In a village very, very far from the five kingdoms where you now find yourselves, lived the lucuma people—a noble and resilient community in a place called Lucumenios. It was a corner of the world where tranquility seemed woven with threads of gold, and daily work became an act of communal harmony.
Under the principle of equity, everything was shared equally: each citizen received the same, no more, no less. There were no excessive luxuries or unjust shortages; everything was distributed with wisdom and fairness. The fields flourished under the sun, rivers sang as they wound through fertile lands, and the laughter of children echoed like music in the cobblestone streets.
These were serene and prosperous days, where harmony seemed to be the natural law of life. Each dawn brought the promise of a new beginning, and each sunset painted the sky with warm hues that seemed to embrace the entire village. In Lucumenios, there were no shadows of fear or claws of unchecked ambition. It was a place where peace wasn't a distant dream but a tangible reality that everyone cherished with care.
My father, an imposing and respected man, was the leader of our army. His presence inspired security and justice; he always taught us to protect the defenseless and maintain order in our community. He was a hero in every sense, a fundamental pillar of our society. He would often say: "Not all is lost. There is always a tomorrow. Value your life, because as long as you live, there will always be hope."
For a long time, we lacked nothing. We lived in what many would consider a utopia… until fate decided to change everything.
One day, without warning, something shifted. The resources that once seemed inexhaustible began to dwindle. The rivers that nourished our fields dried up, leaving our lands barren and our people hungry. The water, which once flowed generously and crystal clear, became a distant memory, as if life itself had abandoned us.
My father, ever protective and determined, could not stand idly by while his people suffered. He investigated the problem with the urgency of someone who knows every second counts. What he discovered was devastating: a vast number of soldiers, an organized and relentless army, had surrounded our village. They had seized control of our water sources, slowly suffocating us, like an invisible claw squeezing the breath out of us.
They were the Red Shadows, a name that soon became synonymous with terror. They were not mere invaders; they seemed like a supernatural force—merciless and calculating. Their presence threatened not only our survival but also our identity as a people. With each passing day, we watched our utopia crumble before our eyes, replaced by fear and despair.
The tranquility that once defined Lucumenios now felt like a distant echo, supplanted by the oppressive silence of a village on the brink of collapse.
Determined to protect his people, my father led the first attack against the Red Shadows. With the strength of a lion defending its pride, he faced his enemies without hesitation. He managed to repel their forces and sow chaos among their ranks, causing them significant trouble. For a brief moment, it seemed that victory was on our side. Hope was rekindled in the hearts of our people, like a small flame struggling not to be extinguished.
However, that flame was cruelly snuffed out. Not long after, Tejod appeared in person. His presence was overwhelming, as if darkness itself had taken human form. With dark and devastating magic, he confronted my father. Despite his bravery and skill, my father could not withstand the overwhelming power of that malevolent being.
In front of all my people, Tejod committed an unimaginable act of cruelty. With a simple gesture of his hand, he turned my father into red jade, transforming his body into a fragile statue of precious stone. Then, with a demonic laugh that still echoes in my nightmares, he began to shatter him piece by piece. Each fragment that fell to the ground was like a direct blow to our hearts, a brutal reminder of our helplessness.
The worst part wasn't just watching him reduce my father to nothing—it was hearing his laughter twist through the air as he did it. It was as if he reveled in my father's suffering, as if he wanted to prove that no one could oppose him without paying a terrible price.
Each piece he shattered was an echo of death, a clear declaration of his absolute power. And we, paralyzed by horror, could only watch as the hero who had protected us for so long was torn apart before our eyes.
It was then that my world collapsed. I had to witness with my own eyes how my hero, my protector, was mercilessly annihilated. I wanted to run toward him, to attack that monster with my bare hands, but my brother stopped me. He held me firmly and said, "You'll have your moment… but not now." He knew I was blinded by anger and grief, so, with no other choice, he knocked me out and carried me away from the scene before it was too late.
My brother, a young warrior as agile and rugged as my father, made the decision to flee along with my mother and some survivors. Tejod had launched a massive retaliation against our village, reducing it to ashes and establishing an outpost amidst the ruins of our home. From there, he used the remaining resources to supply his troops and perform dark rituals that only increased his power.
The survivors, loyal to my father's memory, swore vengeance. Under my brother's leadership, we began planning how to defeat Tejod and reclaim what had been taken from us.
At the age of seven, my brother began training me alongside my mother. Hidden in the shadows, far from Tejod's radar, we learned to fight, to survive, and to channel our anger into every strike. The training was brutal and relentless. There was no room for weakness or rest; each day was a physical and mental trial that seemed never-ending.
The thirst for vengeance kept me standing when my legs trembled and my arms could barely hold a sword. It burned within me like a fire, consuming everything else: fear, sadness, and even compassion. With every blow I struck, I felt my rage sharpening like a blade, transforming me into something different, something harder.
Over time, I grew stronger, faster, and more lethal. My body responded without hesitation, as if it were a machine built for war. But while my exterior hardened, my heart remained a burden I couldn't leave behind. The image of that fateful night—the moment I watched my father die before my eyes—was seared into my memory. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Tejod's demonic laughter and saw the fragments of red jade fall to the ground.
I believed I was invincible, that nothing could stop me. But that certainty was only a mask. Beneath the surface, I knew I would never be strong enough to erase what I had lost. And though my body was capable of facing any enemy, my heart still carried the weight of those moments I could never reclaim.
I believed I was invincible, that nothing could stop me. But that certainty was only a mask. Beneath the surface, I knew I would never be strong enough to erase what I had lost. And though my body was capable of facing any enemy, my heart still carried the weight of those moments… unaware that the worst was yet to come.