The death of Emperor Elion marked not only the end of a ruler, but the end of an era.
The fire spread through the kingdom of Alyndor, a realm once famed for its scholars and sorcerers, soon drew the greed of neighbours. Whispers spread that his bloodline still carried the fragment's key. Envy turned to fury. Armies marched under banners of "justice," but in truth, they sought only the jewel. The war was merciless. Armies clashed at the citadel gates, and fire rained from both steel and spell.
The castle collapsed into ash and stone, flames devouring every tower. Not even a single soul survived. That night, the sky cried disaster.
Legends say the king of Alyndor, fought not for conquest but for preservation. He carried the fragment into the heart of the royal citadel, sealing it with his life's last magic.
Some whispered the king's spell carried the fragment away before the fires consumed it. Others said the smoke rising from Alyndor's fall was no smoke at all, but the jewel's own power concealing its path.
The Crown Jewel vanished into myth. None knew where the key now lay…
The people believed there had been no heir, the empress had not yet given birth when the flames engulfed the palace. To the world, the line of kings ended that night.
When the battle's flames finally died, all that remained of Alyndor was ruin. Cities once radiant with learning and magic stood blackened. Farmlands that had fed nations were scorched into lifeless deserts. The royal citadel itself; the heart of Alyndor - lay broken, its towers toppled into rubble, its walls buried beneath ash.
To the world, Alyndor was gone.
The kingdom that had once been a beacon of hope and equality now stood as nothing more than a graveyard.
But rumors are persistent things. Some whispered of a hidden child. Some spoke of a relic; a moonlit locket, a fragment of the emperor's power lost in the chaos, perhaps waiting for someone to claim it. Others laughed it off as superstition, dismissing it as nothing more than drunken tales.
And so, the memory of the royal family was forgotten but the king remained in people's heart.
Alyndor's fields lay scorched, its cities shattered, its rivers choked with ash. The Jewel remained sealed, yet the kingdom's heart seemed hollow without its king. For many, hope should have perished with Elion Veydris.
And yet, it did not.
For Elion had not fought blindly. Even in the height of battle, he had planned for what might come after. With his final strength, he wove protective barriers across the heartlands of Alyndor, shielding villages, citadels, and enclaves of mages.
Many fell, but not all. A handful of Stage Five, five stage six and even two Stage Seven mages survived, sheltered by his foresight, their lives preserved to guide what remained of the kingdom.
Common people too farmers, artisans, and scholars found safety in the wards he left behind. In the final days before the duel, he had acted with the wisdom that defined him. He ordered his trusted generals to lead the top stage mages; the kingdom's last capable defenders away from the battlefield. He ensured commoners were evacuated into hidden sanctuaries beneath the capital, leaving behind stores of food and medicine.
It was devastation, but not extinction. Elion's foresight guided his people. His last words to his council were not of despair, but of faith.
"Even should I fall, Alyndor must live. The Jewel is a tool, our true strength lies in the people who dare to rise."
And so, they did.
When the fires faded, survivors emerged from their shelters. Few mages remained, but those who had been saved carried the weight of their master's dream. Farmers returned to ruined fields and sowed seeds once more. Blacksmiths reforged broken ploughs before they reforged blades. Healers, inspired by Elion's teachings, wandered village to village, mending wounds not only of flesh, but of spirit.
The throne, vacant and mourning, did not fall to chaos. Rhygar Veydris, Elion's cousin, stepped forward; not as a king, but as a caretaker. A man of measured heart and unshaken loyalty, he vowed to protect Alyndor until the Crown Jewel itself chose its next heir.
Rhygar was no genius of magic like Elion, nor a conqueror like Ambrose. But he was steady, practical, and above all, loyal. He took responsibility where others faltered, guiding the refugees to safety, negotiating fragile truces with hostile neighbours, and rebuilding the kingdom stone by stone. To many, he became the bridge between despair and hope, ensuring that Elion's sacrifice would not be wasted.
The people of Alyndor, though scattered and broken, remembered Elion. They remembered a king who had treated the lowliest commoner with the same dignity as a noble, who had lifted farmers into the ranks of mages, and healers into the halls of scholars.
In Alyndor, worth had been measured not by birth, but by talent and heart. Those who survived the flames carried that memory into foreign lands.
Even in exile, they clung to one another. Villagers rebuilt together in hidden valleys; wandering mages shared their knowledge with orphans; soldiers of Alyndor turned into protectors of towns that had never known their king. The ideals of Elion lived on, not in marble halls or crowns of gold, but in the simple bond of a people who refused to surrender their dignity.
Years passed. Slowly, Alyndor breathed again. Its people clung to Elion's vision—that birth mattered less than merit, that unity mattered more than blood. His ideals became their law, his sacrifice their bond.
Beyond Alyndor's borders, even hostile kingdoms saw what could not be denied. Neighbouring rulers, fearing their nations' decline, began loosening the chains upon their own commoners, allowing them to study magic and knowledge once barred by class. In this way, Elion's influence stretched beyond his grave, reshaping the very world his light had sought to protect.
Neighbouring kingdoms, once contemptuous of Alyndor's "weak" equality, could not ignore its power. They had seen commoners rise to levels of magic once thought impossible, and they began to fear what such freedom might bring if it spread further. And so, in the aftermath of Elion's fall, even kingdoms that despised Alyndor secretly changed. They opened their academies to commoners, not from compassion, but from fear. Power was survival — and if Alyndor had proven anything, it was that untapped talent could rival nobility itself.
Even Synthoros, broken but not destroyed, followed this path. Ambrose's death left his throne soaked in blood, yet his followers clung to his vision of ascension. To fuel their hunger, they opened their gates to every child who could wield mana, training them with merciless rigor. Where Alyndor had nurtured its people, Synthoros weaponized them, breeding strength for conquest.
Where others saw power as a means of control, Alyndor saw it as a gift to uplift the people.
Years passed, and Alyndor slowly began to heal.
The scattered mages gathered again, forming new academies, though their numbers were fewer than before. To honor Elion's vision, these academies welcomed not just nobles but common-born children, teaching them magic if they showed talent.
Rhygar established a Council of Mages and Scholars, allowing the surviving Stage Five, Six and Seven mages to guide magical growth while ensuring the knowledge of Elion's teachings was preserved. Alongside them, commoners chosen for their wisdom were granted seats at the council — an unheard-of step in other kingdoms.
He also created new laws of equity, ensuring that no family was left landless after the war. Farmers were given soil to till, artisans workshops to rebuild, and merchants safe trade routes to restart their livelihoods. Slowly, the economy stirred back to life, and with it, hope returned.
Even the culture of Alyndor was reshaped. Festivals once dedicated to royal grandeur now celebrated unity and survival - the Festival of Ash and Flame honored those who had perished in the great war, while the Festival of Renewal marked the kingdom's rebirth each spring. In every celebration, Elion's name was invoked not as a distant king, but as the guardian spirit of their future.
And though Alyndor no longer blazed as brightly as it had under Elion, its flame still flickered - stubborn, enduring, alive.
The world believed the Crown Jewel lost. The world believed Elion's blood line had ended.
But in the shadows, cults and assassins searched endlessly. For they knew that somewhere, hidden in plain sight, the royal blood who can claim the crown jewel will definitely return. And with it, the path to godhood.
And yet… hope never dies so easily nor legends are easily buried. For somewhere, hidden in the shadow of history, the true heir still lived. And the day would come when Alyndor's flame would rise again; not as a flicker, but as a fire strong enough to shake the heavens.