The three moons cast an eerie, silver glow across a scarred Earth. Millennia had passed since the Great War, a brutal clash that had pitted humanity against a nightmarish alliance of alien invaders and Earth's own ancient demons. Cities lay in ruins, monuments to a conflict where mages wielded forgotten spells, warriors clashed with demonic legions, and shapeshifters morphed into monstrous forms against the backdrop of alien war machines. Earth had survived, but the echoes of that war still resonated, a constant reminder of the fragile peace.
In a far-flung corner of this recovering world, untouched by the grand conflicts that had reshaped continents, nestled the small, isolated village of Elder Night. Here, life moved at a slower pace, governed by the rhythms of the forest and the whispers of old magic that still lingered in the ancient trees. Yet, even in this secluded haven, the birth of a child would be anything but ordinary.
The night the boy was born, the sky above Elder Night was ripped open by a storm of unprecedented fury. Rain lashed down with the force of a tidal wave, and the wind howled a primal scream that rattled the very timbers of the village homes. The villagers huddled together, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight, fear etched in their eyes. But their terror wasn't solely due to the tempest. Mingling with the storm's wrath was another sound, a deep, guttural roar that seemed to emanate from the heart of the mountains, followed by a chilling chorus of monstrous wails echoing from the Shadowthrees, the dark and ancient forest that encircled their village like a watchful beast.
At the edge of Elder Night, in a small, humble hut, a new life entered the world amidst this chaos. A woman's cry pierced through the storm, not a cry of pain, but a sound of profound, almost exultant joy as she cradled her newborn son. He was a vibrant child, his skin bearing the lighter hue of his mother, a stark contrast to the dark, curly mop of hair he inherited from his father. Yet, even in his first moments, his arrival was overshadowed by the raging elements and the strange sounds that gripped the village.
As his blind grandmother, her face serene despite the tempestuous symphony outside, gently placed her aged hands upon the infant and then into his mother's trembling arms, a final, earth-shattering crack of thunder split the sky. For a fleeting moment, the world outside the hut was bleached white by a blinding flash of lightning. The boy's parents, a strong, silent woodcutter and his wife, tears streaming down her face, looked on in awe and a touch of fear. The grandmother, though sightless, felt the warmth of the light on her face and the undeniable spark of life within the small bundle in her hands. "I've seen it in a dream," she whispered, her voice trembling with an ancient knowing. "It's my baby Dragon. My thunder boy." As if in answer, the thunder roared one last time, a resonant echo that shook the very ground beneath their feet, followed by another brilliant flash. The parents exchanged a knowing glance, a silent agreement passing between them.
At that very moment, many miles away, deep within the shadowed depths of the Shadowthrees, a desperate drama of survival unfolded. A magnificent creature, a rare and fiercely hunted Blackheart monster—a being that combined the predatory grace of a great wolf with the raw power of a mountain cat—fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast. Her large, pregnant belly was a constant burden as she twisted and turned, evading unseen enemies. Her sleek, black fur, usually gleaming like polished obsidian, was now matted with rain and the crimson stain of fresh blood. The potent scent of her newborn cub clung to the air, a beacon that had unfortunately drawn unwanted attention – a pack of rival beasts, hungry and opportunistic. She moved with a desperate, fluid grace, a dark shadow against the flickering lightning, her emerald eyes burning with a fierce, protective light. The monstrous wails that reached the village were the death cries of her attackers as she defended her precious offspring. With a final, guttural roar of triumph and pain, she tore through the last of her foes, leaving a trail of broken bodies in her wake. Then, drawing upon her kind's innate ability to manipulate shadows, wounded but resolute, she gently scooped up her tiny cub and vanished into the deepening gloom, fleeing from the betrayal of a small faction of her own kin. The strange roars from the forest and the distant rumble that seemed to emanate from the jagged peaks of the Spire felt like echoes of the ancient war, a faint reminder that even in this quiet village, the echoes of a shattered world still lingered.