Prologue

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie, spectral blue light over the quiet town. A cold breeze swept through the trees, making the branches groan and whisper as if the night itself was alive with secrets. The world seemed to hold its breath. Not even the usual nocturnal creatures dared to break the silence, as though nature itself feared what might be lurking just out of sight.

In a modest home at the edge of town, a weary mother tucked her twin children into bed. Their room was a chaotic mess—crumpled sheets, scattered toys, and piles of clothes that had been cast aside in the throes of play. Margit and Mary, as usual, were pretending to be knights, their imagination a realm where nothing was too dangerous, and they were always the heroes.

"Alright, that's enough, kids. Time for bed," the mother said, her voice calm but firm, as she carefully closed the book she had been reading aloud.

"But I'm winning!" Margit protested, his face full of mock indignation.

"No! I’m winning!” Mary shot back, her voice full of childish determination.

The mother chuckled, shaking her head. "You can argue tomorrow. It’s late, and you both have school in the morning." She gave them both a playful but firm look. “How about I tell you a bedtime story, and then we sleep?”

The twins' eyes lit up with excitement. "Yay, bedtime story!" they cheered in unison.

With a smile, the mother reached up to the top shelf above the bed and pulled down an old, weathered book—its spine cracked, the pages yellowed with age. The stories it held were ancient, woven with the threads of the gods themselves. She sat between the children, smoothing the pages before beginning.

"Long ago, the gods and humans lived together in harmony. But one day, a forbidden union occurred—a union between a god and a human," she began, her voice soft but carrying a weight that hung in the air like a distant storm. "The child born of that union was neither fully god nor fully human, and because of it, both sides turned against her. The gods, in their disdain, cast her aside. The humans, in their fear, rejected her. But she was neither weak nor broken. Instead, her heart was filled with rage, and she swore vengeance on both gods and mortals alike. She sought to destroy everything—the gods' creations, the very world that had rejected her."

Margit’s eyes sparkled. "The Witch of the End!" he blurted out, already knowing where the tale would lead.

A sudden chill swept through the room. It was as if the very air had thickened, a whisper of something older, something darker stirring in the corners of the room. The wind howled outside, sending a gust through the open window.

“The Witch of the End,” Mary whispered, her voice trembling as a cold shiver ran down her spine. The story had touched something deeper, something primal within her.

The mother’s smile softened, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something more. "Yes, but she is long gone, child. After a reign of terror, the gods created a weapon—a living, breathing force to stop her. Thalassara Nerezia, the goddess of the sea and death, gave her life to form the Divine Beast of Hunger—a creature born with no soul, only an insatiable thirst for destruction."

Margit leaned forward, eager. “And what happened to the beast?”

Her voice grew quieter, her words heavy with sorrow. "It is said that just before the witch was consumed by the beast, she cast one final curse upon the world, vanishing in a pool of poisoned water—a land cursed by her presence. And though the gods intervened, the beast was never truly seen again."

The room fell still. The fire crackled, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer, darker. The mother closed the book with a soft thud, as if sealing away something too dangerous to linger in the light.

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“Sleep well, my sweet critters,” she whispered, smoothing the blankets around them. She kissed their foreheads gently, her gaze lingering for just a moment before she stood.

But as she reached for the door, Mary’s voice cut through the stillness. “Mother… some people at the market said the Witch might return… is that true?”

The mother hesitated at the door, a tightness in her chest. She turned back to them, forcing a smile, though her eyes were full of something unspoken. “No, darling. The gods won’t allow it. Even if she does return, the Divine Beast of Hunger will be there to stop her. And the hero Daniel Wolfblood will defend us, just as he always has.”

Mary seemed comforted by the words, her face softening as she settled into her pillow.

“Good night, my loves,” the mother whispered, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. The candlelight flickered one last time before snuffing out, leaving the room bathed in cold moonlight.

But even as the twins drifted off to sleep, the air outside seemed to grow heavier, darker. Something was coming.

Downstairs, the mother walked into a dimly lit study, where her husband sat hunched over a pile of reports, his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Why are you still up?" she asked gently, though her heart hammered in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Merra,” he replied, his voice thick with fatigue. “New reports came in from the front. I need to process them before tomorrow.”

Her pulse quickened. “Are they getting close?” she asked, her voice low, almost too fearful to speak.

Her husband’s eyes flickered briefly, but he forced a smile. “I can’t say. But everything will be alright. I promise.”

Merra stared at him for a moment, concern etched deep on her face. She nodded, trying to find comfort in his words, but a creeping unease still coiled in her gut. “Alright. Call for me if you need anything.”

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, and his eyes distant, as if he was looking through her and into something beyond.

Merra turned to leave, but paused at the door, looking back at him one last time. Her heart felt like it might burst from her chest. “I love you, too,” she murmured, before stepping out.

The wind howled louder outside, a warning in the cold gusts that rattled the windows.

And far beyond the town’s walls, in the shadow of the mountains, something ancient stirred. Something waiting.

At the Town's Walls

Two guards stood in the cold night, staring out over the darkened expanse beyond the town. Orlo, young and eager, shifted nervously, his eyes flickering toward the horizon.

“I hope my cousin’s alright out there,” Orlo muttered, his voice tight with worry. “I know he’s tough… but I can’t shake this feeling something’s wrong.”

Dango, an older man with a lifetime of battle scars, gave a low chuckle. “Worrying won’t help anyone, Orlo. We’ve got our duties. Protect what’s here, what we can reach. That’s all we can do now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Orlo chuckled weakly. “He promised me he'd come back a hero, though. That guy’s so full of himself, ha!” But the nervous laughter died in his throat as something caught his eye.

A faint, pulsing red glow appeared on the horizon, rising from the shadow of the mountains. It was not a natural light. It burned with a strange, malignant aura, its presence filling the air with a suffocating pressure. The color seemed to warp the very night around it.

Orlo froze, his heart skipping a beat. “What in the gods' name is that?” His voice shook.

Dango’s eyes widened in horror, his weathered face paling. “No… no, that can’t be right…”

He reached for the horn at his waist, his hands trembling, and blew with all his might. The horn echoed across the town, its deep sound reverberating through the air. The other guards along the walls followed suit, each one adding their own call until the entire town was alive with the warning sound.

“What’s happening?” Orlo gasped, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I don’t know,” Dango replied, his voice low and grim, “but in my years of service, I know when something is wrong. And that… that is a threat.”

Minutes passed, but it felt like an eternity. The glow grew brighter, closer—its light tearing through the night like a rift in the very fabric of reality. The town braced itself, but none could prepare for what was to come.

Then, the light vanished. The air grew still. It was a silence that crushed the soul.

And then—

Boom.

With a blinding light a shockwave exploded against the walls, shaking the very earth. The force was beyond anything they had ever felt—an unstoppable, unimaginable surge of energy. The ground beneath them cracked, stones crumbled, and the town itself seemed to shudder in terror. Many of the guards near the wall were sent flying out from the explosion spreading their blood and flesh through the air.

Screams of men and women filled the air spreading the terror, when the dust finally began to settle, the guards staggered to their feet, disoriented, their senses still reeling. And then they saw it.

A monstrous figure, its presence so overwhelming that even the night seemed to recoil in fear. Towering over the wall, an entity of impossible size and darkness, its form shifting and writhing like something born of nightmare.