankful to his wife for giving a chance at life for their dearest child.