Aetheris — an expansive realm divided into seven great regions, each bound to one of the mythical crystals that form the Crown of Life.
The land breathes with ancient power, shrouded in ruins, legends, and the ambitions of mortals and gods alike. Kingdoms rise and fall according to prophecy's will.
At the realm's heart lies Osric Kingdom, once haunted by a mysterious prophecy but now blessed by the Seven Celestial Gods — the creators of the Crown itself.
From Caelumspire Castle, an imposing fortress overlooking vast lands, the royal family rules… yet its throne is cursed by whispers of betrayal and destruction.
Across the seven regions rest the seven mythical crystals:
the Temple of Eternal Flames, the Underworld, the Oceanic Abyss, the Celestial City of Light, the Skyward Spire, the Cavern of Roots, and the Frozen Crown — each bearing history and hidden stories untold.
Long ago, the Celestial Gods used these crystals before they ascended to the heavens, leaving their power behind for humanity's destined heirs.
But blessings turned to curses when the Crown of Life sowed greed, lust, and discord across the mortal plane.
In despair, the Heavenly Lord sought to destroy it, but darkness found its way back — and now, history threatens to repeat itself.
---
The battlefield outside Caelumspire was chaos. Smoke and debris filled the air; the once-glorious field now a wasteland of ruin.
The Crown of Life had shattered. Everything — the armies, the dark warriors, even the land itself — lay in ruins.
Only two figures remained: Hilda and Gerald.
Their bodies were broken and bloodied, Hilda's most of all — the shockwave had nearly consumed her. The crown was gone. The seven crystals — lost to the wind.
Gerald, barely conscious, staggered to his feet. Pain lanced through his body, but his eyes found Hilda's motionless form.
He stumbled forward, voice trembling.
"Hilda! Hilda!"
"Hilda!"
He knelt beside her. Her once-elegant form lay covered in dust and blood, her radiant face pale and still.
Her eyes — wide, unseeing.
"She's dead," he whispered. His voice cracked, more with relief than sorrow. "You brought this upon yourself."
He closed her eyes gently, but his heart was cold.
Gerald felt no grief — only disappointment.
The crown was gone. His one chance to rule Aetheris as its Overlord had been lost.
"Our father caused this," he muttered bitterly. "He should have known better than to choose you over me."
Tears — unbidden — slipped from his eyes, unnoticed. After a long silence, Gerald turned away, limping toward the Dark Dungeon hidden deep beneath Osric's western cliffs.
---
Meanwhile, Leofric and Edith carried the unconscious Olivia northward, toward Sylvan Reach — a serene forest glimmering with silver-leafed trees and crystal streams.
It was called Heart's Rest by travelers, a place of rare peace amid the realm's growing chaos.
But peace was far from what awaited Gerald below.
In the bowels of Osric, the Dark Dungeon pulsed with malevolent energy. Black flames flickered along its walls; whispers of damned souls echoed in the void.
Gerald knelt before the towering throne of the Devil Lord, his head bowed low.
"So," the Devil Lord's voice rumbled, filling the dungeon like thunder, "you mean to tell me you lost all my dark armies?"
The air thickened. The temperature rose.
Each word made the shadows tremble. Gerald's breath hitched — fear clawing at his chest.
"I didn't destroy them," he stammered. "It was my sister! She destroyed them all! All I wanted was the throne and the Crown of Life!"
The Devil Lord stopped mid-step. His head turned slowly. His hooded face glowed faintly red beneath the shadows.
"The… Crown of Life?"
His tone shifted, curiosity replacing wrath.
Gerald swallowed hard.
"Centuries ago, when King Geralt was still a prince, he discovered an ancient map — one that revealed the locations of the seven mythical crystals capable of defying the heavens.
He journeyed across Aetheris, gathering them one by one, forging the Crown of Life. It made him the Overlord of this realm.
But now… it's gone. Destroyed. And my sister was chosen to inherit what should have been mine."
The Devil Lord leaned back, amusement curling in his tone.
"Ah… interesting. Perhaps my time in this abyss draws to an end."
Gerald's eyes flickered with sly hope.
"If you forgive me, my lord, I can craft you a body — one powerful enough to walk among mortals again."
The Devil Lord chuckled, low and dark.
"No need. I already have someone else in mind."
A shadow coiled from his throne, wrapping around Gerald like smoke. His body tensed, his screams echoing through the dungeon — a twisted symphony of pain and merging souls.
Two voices screamed in unison — one mortal, one eternal.
Then silence.
The Devil Lord had found his vessel.