History unfurled eight centuries past, revealing the genesis of a lineage intertwined with destiny. In the ancestral heart of the Roseblade Duchy, amidst its flourishing lands, Duke Jonathan Roseblade, a human, and his dryad wife, Ellen Daphne Roseblade, welcomed twin children into their lives: Matthew Roseblade, a human son, and Helen Phyllis Roseblade, a dryad daughter.
Matthew's fifteenth year marked a pivotal transition. He shed the ambiguity of being 'Colorless' and ascended into the ranks of the 'Coloured', his very essence manifesting as the Orange family lineage, a vibrant hue that perfectly encapsulated his inherent warmth, joyful disposition, cautious approach to life, and remarkably flexible personality.
In a parallel narrative, within the serene, ancient village of Sith, a small, close-knit community of the Yokarion race—known for their distinctive tails—resided. Among them was a boy named Ling. At the tender age of fifteen, Ling experienced his first natural evolution, a profound shift that elevated him to a 'Coloured' being. His spirit aligned with the Green family lineage, a testament to his deeply peaceful and loving character. Yet, the tranquility of this personal revelation was brutally interrupted. Before Ling could even begin to comprehend the depths of his new lineage, catastrophe descended upon Sith.
As the last vestiges of the green aura, signifying Ling's new lineage, began to dissipate around him, a piercing, urgent sound ripped through the serene village of Sith: the warning horn. It blared, signifying an attack. But this was not the familiar, guttural blast that typically heralded the onslaught of monsters—a sound the villagers knew intimately. This horn's note was sharper, more desperate, utterly different, leaving most of the residents puzzled, their faces creased with confusion. Only the elders, and a few battle-hardened warriors who carried the scars of past conflicts, knew its true, chilling meaning. It was an attack, not of monsters, but of people. The horn continued to wail, its highest, most piercing note echoing across the entire village, a stark and terrifying message: what was coming was the size of a small army.
Just as the villagers braced for the onslaught, a small contingent detached from the approaching force, riding forward as messengers. They halted at the village gates, and with a flourish, dropped their cloaking magic, revealing their true forms: Yokarions with prominent ears and tails. More than that, they were Nine-Tailed Yokarions (Nine-Tailed Foxes), beings who had undergone a higher evolution, revered as demigods within their own tradition.
"Rejoice, people of Sith," one of them, a male, declared, his voice laced with mocking amusement. "For we, The Hunters, have deemed this humble village worthy of our sport today." A cold, sharp snicker followed. "We grant you a generous hour to prepare yourselves, our sweet, loving prey." He paused, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Any questions?" A young guard on the wall, fueled by desperate courage, opened his mouth to speak. But before a single syllable could escape, his head was violently severed from his neck, tumbling to the ground. "How dare a disgusting lowlife prey utter a word in my presence?" a female voice snarled, her eyes narrowed in disdain. "Hold back, love," the male interjected, a smirk playing on his lips. "If you slaughter them all now, there'll be no sport left for the hunt." The female merely rolled her eyes. "One more thing," he added, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Fleeing is futile. There is no escape for any of you." Their laughter, cold and triumphant, trailed behind them as they rode away.
The messengers, these terrifying Nine-Tailed Yokarions (Nine-Tailed Foxes), were but a glimpse into a far greater menace. They were part of The Hunters, a notorious criminal organization whose insidious reach stretched across the entire planet, encompassing members from all races. Their philosophy was brutally simple, yet absolute: 'Strength makes Right, and Only the Strong deserve to Live.' This creed fueled their existence. They moved from settlement to settlement, country to country, engaging in their cruel "hunts." The survivors of these brutal culls were not merely spared; they were forcibly taken in, deemed the 'Strong ones' worthy of joining their ranks. The small army now poised to attack Sith, while formidable to the villagers, was nothing more than a mere fraction of the true, overwhelming power that The Hunters possessed.
In stark contrast to the unfolding tragedy, the Roseblade Duchy was a vibrant hub of festivity. Guests from all corners of the territory and kingdom converged upon the ducal castle, their arrival in droves underscoring the importance of the day. This was a cherished occasion for the Duke's family, a celebration of his twins finally reaching adulthood. The highlight, for many, was the official recognition of his son, Matthew, as a newly Coloured being. Joy permeated every hall and courtyard, a stark echo against the silent screams happening miles away. Unbeknownst to those immersed in merriment, on the very edge of the duchy, deep within the Canyan Forest, their Yokarion allies in Sith Village were grappling with a devastating catastrophe.
As the warriors of Sith steeled themselves for battle, the remaining residents were efficiently split into three groups for escape. The first, made up of survival experts, aimed to trek through the Canyan Forest towards the Roseblade Duchy. The second, composed of swift runners, was dispatched to cross the river and seek aid from the Forest of Beasts. The third group, primarily women, children, and the elderly, was directed to a secret, subterranean passageway, a thousand feet deep, also leading to the Roseblade Duchy, with the first group serving as a diversion. Yet, every single escape plan was doomed to fail.
In a horrifying instant, as they followed their designated routes, each group abruptly collided with an invisible, unyielding wall. This was the dark ingenuity and signature tactic of The Hunters. Their customary "preparation" period before a hunt was nothing more than a carefully calculated interval to erect an impenetrable barrier. This formidable construct encompassed the entirety of their chosen hunting ground, delving even a thousand feet beneath the earth, effectively preventing subterranean escape. For Sith, this meant the barrier now stretched from a significant portion of the Canyan Forest to the very border of the Roseblade Duchy, and across to the edge of the Forest of Beasts, caging the village at its heart. This elaborate magical prison not only created a perfect illusion, rendering the area invisible to the outside world, but it systematically cut off all external communication, nullified any form of spatial movement like teleportation, and chillingly, allowed its casters to view the locations of every individual within and even eavesdrop on their conversations.
