The darkness was heavy... heavier than anything he had ever known.
No sound, no light, no being… only a cold sensation seeping into the bones, as if the world had spat him out beyond its borders.
In this universe torn into seven continents, each ruled by an immortal emperor or a high order that controls its own laws, an ancient legend spreads about the legendary sword:
a blade said to be forged from celestial light and absolute darkness, the Sword of the Seven Worlds.
Whoever wields it… commands all powers, rips through time and space, and chooses:
either to unite the worlds… or to annihilate them.
But that was far... very far from the boy who had died hours before.
His body lay on a cold bed, lifeless, like a tattered puppet thrown aside when its scene was over. If someone had passed by, they would have said: this is the corpse of a miserable man who died without ever dreaming of glory.
The illegitimate son of an emperor of one of the continents. He lived ostracized in the palace, humiliated and crushed under the feet of those who thought themselves gods.
And in the end… he was betrayed.
His fiancée, who swore she would live with him… stabbed him with her treachery. The family he believed was his last bastion… tore him apart with their plots.
Until the day of the silent execution. No one called it an execution. They simply disposed of him, slowly, with calm smiles.
Then… there was nothing.
Even the pain left. All that remained was a cold void, as if the whole cosmos spat on him… then forgot him.
But in that darkness, in that endless silence of night,
a voice rose.
A deep, weighty voice that shook his soul. Not a whisper, but a roar born from the depths of eternity:
"Rise… you creature of breaking… so you may be born to dominion."
Revan opened his eyes slowly. He felt no fear. He felt no surprise. All he felt was a hard, cold certainty… as if fate had finally told him what had been waiting.
He raised his trembling hand, stared at his pale skin, then placed his palm over his chest. Behind his sternum… a heart beat that was not his alone.
A double heart, containing the memory of a boy who had endured all humiliations, and the memory of an ancient celestial emperor who had known all glory and ruin.
Revan gave a small, quiet smile… but it was the first spark of a catastrophe that would devour worlds.
He rose slowly from the bed that had been his death. His steps seemed weak, feeble… exactly as he wanted them to seem.
He stood before the mirror and saw himself: a pale face, hollow eyes, a frail, defeated body.
But behind that cold gaze… something burned.
He reached for the table where an old book lay sealed with a strange golden emblem.
The Celestial Book.
The source of forbidden knowledge… the treasury of the old emperor's mind.
He opened the book, and mana flooded his veins like an unforgiving tide.
He felt a strange heat, as if his body was melting itself to be reborn.
He was no longer weak. He was no longer broken.
He had become… something else.
He remembered Liana, his fiancée, her final look dripping with contempt.
He remembered his father's cold hand as he said:
"This is how we cleanse shame."
He clenched the book until his knuckles went white.
"You will all pay… the price."
But not now.
Revenge born in haste dies before it sates on blood.
A true tyrant does not hurry ruin…
He crafts it slowly, until it becomes a complete painting.
He smiled again. He forced a small cough. They would think he had barely survived. They would pity him. They would think there was no more mana in him.
While he… would build his world in the shadow.
He would gather followers, buy slaves, turn the humiliated into poisoned fangs.
And he would wait until the time came.
He put his hand on his chest. He closed his eyes. He felt the mana throb within him like a beast waking, and heard the ancient voice whisper:
"I have returned… let the slaughter begin."