> "Death was not my end. It was merely my beginning."
— Raezion Phaelory, Crown Prince of Thaloria
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The battlefield was silent.
Not the silence of peace—but the still, dreadful hush that follows a massacre. A field once alive with war cries and the clangor of steel now lay choked in smoke, ash, and broken bodies. In the center of it all stood a man, cloaked in blood and glory, his sword buried to the hilt in the earth.
He was the greatest swordsman the world had ever known.
Even in death, he did not fall.
His body remained upright, held not by life but by sheer will. Around him were the corpses of kings, monsters, and gods—beings that had ruled with tyranny and terror. He had ended them all.
And yet, he had failed.
He had failed to save the ones who mattered. He had failed to find peace. The world he fought for had already turned to ruin.
"…So this is it," he whispered, as the light in his eyes began to fade. "A sword with no scabbard. A man with no tomorrow."
The clouds above churned violently, the wind carrying whispers—unnatural, divine, curious. Then, from the sky itself, descended a presence. Not light. Not shadow. Something beyond comprehension. A figure formed from swirling paradoxes and divine patterns.
A god.
But not one he knew.
The swordsman's cracked lips moved. "Come to take my soul?"
The god chuckled—not with cruelty, but with amusement, as though watching a child draw pictures on the walls of fate.
> "No," the god said. "I've come to offer you a new story. One not written in blood… but forged in fate."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Another war?"
> "A different world. A different birth. One mission. In return… one life."
The swordsman gave no answer for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pulled his sword from the earth. Not to fight—but to offer it forward.
"If I must rise again… then let it be as the blade that ends the need for blades."
The god nodded. "Then I shall name your new weapon Aeon Severance. And you… shall be born as the Crown Prince of Thaloria."
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And so, the swordsman died… and was born again.
---
In a land far from that battlefield, beneath silver trees and starlit skies, the Kingdom of Thaloria rejoiced.
A prince was born.
The first son to the elven King Aelorys Phaelory and Queen Lyxaria Xaerylis. A child unlike any seen before in the royal line. Crimson hair like burning banners of war. Eyes—catlike, deep violet—piercing through veil and truth.
They named him Raezion.
A name that meant "blade of dawn" in the Old Tongue.
The midwives whispered he did not cry. That he looked at the world not with the wonder of a child—but with the judgment of a man who had seen it all.
Dragons stirred in the skies that day. Magic rippled across the world's veins. Prophets wept in their sleep.
And deep in the forests of time and fate… the god watched.
> "The end has come before the awakening," he murmured.
"Now let the world remember what it means… to be severed."
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Thus begins the legend of Raezion Phaelory… the man reborn with the blade that severs gods.