Willock, bewildered and frightened by the idea of a so-called queen he had never met, continued reading the book in his hands. The words on the pages spoke of the first species of the world—not the dinosaurs, nor the T. rex, neither the reptiles nor the ancient, primitive humans. No, this story was about a tribe that came to life from a singular source. It all began with the queen, who was the first of her kind. From her, the rest of the tribe grew, formed from her own cells. They developed from a cellular level into fully grown beings.
Willock's mind struggled to comprehend the absurdity of it all, yet he couldn't help but smile. It was easier to accept the bizarre and impossible concepts in this book than to continue reading praises of his father. He turned the pages eagerly, moving deeper into the story. As he read, the queen's kingdom grew. It became a powerful civilization, a kingdom that humans neither accepted nor understood. But despite its strange origins, the kingdom's people were formidable, wielding incredible strength.
What set them apart, however, was their ability to manipulate a force far beyond the understanding of the average human: dark mana. While mana—pure energy found in the atmosphere—was known to most beings, the queen's people had mastered a corrupted version of it. Every force in the world, it seemed, had a counterpart—day and night, sun and moon, light and dark, and even the forces of mana and its opposite: dark mana.
The humans, in their ignorance and arrogance, had tried to control this power. Many sought immortality, but their attempts had dire consequences. Those who were too weak turned into vampires or specters, and those who were stronger became liches. All were transformed into monstrous forms, driven by their obsession with eternal life. But the queen and her people were different. They were born with an innate mastery over dark mana, wielding it with no cost to themselves.
As their power grew, so too did the fear they inspired. Their only real rivals were the angels—the servants of the gods. This tension between the two forces would lead to a conflict that would shake the very foundations of the world.
The pantheon, the assembly of gods that watched over the realm, was composed of nine deities. The most powerful of them all was Hilkah, the God of Life. A being of unparalleled charisma, Hilkah valued elegance above all else and despised being denied anything he desired. Below him was Ilxam, the Dragon God of Black Flames, the god whom Willock's father served. He was the second most powerful deity, after Hilkah. Following them were the gods of thunder, Thurisaz; the void, Agathot; water, Laguz; fire, Nauthiz; wind, Ur; ice, Hagalaz; and finally, the god of the sun and moon, Sowilo.
Although Hilkah and Ilxam were the undisputed leaders, the remaining gods were equal in power. However, a problem arose when Hilkah, in his arrogance, sought to subjugate the primordials—the ancient beings that had existed long before the gods. The primordials, however, refused to bow to him, and a conflict brewed between them.
In his fury, Hilkah commanded his temple to create a homunculus—a being that would serve as a vessel for his power. His apostle was no match for the queen's people, so Hilkah sought an alternative path to power. The gods themselves knew what happened next, but no one outside their realm knew for certain. It is said that, for the first time in history, a god was slain in battle by another being. The outcome of this conflict led to the fall of an entire clan, the extinction of a species.
What most didn't know, however, was that the queen and the god she had slain did not simply perish in battle. Both their bodies were preserved in a state of petrification, frozen in time. It is said that the petrified body of the queen still lies hidden, deep within the ruins of her kingdom, while the body of the god, Hilkah, remains somewhere lost to history. No one knows where they are, and their existence is little more than a legend. Many believe that whoever finds the bodies will unlock unimaginable power—though others fear the consequences of disturbing such ancient remains.
Willock closed the book, shaking his head. "Damn, the author must have an incredible imagination to come up with such a fantasy," he muttered to himself. But before he could finish his thoughts, he suddenly felt two cold hands brush against his skin, sending a chill down his spine. A soft whisper echoed in his ear:
"I don't mind if others ignore me, but I will mind if you—someone with my blood—should ignore me and call my legacy mere fantasy."
Willock froze, his mouth going dry. He couldn't utter a single word, his thoughts completely scattered. The voice was unfamiliar, but the words felt so real, so personal. How could this be? Who was speaking to him? And why did it feel like it was tied to his very existence?