A king, A stone and A child

There was a time when the world of Pyrell knew no division.

Before kingdoms rose.
Before hatred took root.
Before one race began hunting another.

There was only one ruler.

Ethorun.

A name that refused to belong to a single truth.

In the deep emerald forests of Flousoma, elders whispered beneath ancient trees,

“He was one of us… the one who spoke with the forest itself.”

Within the burning lands of Ragnarok, where ash fell like snow and lava carved rivers through the earth,

“No… he possessed a core. A power only demons carry.”

High above the skies, across the radiant expanse of Crystal Isle, where floating lands shimmered with refracted light,

“He flew without wings. He commanded the wind. He was dragon.”

And in the iron-walled empire of Kryraxes,

“He united the world. He was human.”

Four races.

Four beliefs.

One contradiction.

Hidden manuscripts—protected, sealed, and passed down through generations—told the same truth:

He could fly.
He could command nature.
He possessed a mana core.
And his mind… was beyond comprehension.

No single race held all these traits.

Yet all claimed him.

And so—

Unity became myth.

And division became reality.

The year was 409 AE.

And on that day…

The world quietly began to change.

Deep within a jagged mountain range at the borders of Kryraxes, a royal expedition moved through a narrow cave.

The air was damp. Cold. Heavy.

Torchlight flickered against rough stone, shadows stretching and twisting like living things.

At the front walked a man whose very presence demanded silence.

King Aldric Hardstone VI.

Tall and broad-shouldered, clad in dark steel armor lined with gold, a crimson cape trailing behind him. His black hair was slicked back neatly, his sharp amber eyes steady and calculating. A trimmed beard framed his hardened expression.

Even in darkness—

He looked like a king.

Behind him marched soldiers in formation.

One of them, a seasoned man with a scar across his nose, stepped forward slightly.

Captain Virel Stone.

“Your Majesty… these caves were marked by elven scouts. They avoided this place.”

Aldric didn’t stop walking.

“Elves avoid many things they do not understand, Captain.”

A quieter, more nervous voice followed.

A thin man clutched a leather journal tightly.

Eldrin Voss. Royal Researcher.

“T-There are records, Your Majesty… of a substance. It emits mana… but behaves irregularly.”

Aldric slowed.

“Irregular?”

Eldrin hesitated.

“It does not flow like natural mana. It… disrupts it.”

Before Aldric could respond—

A voice echoed from ahead.

“Light! Your Majesty, there’s something ahead!”

The group advanced.

And then—

They saw it.

The cave widened into a chamber… and within its walls, veins of glowing stone pulsed faintly.

Yellow.

Orange.

Like molten light trapped beneath the surface.

It didn’t flicker like fire.

It pulsed.

It breathed.

The air itself hummed.

“…What is this…?” a soldier whispered.

Eldrin stepped forward, trembling.

“This… this is unlike anything recorded…”

Aldric approached.

The glow reflected in his amber eyes.

For the first time—

He paused.

Then—

He reached out.

“Your Majesty—!” Virel warned.

Too late.

His hand touched the stone.

Silence.

A heartbeat.

Then—

Something changed.

His body stiffened.

Not in pain.

In awakening.

His breath deepened.

Mana surged around him—denser, sharper, controlled.

His fingers curled into a fist.

Power responded.

Obedient.

A grin slowly formed across his face.

Then—

He laughed.

Loud.

Unrestrained.

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

The cave trembled with his voice.

The soldiers stepped back instinctively.

Eldrin’s hands shook.

Aldric turned, holding a fragment of the glowing stone.

His eyes burned.

“The elves called this poison?”

Mana crackled around his hand.

“This… is power.”

No one spoke.

Because in that moment—

They all understood.

Something had changed.

That same night—

In a distant world far removed from Pyrell—

A young man sat in a dimly lit room.

Empty cans scattered across his desk.

A headset covered his ears as flashing lights reflected across his tired eyes.

“Come on… just one more win…”

His fingers moved rapidly.

Focused. Precise.

Then—

Defeat!

“…ah, damn it.”

He leaned back, exhaling.

He picked up an empty can.

Shook it.

Nothing.

“…seriously?”

With a sigh, he grabbed his hoodie and stepped outside.

The city buzzed with life.

Lights. Cars. Noise.

He stepped onto the road—

Careless.

A horn blared.

Loud.

Too close.

He turned.

Blinding headlights filled his vision.

“…oh.”

And then—

Everything went white.

Back in Kryraxes—

Within the royal medical wing, tension filled the air.

“Push! Just a little more!”

Servants rushed. Water spilled. Cloth stained.

On the bed, a woman gripped tightly onto silk sheets, her breath uneven.

Lady Seraphine Marvos.

Her long silver hair clung to her face, her expression strained with pain.

Beside her, a healer spoke urgently.

“Steady! The child is almost here!”

The doors opened.

Heavy footsteps followed.

A man entered.

Tall. Muscular. Unshakable.

Lord Draxx Marvos.

Supreme Commander of the Royal Army.

His dark armor bore marks of recent training. His black hair was tied loosely behind, and his piercing grey eyes scanned the room instantly.

“Status.”

The healer bowed.

“My Lord, the child will be born any moment.”

Draxx stepped forward.

For a moment—

The commander disappeared.

And a husband remained.

“Seraphine… hold.”

She glared weakly.

“You better… not miss this…”

A faint smirk appeared on his face.

