The sky was no longer blue. It had been swallowed by a shroud of pitch darkness, not the natural gloom of night, but a sickly pallor woven from the threads of smoke rising from countless fires and ominous clouds laden with ash and catastrophe. The air was heavy, thick with the bitter stench of burning and the desperate cries whose echoes tore through the valleys and hills. The world, as countless generations had known it, teetered on the brink of the abyss, breathing its last under the weight of an invasion unlike any before.
In the heart of this blazing inferno, the Giravia Empire, the pride of civilization and a beacon of power for centuries, was crumbling. It wasn't collapsing under the might of an enemy army or a prolonged siege, but by a nightmare made manifest. A colossal entity, like a shadow solidified into horrifying reality, a titanic demon whose stature towered over the tallest spires of the formidable citadel. It was not merely a rampaging beast, but the embodiment of systematic destruction. From its single eye socket, glowing the color of boiling blood, erupted a beam of crimson light – not an ordinary ray, but pure energy of annihilation, tearing through the thick stone ramparts as if they were brittle paper. A deafening sound was heard, not an explosion, but the sound of reality itself ripping apart, and the legendary citadel, the beating heart of the empire, split into two discordant halves, its stones cascading down like sorrowful tears over its inevitable fate.
Beneath that sky of misery, the demon was not alone. Swarms of dragons, like shards of living darkness, descended upon what remained of the city. Their fiery breath lit the gloom with grim orange flashes, consuming wooden houses and turning streets into open furnaces. The empire's soldiers, who had sworn to defend their land unto death, found themselves facing a horror beyond their wildest nightmares. Their ranks broke, scattering like autumn leaves in the wind, their gleaming armor now a burden, their swords useless against the brute force of enraged nature and demonic entities. Intermittent screams were heard, then sudden silence, evidence of more and more falling prey to claw, fang, and flame. The fate of the King, Zayron, was sealed the moment the citadel split; crushed beneath tons of falling stone, leaving the empire a headless body facing the storm.
Amidst this absolute chaos, where screams of pain and terror mingled with the hiss of flames and the roar of dragon wings, a different sound arose. A pealing laugh, sharp and cruel, yet tinged with a strange, deep sorrow. It was the Dragon Queen, in her majestic form, standing upon a crumbling rampart, her golden eyes gleaming with unexpected tears. "Long... long have I waited!" her words echoed across the horrific battlefield. "This moment... I have awaited it with impatience! Today... today I avenge her death... the death of my friend!" It was not merely a threat, but a declaration of an ancient vengeance, of a wound that had bled for a hundred years and had finally found its outlet in this utter devastation.
But even in the darkest hour, the world was not left to face its fate alone. As if the earth itself responded to this flagrant violation, older, deeper powers began to emerge. From the heart of the ash-laden sky, Rafix, the legendary Phoenix, manifested. Not just a bird, but a living flame the size of a mountain, its plumage blazing with the colors of a dying sun. Upon its appearance, a wave of warmth and pure fiery energy emanated, pushing the darkness back slightly, reminding all why it was called the "Symbol of Fire."
And from the expanse of the distant oceans, whose waters had begun to boil from the ambient heat, rose Nitris, the majestic Water Dragon. Its scales shimmered like thousands of plates of lapis lazuli and liquid silver, its aura carrying the scent of the abyssal depths and the power of the tides. Not violent like fire, but the embodiment of the immense, calm power of water, guardian of the seas and the "Symbol of Water."
Then, from the frozen north, or perhaps from the heart of winter itself, Gilafin, the primordial Ice Behemoth, took form. Not a creature in the traditional sense, but an incarnation of bitter cold and absolute solidity. A giant of pure, glittering ice, each step leaving creeping frost upon the scorched earth, its movement sounding like cracking glaciers. Its power was primal, overwhelming, capable of freezing flame and shattering rock – it was the "Symbol of Ice."
Finally, from the solid earth's depths, ascended Iraghon, the Guardian of Metal. It possessed no wings, but a body that seemed sculpted from an impossible fusion of meteorites and rare terrestrial metals, gleaming with a dull, hard luster. It took a massive humanoid form, but its weight and aura suggested the mass of a mountain of raw iron. It moved not swiftly, but with unshakeable steadiness, each step resonating through the ground like the blows of a giant hammer. It represented the world's resilience, its ability to endure and be shaped under pressure – it was the "Symbol of Metal."
These four entities, symbols of the world's fundamental elements and powers, gathered in confrontation with the dark demon. It was not a move to immediate battle, but a majestic pause amidst the devastation. They formed a semicircle around the demonic entity, which seemed, for a moment, to shrink under the weight of their combined presence. Strangely, their gazes held no anger or threat, but something deeper, more unsettling: profound pity.
They hemmed in the demon, not with weapons or energy, but with their heavy presence. And they began to speak, not in a single voice, but in a strange harmony, each completing the other's sentence as if they were one mind thinking, one heart feeling. Their words were calm, almost sorrowful, piercing the remaining din of battle. They spoke to the demon, not as a monster to be destroyed, but as a tragic mistake to be understood.
"You have overstepped..." began Rafix, her voice like whispering flames.
"...and violated the balance..." continued Nitris, her voice like the flow of deep water.
"...driven by the greed of others..." added Gilafin, his voice like cracking ice.
"...But this path..." finished Iraghon, his voice like the tolling of heavy metal, "...cannot continue."
And in that moment, under the pitying gaze of the primordial beings, something even stranger occurred. The titanic demon, with its twisted horns and baleful red eye, trembled. From its glowing eye socket, no further beam erupted, but instead rolled a large drop, hot as lava, leaving a glistening trail on its distorted cheek. It was crying.
And here, in the heart of the devastation, among the ruins of a great empire, and beneath the gaze of the world's ancient guardians, the most painful and shocking truth was revealed. This demonic entity that had rent the citadel and annihilated the nobility, this vessel of rage and vengeance... was no eternal demon. Only moments before this horrific transformation, it had been merely a child. A boy of fifteen, robbed of his life and family, manipulated by dark forces to become an instrument of greater ruin.
How could a child become the embodiment of such terror? What had happened in the preceding few days to lead events to this catastrophic turn?
The answer lies in turning back time slightly, just two days prior, when the seeds of this tragedy were being sown in the soil of greed and fear...