This is a world where mana is everywhere; the trees, animals, monsters, air, water, and even the islands and mountains themselves contain traces of mana.
This is proof of one's existence.
Some say that this world is alive.
Gaea… that breathes energy, which we now call mana.
Because of this, different races were born, capable of wielding this energy.
Some races use it as a weapon, while others use it to protect themselves or others.
But one race, known for its greed, uses it for their own purpose to conquer the world.
The Demon Race.
But before this could happen, Gaea grew angry and caused an earthquake that divided the lands, separating them with vast seas.
Many islands became home to different civilizations.
Among them stood Curse Island, a land overflowing with mana so dense that no human race could survive.
At its heart lay Agrabadth, home to the feared and powerful Agrabadthians, a race not known for conquest but for maintaining balance.
Unseen and unchallenged, they were the silent judges of war and destruction.
Beyond Curse Island, near its borders, sat Finhaven, a small, peaceful island.
Once just another place on the map, it had since become a sanctuary, a refuge for battle-worn adventurers seeking rest from bloodshed.
But before Finhaven became a haven, before warriors laid down their weapons, the world was drowning in chaos.
Twenty five years ago.
The Demon King, Vraegar, had spread his tyranny across the lands.
Though Gaea had separated all the races, this was not the answer.
To the Demon King Vraegar, whose greed was unfathomable, such barriers only delayed his plan.
His monstrous armies marched, leaving ruin in their wake.
Kingdoms fell.
Heroes rose and perished.
No matter how many warriors challenged him, the outcome remained the same: despair, death, and destruction.
They could not defend their land against the unmatched might of the Demon King.
For years, adventurers fought.
And for years, they failed.
Then, a whisper spread across the lands.
"The Agrabadthians are moving!!"
Knowing this movement, the strongest warrior of the human race, one whose name was feared by many, called for a grand assembly.
This was the only chance for the human race to recover.
He initiated a fight against the nobles and royals who were under the influence of the demon king, freeing all the slaves.
He became the last hope of humanity, a fire that ignited their will to fight.
And after that, he gathered every remaining fighter, every last hero willing to take up arms.
The goal was simple.
March alongside the Agrabadthians and put an end to the Demon King once and for all.
But the Agrabadthians did not wait for alliances.
Led by their chieftains and their powerful Shaman, Laird.
They recognized no one.
When they moved, they moved alone.
And so, as the warriors rallied, the Agrabadthians had already set sail for the Demon King's domain, Abyssaria, the islands of demons.
Thus, the final battle began.
The air burned with the scent of ash and blood.
Abyssaria, the blackened land of demons, roared with the sounds of war.
At the center of it all, atop a mountain of demon corpses, stood Laird, the Shaman.
He drove the butt of his staff-spear into the scorched earth, his piercing gaze fixed on the towering figure before him.
A being wreathed in black flames, eyes burning like dying stars: Vraegar, the Demon King.
"Again, Laird?"
His voice was like a storm rolling through the heavens, deep, unfazed.
"You sound tired, Vraegar."
The shaman smirked, twirling his staff-spear, its sharpened tip glinting in the firelight.
"Why shouldn't I be? This is our tenth battle and each time, you kill me."
With an earth-shaking bellow, Laird gripped his staff sphere tightly, his voice echoing through the air like thunder.
"And with every attempt, you claw your way back from the depths of the abyss!'"
The Demon King chuckled darkly.
"Isn't it strange, Laird? You always defeat me, yet the world never changes, Year after year, I return, and the cycle repeats."
Laird's grip on his staff tightened.
"Then let's break the cycle once and for all!!"
Without another word, he lunged.
Vraegar met him with a devastating claw, but Laird was faster.
He spun, parried, and drove his weapon forward its spearhead piercing through the Demon King's chest.
Vraegar snarled, gripping the staff with clawed hands, his flames burning hotter, but Laird was already chanting.
A powerful seal erupted from the weapon, spreading through Vraegar's body like cracks in glass.
The Demon King howled.
His flesh tore apart, his form shattering like an illusion until only his head remained.
Laird caught it before it could fall.
He stared into Vraegar's dimming eyes and sighed deeply.
"Rest, Vraegar… until next time."
With a final motion, he crushed the head in his palm.
"And just like that, the battle was over."
At the present time...
Golden leaves drifted in the crisp autumn air, carried by a gentle sea breeze.
Waves lapped against the shore, their rhythmic whispers blending with the laughter of children beneath the shade of a great tree.
Sitting in the center of a gathered crowd was Marjorie, the Priestess of Finhaven.
A soft smile graced her lips as she continued her tale.
"And so, the Demon King fell once more, his head crushed by the great shaman, Laird. But the battle was not without loss. Many warriors perished, and the land of demons burned for days."
A boy raised his hand excitedly.
"What about the adventurers? What happened to them?"
Marjorie's gaze drifted to the sea, her expression softening.
"The battle changed them. Some go back to their own kingdom, but many stayed… here, on Finhaven. This island became their home, a place where they could finally lay down their weapons."
A boy stood proudly, puffing out his chest. "My grandfather was an adventurer too!"
Marjorie and other children laugh softly.
A girl leaned forward with curious eyes.
"Priestess how about shaman? What happened to him?"
Marjorie chuckled. "Ah, now that is a mystery."
She tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to think.
"Some say he disappeared into the wind, like a ghost. Others believe he still watches over the world, waiting for the next time the Demon King rises."
The children gasped in excitement, whispering among themselves.
A little girl leaned closer feeling scared, Marjorie notice it and said.
"Come here honey."Patting her head.
"'It's been twenty-five years since the last war, and since then, the Demon King hasn't returned."
Marjorie chuckled, a warm smile on her face.
The little girl beside her giggled, and the other children erupted in laughter, their carefree spirits shining through as they enjoyed the story.
A sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves, sending a flurry of golden petals swirling around them.
Marjorie closed her eyes, listening to the distant sound of the waves.
The tale had been told.
For now.
But little did they know, while Finhaven basked in peace, fate was already stirring.
Somewhere out there, a child was born one whose origin would change everything.