In the beginning, there were the Elder Gods, born from the primordial essence of the Source—the beginning and the end of everything.
The Source granted each Elder God a portion of its power, imbuing them with different aspects of its abilities. Zebha, the firstborn and the Source's most cherished child, became their leader and the most powerful of all. His youngest sibling, Revi, was the cleverest among them, while the others—Hentesa, Nesa'i, La'faura, and Ferho—excelled in their respective domains. Yet throughout history, only two Elder Gods truly stood out… until the dawn of the Crimson War.
The war spread like wildfire, shaking all mortal realms, and left behind the eternal darkness that still lingers. Legends tell that all Elder Gods perished in the Crimson War. After their deaths, their champions rose to divinity through forbidden means. But because their ascension was unordained by the Source, they were rejected and cast into the Mirror Realm—a realm of chaos and madness—where they became the vile abominations now known as the Fallen.
The Source then appointed new gods, devising a way for them to reach divinity without granting any of them its power, which was reserved for the child it would one day send into the world when its primordial essence ran out. These pathways to divinity are what are known today as the Nine Konquerors Paths… but another pathway exists, one meant only for the Source's child.
It is believed the child will be a handsome male, marked physically by divinity, born into a noble house shielded from the world's harshness.
"But if the boy grows up in a noble house, won't he only save the nobles when the end comes?" a filthy, middle-aged man interrupted. He had been listening to the young woman seated atop the bar, who spoke with a crowd gathered around her.
The young woman, dressed in a velvet gown that left little to the imagination, her face adorned with perfect makeup, shook her head with a sly smile.
"So would you rather a dirty scumbag like yourself be the savior? People would sooner be devoured by the Fallen than saved by you, Reggie." The audience laughed as she winked at Reggie, who buried his face in embarrassment.
"Poor Reggie wanted to sound smart, but look where it got him! Hahaha!" a man nearby roared with laughter. The woman simply smiled and raised her hand to continue.
"If I may," she said, "the child will have pure white hair and golden eyes that light the darkness. Only the Source's child can eliminate the darkness from our world. And you know the best part?" She paused, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Yes, we do, Lady Harlingen!" the bar owner said eagerly, failing to hide his curiosity.
"Please, do tell, milady," Reggie added, nodding vigorously.
The crowd clamored in anticipation, and Harlingen seemed to enjoy their eagerness. Raising a hand, she silenced them all; even the faintest pin drop could be heard.
"Right," she continued. "If memory serves, the child of the Source must already be born. Ancient scriptures state, 'When the age of kings comes and the roar of the Fallen champions rings out, on that day the child of fate will be born.' Recall the events seventeen years ago, and you will understand that the prophecy has begun." Her casual tone belied the hope her words ignited in the audience.
"Lady Harlingen speaks the truth. Remember what happened when we were still working in the coal mines, seventeen years ago, Mordecai? That beastly roar that shook the ground." The bar owner spoke to a man beside Reggie, whose eyes reflected shock and disbelief.
"On that day, when we lost our colleagues… our savior was born. A thousand lives for one," Mordecai whispered.
The crowd felt both hope and fear: hope that darkness might soon be dispelled, fear that their sanctuary could no longer protect them from the abominations that roamed the night.
As the oil lamps dimmed, Old Neil, the bar owner, clasped his hands. "Time to close up. See you all the day after tomorrow." Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving only five: Old Neil, Lady Harlingen, Reggie, Mordecai, and a young boy in rags. His damp, raven-black hair framing his face, and a piece of purple cloth covered his eyes. Despite his malnourished appearance, his good looks shone through.
The boy scrubbed the floor, oblivious to the loud conversation of the adults. Old Neil, Reggie, Lady Harlingen, and Mordecai ignored him completely.
"That was such a beautiful tale, my love. For a moment, I almost believed you," Reggie said, bursting into laughter, followed by the others.
"Ah yes, Harlingen. This time, you've outdone yourself. How do you weave such perfect legend? You bring bards to shame." Mordecai chuckled, shaking his head.
Old Neil nodded. "Indeed, how do you do it, if I may ask?"
Harlingen glanced at Reggie, who smiled and nodded, then replied, "It's simple. Everything I said came from a book Reggie and I found while roaming the inner districts. Add a little dramatic flair—people of the outer districts aren't exactly bright—and voilà. The results speak for themselves."
"Oh yes, that reminds me, Lady Harlingen. I've heard you've ventured outside the city walls?" Mordecai asked enthusiastically, but Reggie interrupted with a yawn.
"We're exhausted. Time to take our leave."
Old Neil realized his error and apologized, tossing a bag of coins to Reggie.
"All in there. Thanks for the entertainment. Business will be booming for weeks, thanks to you," he said. Reggie handed the bag to Harlingen, who removed a single coin and, before leaving, bent down and placed it in the boy's hands. She smiled briefly and departed with Reggie.
Old Neil's gaze lingered on the boy as Mordecai shook his head.
"But old friend, can't you let the boy go? He is blind and unfit for this," Mordecai said, his voice full of pity.