Prologue

The final blow was struck. The head of the demon king's general lay rolling on the barren ground, bleeding black ichor from the stump that was once its neck.The deformed, black armor clad body sprawled broken on the fields of battle, yet it was not an easy feat.

The man who struck the demon down, Ranvarius, lover of the angel Sophriel, The dragon's chosen and The king of blades, knelt in exhaustion.

He clutched at his stomach, where a wound oozing lethal amounts of blood pained him. "A mortal blow, what a blunder!"  He chided himself while laughing ironically.

The man layed down slowly, giving up on trying to slow the bleeding from his grievous wound and sighed. He turned his gaze to the sword planted into the ground beside him, a magnificent long sword, Bloodied yet still able to gleam softly even in the darkness.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Ranvarius smiled at the sword that served him through many trials and tribulations over the course of his life and thanked it silently from the bottom of his heart.

A strange coldness started to take grip on him, making him shiver softly. Knowing full well that his time was nearly up, he looked up towards the sky one last time, a sky filled with darkness and death, a sky where no one could live free and happily.

The man silently cursed his luck and whispered the only regret he harbored in his heart, the one thing he wished for the most but never received "Sophie...." .

He slowly losed his eyes as the cold started to envelop his whole body, though the last second before his eyes closed, glimmers of light started to pierce through the sunless and deathly sky.

As the soft and soothing warmth of the trickling light touched his face, he smiled. The age of darkness and death was finally over, and he nearly felt at peace.

In the end, he believed his sacrifice was worth it, after all, he devoted his life to this very pursuit, he gave everything he had until he was utterly spent, he never stopped until his body was battered and broken. He has lived for this very moment, a moment where peace can finally reign and his people freed.

Yet, why did he feel so empty?