A/N: This is my focus right now. But it will take time to release chapters as I am still writing the plot. It will take a while to finish it.
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The Kingdom of Averon is the most powerful and biggest nation in the world, spanning nearly the entire globe. It encompasses two massive continents and more than 60% of the Earth's surface. The final continent is hidden behind a colossal, impenetrable storm, isolating it from the rest of the world for thousands of years.
Founded 8,445 years ago, the city of Averon has long thrived during an era marked by peace, harmony, and understanding among individuals. It has been a shining example of civilization and progress for centuries.
In the last few centuries, however, an insidious spread of corruption has begun to grip the land. Individuals are increasingly aware of rising conflicts, civil strife, and social decline, yet the causes of these are not known to most.
The royal family, however, knows the truth.
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In days of old, in an age now preserved only in illicit writings, the first king of Averon fought against a great and ancient evil: Zor'Khul, a creature born of the darkness, cruelty, and violence of living creatures.
The king did not slay Zor'Khul—he was not able to. So, sealed it with True Chi, where now stood the royal palace of Averon. It was one of Averon's most closely guarded secrets.
The seal lasted for thousands of years.
However, roughly 5 centuries ago, its strength began to fade.
As it leaked through cracks in its captivity, whispers of Zor'Khul could be heard. Sympathetic ears were eventually gained to hear. A cult was formed—its members devoted to freeing the beast. Though initial efforts were fruitless, they grew in power secretly.
A century ago, the cult recruited new followers: disillusioned soldiers, discontented civilians, and desperate individuals who would believe any salvation promise. They spread lies that the royal family possessed a hidden artifact with the power to cure all ailments and that it was being kept inside the royal vault.
Initially, these lies were ridiculed.
But repeated lies can be powerful. Especially for the simple-minded citizens. For decades, Many problems arose in the kingdom due to the cult. Many died, discontent brewed, anger simmered, and confidence in leadership waned.
Thus, many joined the cult in hopes of a better life. But instead, they were brainwashed. Corrupted by the essence of Zor'Khul. When they were ready, war was the result, all in hopes of freeing Zor'Khul.
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In the 555th year of the Imperial calendar, chaos erupted under the palace.
Corrupted civilians, soldiers, and beasts by the dark magic of Zor'Khul fought fiercely against Averon's defenders. Despite their skill, the royal guard were being pushed back. The enemy advanced with one-minded resolve—implacable, unafraid, and driven by some concealed evil.
All across the battlefield, warriors wielded Vis—the lesser form of Chi. Chi itself was vast and transcendent, too profound for any mortal body to bear in its entirety. To use it, warriors learned to use a single aspect strand of it—flame, lightning, stone, or some other property—and trained their lives around mastering it. This refined power was called Vis, and it shaped soldiers into living weapons.
Even though Vis is but an imitation of Chi, its variations are countless—each practitioner shaping it differently. Such was the case with the Royal Archers of Averon, the most elite force in the empire. Though they wielded only a single aspect of Chi, their mastery was devastating, able to bring down foes far stronger than themselves. Yet such power came with a cost: their arrows demanded time to prepare, and once unleashed, could not be used again in quick succession.
To counter this, their weapons were forged from Ether—a rare material of near-mythic origin. Etched with runes of legacy, Ether not only amplified the flow of Vis but tempered its burden, lessening the toll it took upon the wielder. With it, the Royal Archers could turn even the smallest amount of Vis into destruction worthy of legends.
When Vis coursed through the Ether bows, the weapons shifted—glowing, humming, alive as if breathing. Arrows ceased to be mere projectiles; they became conduits of destruction, carrying the full weight of refined power within them.
But their enemies were not so easily felled. Especially the beasts.
Towering, twisted creatures—mutated war-beasts—rampaged across the battlefield. Some wore makeshift armor stitched from corpses and bone. Others had no need; their hides were thick as castle walls. They were strong, relentless. And behind them came the corrupted—humans with dead eyes and lifeless movement, puppets animated by something unseen.
Above the castle wall, the Royal Archers stood motionless. To the untrained eye, they seemed idle. But that was far from the truth.
They stood with eyes closed, breath steady, channeling Vis into their bows—silently preparing to unleash destruction.
A single breath passed.
Then—light split the air.
The first arrow was loosed—glowing blue, streaking across the sky like a falling star. It struck a charging beast. In an instant, lightning surged from the impact point, chaining to a dozen others nearby. The ground erupted in light and smoke as monstrous forms twitched and fell.
Another archer moved. His arrow ignited before leaving the bowstring, spiraling into a cultist formation. The explosion lit up the battlefield—flesh and bone consumed in flame, nothing left but ash.
A third shot curved midair, splitting into dozens of spectral shards—each seeking flesh, each striking with perfect precision.
The tide did not turn.
But it staggered.
Below, trapped soldiers found room to breathe. One warrior, his Ether blade crackling with lightning, surged forward. He sliced through a beast's leg, then took the head in a single, clean motion. The lightning arced again—leaping from foe to foe like a predator unbound.
As the battlefield roared below, the Royal Archers once again fell into stillness. They needed time—precious seconds to gather Vis again, to charge another devastating volley.
During those lulls, it was the regular archers who kept the sky filled, their arrows whistling down like rain.
The Royal Archers were powerful—perhaps the strongest in Averon's ranks—but their strength demanded sacrifice. Time. Focus. Pain.
And they gave it willingly.
Blood beaded from their eyes and lips, drawn by the strain of pushing past their limits. Yet none faltered. None turned away.
For their prince had spoken.
They did not know the full truth. Only fragments.
And those fragments alone were enough.
There was a reason the real story had not been told—because to hear it, to truly understand the force behind this assault, was to be infected. To know it, was to worship it.
Even these scraps of knowledge might have doomed them—if not for the fruit they had eaten.
A rare fruit, harvested only once a century, that granted one immunity to all abnormal influence. Without it, they would have fallen to madness or worse. Join the sides of the fallen.
Only the royal family was somewhat safe, for they wielded a more refined form of Vis—closer to the true essence of Chi itself—which gave them a measure of protection from such corruption without the consumption of the Mythical fruit.
And so, the Royal Archers stood like a reinforced wall between the war and the citizens of Averon.
They fought & bled.
Some even died, but they will not stop.
Not until their breath remained in their bodies. For they would not let Averon fall.