Those who were faithful to the Goddess of Light--humans, mostly, knew the fable well. When darkness rose to envelop the world, the 'Hero', alongside his two companions, would appear to defeat the one known as the King of Demons, and with his blade of purest light, usher the world towards a golden age of prosperity. The people of Tor knew this well--and they knew such an event had transpired 500 years in the past, though what little evidence remained of that time made it difficult to believe that the world was once threatened by such an evil. Even so, it couldn't be denied that the Goddess of Light, who granted her priests the power of resurrection, was most certainly real.
Aelf'ahlnohma was a hidden nation, separate from the annals of time. Its people valued knowledge above all else, going so far as to shelter themselves from the prying eyes of the world in blind pursuit of its secrets. Free from the Demon King's influence, the city had suffered little under his reign, allowing its people to carry on with their own devices as the great lands to the west were burned and destroyed. As a result, it was known only to Elvenkind that the Demon King's emergence was in fact cyclical--doomed to repeat. The dismantling of kingdoms and countries between ages had assured that such knowledge would never be passed down to the furthest legacies of their survivors, and that those who did would be branded madmen, or heretics. The 'Demon Age', as it was so called, had not been the first, and would not be the last.
How is that? What triggers a Demon Age? What determines the appearance of a Hero, or a Demon King? Just how many have already passed? Despite their long lives and hunger for knowledge, the answers to such questions eluded the Elves effortlessly. Evidently, even the sanctuary of their silver city had not endured the worst of those occasions, or else the truth would be laid before them. The legend of the Hero--what was it, really?
"-Regretfully, even the scholars of our time struggle to reach a conclusion." The Queen of Elves, Larion, lowered her eyes as she spoke, "We rise and fall to the whims of darkness. Is it a test from the Goddess? Or a punishment for our sins? In an instant, death and despair rule supreme, and in another, hope blossoms, only to be crushed yet again."
She held a hand towards the three individuals standing below her, "But now, with the introduction of those who have lived to see two such ages, the chains of fate have been rattled. Tiamat lies defeated in her earliest days, and the three remaining Heavenly Kings are yet to appear. For the first time in the history of our world, we have been granted the opportunity to strike first."
"So you say, but Demons are another story." Dorma, who stood with her arms crossed, replied, "Without the Sword of Light, their numbers are unconquerable. Think about how much effort was expended to incapacitate Tiamat. Now imagine an army of creatures just as durable as her. It doesn't matter how powerful our weapons become, or how accustomed we get to their tactics--if the Hero hasn't emerged, there's simply no fighting back."
"But a Hero did emerge." Larion argued, "And he lives, 500 years later. The one you know as Barion, responsible for defeating the Demon King of the previous age."
"Barion…" Dorma muttered.
"I-If I may, Your Majesty…"
Slowly rising from his kneeling position, the sorcerer Lotte, who had recovered from his wounds, fidgeted with his hands as he spoke.
"It is imperative that the Holy Alliance learns of this information as soon as possible." He began, "If you truly wish to broker a partnership with humankind--which I am sure His Majesty would be pleased to negotiate, then the news must reach Tor quickly."
"What would you propose, Sir Lotte?" The Queen asked.
"Well… with the aid of your city's sorcerers, myself and Lady Yula would be quite capable of creating a Gate powerful enough to transport the two of us to Gria. If you wish, it would even be possible to ferry diplomats between our people, for a time."
"Are you in need of anything specific to accomplish this?"
"Only an abundance of mana, Your Majesty." Lotte lowered his head again, "As it stands, we are too weak to invoke such a spell ourselves. But, with the aid of your sorcerers…"
"I understand." Nodding, Larion gestured with her arm towards the throne room doors, "If you wish to return to your rooms, then please do so. I understand that both yourself and Lady Yula are in no condition to be attending court at the moment."
"Thank you, Your Majesty?" Bowing with some effort, Lotte turned his head, "Shall we depart, Lady Yula?"
"Y-Yes!" Standing to attention, the aristocratic sorcerer took a bow that was all too deep towards the Queen, "I am forever thankful to have been graced with your divine presence, Your Majesty! I-If you would excuse us…"
Departing from the room, only Dorma, Din and Larion were left standing in that grand hall.
