One hundred years ago.
The sky over the continent of Aethoria was torn asunder.
Where a sun had once shone, there was now only a gaping, horrifying rift of absolute darkness. The absence of light, and the presence of the Hunger. It was the Void.
Beneath this colossal tear in reality itself, the armies of every species—Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and Demihumans—stood united for the first and final time. Their shields and swords interlocked, their breath misting in the unnatural cold. They were the last line of defense. Behind them lay the smoldering ruins of what had once been a glorious kingdom. And before them, the imminent end approached.
"Hold the line!" a voice rang out, as clear and resounding as a bell over the roar of battle.
Elara Dawnshield, First of Her Name, stood at the vanguard. Her silver armor was shattered, her golden hair caked with blood and ash, yet she never once faltered. In her hand she held Dawnbreaker, a sword forged in the heart of a fallen star, thrumming with the desperate prayers of a dying world.
Before her, amidst the swirling darkness, loomed the Great Demon.
It possessed no fixed form; rather, it appeared as a maelstrom of shadows and violent purple lightning. When it extended what seemed to be a gargantuan claw, reality itself groaned beneath its weight.
"You are finite," the Demon's voice echoed, vibrating deep within the bones of every soldier. "Your light is but a candle in a hurricane."
Elara raised her blade. The steel flared with a defiant brilliance.
"Candles still burn in the darkest depths of the world!" she cried out. "And today, our light shall purge this darkness!"
Elara charged. Behind her, the entire world roared. And in that catastrophic clash of light and void, the fate of Magicland was sealed in blood.
The Present.
Master Seamo's manor was filled with the elongated shadows of clocks, ticking away seconds that stretched into eternity.
It was the eve of enrollment at the Arcanum Bellator Academy.
In the main parlor, where the dying embers in the hearth cast a feeble, fading orange glow, Phantsin Dawnfire sat in a leather armchair that was far too large and opulent for him.
Phantsin stared at his right hand. It was not empty.
In the center of his palm, a flame danced.
But it was nothing like the comforting, orange fire of the hearth. Nor was it the clean, crimson blaze of the Ignis faction he aspired to join the following day.
It was a purple flame. Beautiful, hypnotic, and terrifying.
Terrifying because it radiated no heat; instead, it exuded an unnatural cold that made his skin crawl. It consumed the air around it with a barely audible hiss, casting shadows against the walls that seemed to writhe of their own volition.
Strange... Phantsin thought, admiring the violet blaze.
He knew the stories. He knew this color was the mark of the enemy. The mark of the very demons that had slaughtered his parents in that ambush no one ever wanted to explain to him.
And yet, it lived within him, humming beneath his skin, clawing to get out.
Tomorrow, he would enter the fortress of heroes. Tomorrow, he would have to pretend to be one of them, all while hiding the demon inside.
"Phantsin?"
The voice was merely a whisper, but to Phantsin, it sounded like a thunderclap.
He slammed his fist shut. The purple flame was instantly snuffed out against his skin, vanishing without a trace. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear of being discovered.
He looked up, his eyes wide and wary.
Standing in the doorway of the parlor, bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window, was his little sister.
Flower.
The young girl wore an oversized white nightgown and clutched a stuffed rabbit with a torn ear tightly against her chest. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and her large eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
She looked incredibly small. Incredibly fragile.
"Flower?" Phantsin stood up at once, instinctively hiding his right hand behind his back. "What's wrong? You should be asleep. Ellie will be waking us up early tomorrow."
Flower took a hesitant step into the vast room.
"I had a nightmare," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The sky... the sky was eating the ground, Phantsin. And it was so cold."
A lump formed in Phantsin's throat. He walked over to her swiftly, his face hardening into the stoic mask he wore as armor to conceal any weakness.
He knelt before her to meet her eye level.
"It was only a dream, Flower," Phantsin said softly, placing his left hand—his safe hand—on the girl's shoulder. "There is no cold here. The house is safe. Master Seamo set the wards himself."
"But... it felt real," she sobbed, rubbing her eye. "There were monsters... so many monsters."
Phantsin looked deep into her eyes and lied with the absolute conviction of a knight.
"I will take care of the monsters," Phantsin said, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'm your big brother. If any monster dares to step out of your dreams, I'll reduce it to ashes."
Flower looked at him. The unwavering certainty in her brother's voice calmed her somewhat. She nodded slowly and wiped her tears with the rabbit's ear.
"Do you promise?"
"I promise." Phantsin stood up and offered her his left hand. "Come on. I'll take you back to bed."
Phantsin guided her back down the dark hallway, feeling his little sister's warm, tiny hand enveloped in his own.
He tucked her in, pulling the covers up to her chin. He lingered there for a moment, watching her eyes flutter shut, watching as her breathing steadied into a peaceful rhythm.
"Rest now, little one," he whispered. "I'll guard the door."
Phantsin turned toward the window. He gazed out at the distant mountains, where the spires of the Arcanum Bellator Academy were silhouetted against the starlit sky.
He clenched his right hand—the one that harbored his secret.
"I will use this," he swore to the silence of the night. "If I have to become a monster to protect her from the nightmares... then I will be the worst of them all."
Tomorrow, the forging would begin.