For centuries the mystical world of Aquera has been showered in the cries of war destined for inevitable desperation.
Everything was how WE designed - pulling each string of trial and tribulation given by our birth.
Weak, though adaptable, humans run rampant throughout the land pursuing the treasures of greed while the Iron King sits on a glass throne.
Tucked under a canopy of trees, Sluaghdyr cower in fear of cold iron bracelets. Forever the prey of inescapable circumstance.
Dökkálfar and Ljósálfar forever fighting one another. Just as the knife-eared sisters of Order and Chaos had done eons before in the fields of Haestrearim.
Seraphim and Dämon bargain in contracts with unfortunate souls foolish enough to sign without knowing the TRUE price.
Man-made Gods reap the prayers and offerings that WE held dear.
It was all inevitable to say the least, the countless webs I've sewn into tapestries of immense beauty could not prepare for OUR fated demise.
Though, that is not the strand I wish to record...
No, our story begins in the town of Siegfried as a lone figure clad in a troubled past stalks through its streets…