"Your comrade speaks hopefully of this alliance." The Queen spoke, "-However, I do not believe we will tolerate one-another immediately. Humankind's propensity for enslaving my people weighs heavily on their minds, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"The treatment of Elves has never been fair since the Holy Alliance was formed." Dorma agreed, "Branda is your rightful homeland, after all. Perhaps when Shulm is rebuilt, it will be an Elven city, instead of a human one?"
"We are isolationists. Xenophobes, even." Larion lamented, "Preserving a historical archive of the world's Demon Ages has led us into a self-sustaining loop of secrecy and distrust. But I believe it is high time that humans and Elves learn to coexist, rather than fear one-another."
"You're certainly a lot more open to that idea than your mother was."
"Yes, well…" Raising a hand to her crown, the Queen paused, "-There are reasons for that."
"In regards to Barion…" Dorma changed the subject, "I'm sure this isn't what you want to hear, but I have no idea where he is right now. He was searching for the emerging Demons of the new age when we last spoke."
"Did he meet with you to discuss anything in particular?"
"...N-No." She shook her head, "It was… simply a meeting of old friends."
The last thing Dorma wanted to admit to the Queen of Elves was that the two of them had only exterminated a Demon on their way to enjoying a night of completely debauched perversion. Even a slight reminder of that time was enough to fill her with embarrassment.
"I see." Larion replied understandably, "Do you have any idea of where he might be?"
"That's…"
A battlefield slick with blood. Bone fragments sticking out like grave markers from the muddied soil. The smell of death and decay--hot vapours rising from the disembowelled corpses of unthinkable entities stacked as high as mountains. Those words--no, even the slightest thought of it brought her back to those moments as if she was really there. What was it that leapt between those creatures? Tearing, biting, clawing, punching. It was no man, just a beast. A beast diving into a meal--a pastime. It wasn't anyone Dorma recognised. She refused to believe it.
"...Lady Dorma?" Larion asked, "Are you… well?"
Blinking, a tear fell from the corner of her eye. An involuntary thing with no emotion attached to it whatsoever. Just a reaction. Something she did out of instinct. Struggling to exhale, her eyes refocused on the monarch in front of her, and lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes, she replied.
"Right now, Barion is…" Her voice was hoarse, "He's fighting. Somewhere. I'm certain of it."
.
..
…
The scent of a beast's breath. Moments not quite understood, driven by an underlying force, exploding like a star into sudden action. Hands falling--fingers, palms and all, inexorably towards their target. With a sound like torn leather, something fell apart in the air, loose hide billowing in the wind like a wicked cape, and then an impact, strong enough to split the earth, concluded another beastly romance. Fury--Sadness--Despair--Love--the passionate storm of his heart focused into a single point, eliminating every spare evil it touched. As the battle concluded, a fearsome exhaustion forced him to his knees, and then onto his back, rapid breaths escaping from his boiling body.
Daylight. No eye of evil to watch his every movement with robotic precision. No impossible darkness in the night sky. Where was it? Where was Black Luna? The name had been no coincidence, that back-door into his head which it had slipped through effortlessly, passed to him from the very heavens, worked its way into the wrinkles of his stimulated brain. Five Crucibles, all of them churning with magnetic fury, each of their iron bodies torn to pieces and left to cool in the midnight winds. Tired--he was so very tired. Tired enough to close his eyes and sleep until the next century. For the first time in days, his thoughts drifted to familiar names. Where were those people? Were they safe?
Drifting into a painful slumber, the aching in his body was almost comforting. His battle wasn't even close to ending. Rather, it had barely begun. And yet, his mind had grown weary where his body had not. Selfishly, he wished deeply for an escape from it all. A quiet life, somewhere in the countryside. Again, a face appeared--a familiar face. One he couldn't help but want to see again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would go to where his strength was needed next, to divert those unwanted thoughts. Even as he closed his eyes, the shape of that circle invaded his vision.
Black Luna. Black Luna.
The Seed of Black Luna.