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The grand temple of Lunaria stood beneath the silver glow of the moon, its towering spires reflecting the divine radiance. Inside, the sacred chamber was silent, save for the flickering light of ethereal blue flames dancing upon golden braziers. Kneeling before the altar, Princess Eliza Valkyria clasped her hands together, her long silver hair cascading like moonlight over her ceremonial robes. She had prayed for nights unending, yet the gods had remained silent.
Until now.
A sudden, overwhelming presence filled the chamber, and the flames flared high. A voice, serene yet filled with urgency, echoed within Eliza's mind. The presence was unmistakable—the Goddess of Lunaria.
"Eliza, my chosen one… darkness has bound us. We are imprisoned by the goddess of Aetheria. The balance of this world is on the brink of collapse."
Eliza gasped, her heart pounding. She had feared the gods' absence was a sign of calamity, but to hear that they were captured—this was beyond even her worst nightmares.
"You must perform the Hero Calling Ritual," the goddess continued. "Summon the heroes of the seven kingdoms. Only they can stand against the coming catastrophe."
Before Eliza could respond, the divine presence faded, leaving her breathless. She rose to her feet, determination hardening in her sapphire eyes. There was no time to waste.
---
The following night, under the watchful gaze of the twin moons, the temple's grand hall was prepared for the ritual. High Priests and Priestesses gathered, chanting hymns in the ancient tongue. A vast magic circle, inscribed with celestial runes, glowed at the temple's heart. Six pedestals encircled it, each bearing the sigil of the six known kingdoms—Lunaria, Lemuria, Wisteria, Haderia, Spheria, and Voteria. The seventh pedestal, representing the lost kingdom Aetheria, remained broken and crumbled, untouched for centuries.
Eliza stepped forward, lifting the sacred staff of Lunaria. The chamber trembled as magic pulsed through the air. Her voice rang out, steady and resolute.
"Oh great heroes of the seven kingdoms! By the will of the divine and the blood of the Valkyria line, I call upon thee! Heed my summons and rise to save this forsaken land!"
The magic circle flared, columns of light shooting into the heavens. The air crackled with energy, and for a brief moment, hope surged in Eliza's chest.
Then, the light wavered. The summoning faltered.
Instead of warriors, six radiant objects materialized above the pedestals. They gleamed with divine power—swords, staves, and weapons of legend. The sacred relics of the six fallen heroes.
Eliza's breath caught. The heroes were not summoned.
The voice of the Goddess of Lunaria echoed once more, gentle yet heavy with sorrow. "Eliza, the heroes are no more… they have fallen. That is why you could not complete the ritual. My power is diminished… I am bound, unable to fully manifest my will. Your strength alone is not enough, my priestess."
Eliza clenched her fists, frustration welling within her. Had she failed? No—this was only the beginning.
The weapons trembled in the air, as if sensing their fate. Then, in a flash of divine light, they shot skyward, soaring out of the temple's open ceiling and scattering in different directions across the continent.
Eliza watched, heart pounding, as the sacred weapons sought their new wielders. The former heroes had perished at the hands of the forsaken hero of Aetheria. The weapons would now find those worthy to take up their legacy.
The heroes had not been summoned, but their journey had begun.
---
Far to the south of Lunaria, where the golden fields stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun, a boy named Euclid Belmont tended to his father's herd. The wind carried the soft rustling of wheat, and the occasional bleating of sheep filled the air. It was a peaceful life, simple and undisturbed by the troubles of the kingdoms beyond.
But that peace shattered in an instant.
A brilliant flash streaked across the sky, like a falling star, before plummeting into the earth just a short distance from where Jibriel stood. The ground trembled with the impact, and a wave of heat washed over him. The sheep scattered in alarm, but Euclid's wide eyes remained fixed on the smoking crater.
Cautiously, he stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. As the dust settled, something gleamed within the impact site—a weapon unlike anything he had ever seen.
A sword.
Its silver blade shimmered, reflecting the afternoon light with an almost ethereal glow. The hilt was adorned with lunar engravings, and a faint hum of energy radiated from it. Euclid swallowed hard. Something about the sword called to him, a whisper at the edge of his consciousness.
Drawn by an unseen force, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, a surge of power enveloped him. Light erupted from the blade, encircling him in a radiant glow. Euclid gasped as the air around him shifted, and a figure materialized before him.
A man clad in ornate silver armor stood tall, his presence commanding yet calm. His eyes, filled with wisdom and sorrow, locked onto Jibriel's. The boy felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity, though he had never seen this man before.
"Who… are you?" Euclid whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling energy.
The armored warrior studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"I am the one who once wielded the Moonblade," he said. "And now… it chooses you."
Euclid looked down at the sword in his hand, his breath catching in his throat. Before his eyes, the blade shimmered and began to change. Its once slender and elegant form widened, shifting into a heavier greatsword. Then, as if reacting again, it shrank back into a sleek, curved blade.
"What's happening to it?" Euclid asked, eyes wide in disbelief.
The warrior chuckled softly. "The Moonblade is unlike ordinary weapons. It is bound not by steel, but by the heart of its wielder." He stepped closer, his gaze serious. "It responds to your will, your emotions… your very soul. However, mastering it will not be easy."
Euclid tightened his grip on the sword, feeling its weight settle into his hand. It no longer felt foreign. It felt like… his.
The warrior's expression softened. "You have been chosen, Euclid Belmont. The path ahead will not be easy, but fate has placed this burden upon you. The question is—will you accept it?"
Euclid exhaled slowly, the wind carrying away the last remnants of his hesitation. He looked up at the warrior and nodded.
"I will."
The journey of the new heroes had begun.