"In the beginning... there was only the Great One."
Before time moved and stars formed, before light clashed with darkness, there was only Him — the eternal, all-creating being. The Great One, whose will carved the universe and gave birth to all planes of existence. Worlds spun at His command, and from His breath came angels—keepers of balance and guardians of realms.
Among them was one angel whose light outshone the rest.
His name? Lost to history.
Now, they call him Satan.
He was not born evil.
But pride… pride made him fall.
Satan turned from the Great One, poisoning creation with doubt and desire. He raised legions of corrupted angels, twisted beasts, and forged monstrous races in secret. A rebellion sparked across the heavens—a war not of men, but of gods and fallen angels.
It was called the Divine War.
The angels loyal to the Great One descended upon the realm of Avelion, becoming its protectors, rulers, and the gods of the people. There, they built a kingdom of peace, magic, and divine harmony.
But peace never lasts.
Now, centuries later, Avelion stands on the brink.
The fallen angel Satan, banished to the void, has found cracks in the veil once more. Through whispers and ancient seals, he has begun to corrupt the beasts of the land. Monsters once thought extinct now rise from cursed forests. Portals tear open in the sky. The divine flow of magic grows unstable.
The gods no longer speak.
The kingdom trembles.
And in its darkest hour, the people look not to the heavens—but across worlds.
Royal Sanctum, Kingdom of Avelion
Beneath the capital's towering citadel lies a sacred chamber of stone and runes — the Sanctum of Origin. Candles flicker in the damp air. Incense clouds the room, burning with the scent of ash and myrrh. At its center, an ancient summoning circle glows faintly — unused for centuries.
Thirteen robed figures kneel in a circle.
Around them stand armored knights and priests draped in silver and blue — the colors of the royal line.
At the far end, seated on a throne of white granite, is King Eldric Alvaron. The weight of age hangs beneath his eyes. His sword leans beside him — its blade cracked, like the kingdom it defends.
"The scrolls are translated?" the king asks, voice hollow.
A court priest bows.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The summoning ritual is ready. We await your final command."
He looks to the stained glass above. A mural of the Great One — faceless, radiant, distant.
"The prophecy said two… but we have no other hope."
"Begin the ritual."
The Summoning Begins
The chamber falls silent.
The mages begin to chant — their voices overlapping in ancient tongue. The magic circle glows with gold, then white, then pulses with a light that hurts to look at. The floor rumbles. Dust falls from the ceiling. The scrolls in the priest's hands catch fire without burning.
And then…
A soundless boom.
Like the breath of the universe itself.
A beam of golden light explodes from the circle, shooting toward the ceiling. Three figures appear, suspended mid-air — blurry, distorted, glowing.
Gasps ripple through the chamber.
"Three?!"
"This isn't what was written!"
"The prophecy spoke of two chosen ones!"
The magic light begins to dim. The bodies slowly descend.
One lands with a groan — a lean boy with messy brown hair.
Another stumbles as she hits the ground — a girl, blonde, eyes fluttering open.
The third… lands last.
Dark hair. Calm eyes. Black hoodie. Silent. Unmoved.
He looks around slowly, already standing straight while the others cough and shake.
Avelion had summoned two heroes.
But three came.
And the third was something else entirely.