Then—

A cry echoed.

The room froze.

The child was lifted.

Wrapped carefully.

But—

No crying followed.

“…Why isn’t he crying?” someone whispered.

Silence.

The healer frowned.

“That’s… unusual…”

Draxx stepped forward.

The child was placed in his arms.

And then—

He saw them.

Emerald eyes.

Clear.

Focused.

Watching.

Not confused.

Not afraid.

Watching.

For a brief moment—

A faint glow flickered within those eyes.

Soft.

Unnatural.

Then—

Gone.

Draxx’s expression shifted slightly.

“…hm.”

Whispers filled the room.

“Those eyes…”

“He’s not crying…”

Draxx turned.

Without hesitation—

He raised the child.

His voice cut through the room.

“From this day forth—”

Silence.

“This child shall bear the name…”

A pause.

A faint smirk.

“Leon Marvos De Houzer.”

The room stirred immediately.

“De Houzer…?”

“Commander… what kind of name is that?”

“Even you don’t carry that name…”

Murmurs spread.

Draxx said nothing.

He simply smirked.

That same moment—

As the child opened his emerald eyes…

Something shifted.

Not in Kryraxes alone.

But across all of Pyrell.

The winds changed.

Subtle at first.

Then—

Violent.

The towering trees of Flousoma trembled, their leaves rustling not with the rhythm of nature… but something deeper.

Something unnatural.

Elven guards stationed along the sacred borders stiffened.

“What… is this wind?”

“It’s not normal…”

“It feels… wrong…”

The air itself seemed to whisper.

No—

Chant.

From the heart of the forest, an old figure stepped forward.

Bent with age, yet carrying a presence that silenced even the winds—

Elder Vaelith.

His long silver-green hair flowed behind him, his eyes half-closed as if listening to something beyond the physical world.

His lips slowly curved.

A faint… knowing smirk.

“A calamity…”

The guards froze.

“The first sign of calamity.”

Murmurs broke out immediately.

“What is he saying…?”

“Calamity…?”

Before fear could spread further—

A voice cut through the tension.

Cold. Commanding. Royal.

“That is enough.”

All heads turned.

Standing upon the elevated roots of an ancient tree—

The ruler of Flousoma.

King Elarion Sylvaris.

Tall and ethereal, his long pale-gold hair flowed like silk, adorned with delicate vine-like ornaments. His armor was not forged, but grown—woven from living bark and luminous leaves. His emerald eyes shone with authority and sharp intelligence.

“Elder Vaelith… do not spread fear among my people.”

The elder did not bow.

He simply tilted his head slightly.

“Fear?”

A soft chuckle escaped him.

Then—

He lifted his gaze toward the trembling canopy.

“Can you not hear it… Your Majesty?”

Silence fell.

The wind howled once more.

Leaves trembled violently.

And beneath it—

A faint, collective whisper.

Alive.

Watching.

Waiting.

The elder’s smile deepened.

“The forest… is chanting.”

Deep within the volcanic dominion of demons—

Where magma pulsed like veins beneath the earth—

A chamber stood guarded.

At its center—

A massive structure.

A towering Mana Glass, filled with dense, swirling energy.

For centuries, it had remained stable.

Unchanging.

Until—

A sharp crack echoed.

Then—

Shatter.

The entire chamber trembled as the colossal glass split cleanly in half.

Mana leaked violently into the air.

Guards staggered back in shock.

“T-The Mana Glass—!”

“It broke?! That’s impossible!”

“This hasn’t happened in centuries!”

Footsteps approached.

Heavy.

Confident.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Young—

Yet radiating overwhelming pressure.

Prince Kael’thar Veydris.

The Demon Prince.

His crimson eyes narrowed as he stared at the shattered structure. Dark markings faintly glowed along his neck, and a subtle heat distorted the air around him.

For a moment—

Even he said nothing.

His gaze sharpened.

“…This isn’t natural.”

The room fell silent.

Because if something could shake even him—

Then something far worse had begun.

Far above the world—

Among floating islands of crystal and light—

Deep within an ancient cavern untouched by time—

A presence stirred.

A massive form rested among luminous crystal formations.

Breathing slowly.

Ancient.

Endless.

A dragon.

One of the oldest.

Aurelion Veythrax.

His body shimmered faintly, scales reflecting fragments of light like a living constellation.

For centuries—

He had not moved.

Not once.

Until now.

One eye slowly opened.

Golden.

Ancient beyond understanding.

Silence filled the cavern.

Then—

A pause.

A thought.

Not fear.

Not concern.

Something else.

Familiarity.

His gaze shifted slightly… as if trying to grasp something just beyond reach.

A presence.

Distant.

Yet…

Known.

Unnameable.

His eye narrowed faintly.

Then slowly—

Closed again.

The cavern returned to silence.

But the feeling remained.

Back within the royal chamber—

The child rested quietly in Draxx’s arms.

Still watching.

Still silent.

Unaware—

Or perhaps…

Already aware.

That day—

Three events took place.

A man on Earth lost his life.

In Pyrell, a king discovered a power that would reshape the world.

And within the heart of Kryraxes—

A boy was born.

A boy who did not cry.

A boy who watched the world…

As if he already understood it.

The world had begun to change.

Quietly.

Inevitably.

And no one—

Not kings, not dragons, not even the forgotten truth of Ethorun—

Could stop what was coming.