About more than 100,000 years ago lived two Gods who ruled the world.
The God of Light.
And the God of Darkness.
Both of them being the complete opposite but lived like any other, moreover they both had their own ways of doing things.
The God of Light created the land of Caelora and ruled it with honour.
While the God of Darkness created the land of darkness and named it Nazereth.
But one day, the two Gods had a huge disagreement.
While the God of Darkness wanted to test humanity's worth through suffering, struggle, and chaos, believing only through pain could true strength and identity be forged, the God of Light wished to guide humanity with wisdom, peace, and order, believing enlightenment came from harmony, not hardship.
Their philosophies clashed—creation turned into division, and division into war.
In his fury, the God of Darkness poured nearly all of his divine essence into creating a forbidden force: a cursed flame of destruction and rebirth known as Erevas.
Its creation tore open the very fabric of the world. A rift, now known as the Maw of Nazereth, split the lands apart—an endless abyss from which emerged beings not born of earth or sky.
They were not beasts, but creatures shaped like men—tall, powerful, and horrifyingly intelligent. With strength no mortal could match and souls darkened by divine malice, they became known as the Vey'Zareth, the Children of the End.
The God of Darkness faded in that moment, consumed by Erevas, his form lost to shadow.
The God of Light, heartbroken but resolute, refused to let hatred guide his hand. He descended upon the world not to destroy, but to protect. He tried to seal Erevas, to close the rift and halt the spreading corruption—but the Voidflame had already grown beyond his power.
So instead, he gave what little remained of his strength to mankind.
He scattered fragments of his divinity across the mortal realm—not to kings or warriors, but to those whose spirits still shone amid the darkness. These chosen individuals, once ordinary, awakened to their true selves. The divine within them ignited, and they became the first Heroes.
Each one bore powers beyond imagination—miracles of light, strength, and will. They stood against the Vey'Zareth and the spreading taint of Erevas. Where others fell, they endured. Where nations crumbled, they raised banners of hope.
"Granny, who was right then?" the child asked, eyes wide with wonder, legs curled beneath him as he sat before the old hearth. The flames flickered, casting shadows that danced like the stories swirling in his mind.
The old woman looked up from the story book to look at him with soft, tired eyes, then slowly placed a withered hand atop his tousled hair.
"The God of Light, or the God of Darkness?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled—not with joy, but with something deeper. Memory. Burden. Wisdom.
"I wouldn't say the God of Darkness was wrong, little one," she said gently. "Because... humans do grow through hardship. When the sun shines every day, we forget to look up. When the wind never howls, we forget the need to shelter one another."
The child tilted his head. "So... he did the right thing?"
Her smile faded, and her eyes darkened, trembling as if recalling a distant sorrow.
"No."
He blinked.
"No one is right when they force others to suffer. Growth earned is strength. Growth stolen leaves only scars."
"Then... was Erevas sealed by the heroes?" The child's voice was filled with curiosity.
She paused, her gaze drifting to the darkened sky beyond the window.
"It was never truly sealed," she whispered. "Only hidden… buried deep in shadows, waiting for the moment to awaken again."
The land of Nazereth was a place even the bravest feared to cross. None knew what the Vey'Zareth were scheming in the abyss.
"But don't worry, child," she said, squeezing his hair softly. "Heroes will always rise to protect the world. New heroes—born in the darkest hours, who carry the light in their hearts."
The child's eyes sparkled brighter than the hearth's flames.
"Will I be a hero too, someday?"
She smiled again, warmer this time, the weight of years lifting just a little.
"Perhaps," she said, voice soft but certain. "But remember, being a hero isn't about grand deeds or shining armor. It's about standing tall when the world trembles, choosing kindness when darkness calls, and fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves."
The child nodded solemnly.
"Then I will be brave."
She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Then, maybe… you already are."
"Now it's time to go to bed, little one."
Outside, the wind stirred, carrying a faint crimson glow from the depths of the Maw of Nazereth—a signal that the shadow of Erevas was stirring once more.