With the unyielding barrier trapping all three groups, the pre-allotted hour expired. Simultaneously, the festive celebrations at the Roseblade Duchy commenced, a scene of vibrant joy utterly oblivious to the silent, suffocating trap that had just closed around their allies.
The Duke's worry had been a low hum beneath the surface of the grand celebration, a growing unease as he prolonged his waiting time to an hour for Gard's arrival. But as the hour drew to a close and the celebration reached its climax, the duke was no longer worried, but rather certain that something had happened, and with communication cut off, it was clear.
Fifteen minutes before that hour concluded, as the Duke, bound by his duties as host, could not leave the venue, his efforts to hide his mounting concern were noticed. A figure approached him, his presence commanding respect despite the casual setting. "Is there something wrong, Duke Roseblade?" the man questioned, his voice calm yet perceptive. The Duke sighed, a subtle tremor in his shoulders. "I guess I can't hide anything from you, the Brave Hero James." James offered a small, reassuring smile. "Just call me Sir James." "Alright," the Duke conceded, his gaze troubled. "There's a friend of mine who lives in the Canyan Forest. He was supposed to arrive an hour before the celebration commenced, but it's nearly the fifth hour, and he's still not here. I'm certain there's something ongoing, but I also know Gard's strength well. There's nearly nothing in the Canyan Forest that can stand against him. Also, I've lost all forms of contact with him and his village."
"Hmm, I see," James replied, his eyes thoughtful. "That's your friend from Sith village, a village densely populated by Yokarions. How about this?" he proposed, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I'll head to Sith village and check the situation there, what do you say, Duke?" The Duke's face softened with gratitude, but he hesitated. "I can't insist on you, Sir James. You're already tutoring my children in multiple arts free of charge." James waved a dismissive hand. "Don't look at it that way, Duke. Rather, one could say I'm the one insisting. I eat, sleep, and do whatever I want here free of charge, so let me do this. And if you still think it's something you don't deserve, then just consider it as me going on a stroll, losing my way, and stumbling into Sith." A faint smile touched the Duke's lips. "I can't thank you enough, Sir James." "Don't mention it." With that said, James turned, and without another word, ran straight for the Canyan Forest, a blur of purpose amidst the ongoing revelry.
As Sir James headed for Sith village, Duke Jonathan took the stage to make another announcement that would shake the entire world. "Ladies and gentlemen," the Duke announced, a confident smile playing on his lips, "we are gathered to commemorate the coming of age of my cherished children, and the significant milestone of my son's ascension to a Coloured being. However, I have a far more exciting piece of news to impart, a revelation that will undoubtedly shake the entire world. But before that, indulge me in a brief journey through history, if you please?" His rhetorical question invited the audience into his narrative, building suspense for the earth-shattering news he teased.
For centuries upon centuries, aeons ago, before the rise of the Novaryon Empire, the concept of a 'Brave Hero' was exclusive to the formidable military nation of Barathor, where nine such paragons resided. Their defining moment came during the epic Thirty-Year War, a conflict spearheaded by the Brave Hero of Light and New Beginnings and his valiant army. It was a struggle that reshaped the very fabric of our world. When that war finally concluded, the profound power known as the Brave Heroic Wills of the remaining eight Brave Heroes was released and began to spread across the entire world. Consequently, new Brave Heroic Wills began to manifest globally, seeking new vessels. And it is with immense excitement that I reveal that just last month, one of these revered Brave Heroic Wills chose an individual from right here, in the Roseblade Duchy, to become a new Brave Hero!
A triumphant smile bloomed on Duke Jonathan's face as he raised his voice, his words echoing with immense pride. "The Brave Heroic Will of Judgment and Order has chosen my son, Matthew Roseblade, to be its bearer!" A wave of excited murmurs swept through the assembly. "As of today," he declared, his voice ringing with finality, "my son, Matthew Roseblade, has taken on the mantle of the Brave Hero of Judgment and Order!" Applause erupted, a joyous roar filling the hall.
But the very moment Duke Jonathan finished his announcement, the celebration was violently shattered. With a deafening crash of glass and splintering wood, Sir James burst through the grand windows, landing right in front of the Duke all bloody and bruised. Carrying two unconscious children—Ling and his older brother, Lie—while in the other, he carried the mangled, lifeless body of Gard, the village chief of Sith. He fainted on the spot, his act of heroic exhaustion seemingly complete.
The sight of Gard, so utterly broken, struck Duke Jonathan like a physical blow. His eyes widened in disbelief, then filled with an agonizing despair. Dropping to his knees, he took the ruined body of his friend into his hands and began to weep, a guttural, heartbroken sound that turned the joyous occasion into one of profound sorrow and chaos. As his weeping continued, his body began to convulse violently. Duchess Ellen and her daughter, Helen, rushed forward, desperately attempting to use their Dryad abilities to heal and resuscitate the Duke, but it was all for naught. With a final, agonizing gasp, the Duke's heart burst, and he died on the spot, his face etched with unbearable grief.
This was a secret nobody knew about Duke Jonathan Roseblade—not his wife, not his children, not even Gard himself. For Duke Jonathan Roseblade was hopelessly, desperately, and madly in love with Gard, to the point of obsession. If the Duke had ever been asked to choose between the lives of his wife and children and Gard's, he would have chosen Gard and watched his family die. Thankfully, he kept that devastating secret to his grave.