In a realm where reality and imagination converged, a tapestry of enchantment unfolded, giving life to a land unlike any other. A world where the ordinary blended seamlessly with the extraordinary, where magic coursed through the very air they breathed, and ancient prophecies whispered through the rustling leaves of strange mystical forests.

This was a place where dragons soared across the endless skies, knights in shimmering armor battled fearsome beasts, and the mysteries of forgotten civilizations lay buried beneath the earth, waiting to be unearthed.

In this fantastical realm, countries rose and fell, their fates entwined with the erratic dance of the elements, and the destinies of heroes and villains were written in the constellations that adorned the night sky. Sorcery, wielded by the gifted and the learned, tried to change history only to be forgotten, while hidden realms and irrecoverable treasures beckoned the adventurous, promising untold wonders and perilous quests.

...

501 A.W.D., Conglomerate of Tharisduz, Veloara State

In this perilous land full of risks and death, in the lands of the Conglomerate of Tharisduz, a child was born. The purest soul ever created by the inconceivable was born. His name would change as eras changed but his original name, the name he was born with and died with was Alexander Hardwood.

As the moon shone in beautiful and flowery farmland, the Hardwood family welcomed their firstborn with smiles on their faces. The husband of Mrs. Hardwood, Mr. Erik Hardwood smiled from ear to ear as he took his child in his arms. Mrs. Astrid Hardwood, still in labor fatigue from giving birth, only smiled gently seeing her husband with their child.

"Alexander" Astrid said weakly but firmly to Erik before closing her eyes as he, still glaring at the sleeping baby, responded, "Alexander..."

His rough hand caressed Alexander's baby's face as Erik smiled and continued, "You will be better than us. All of us."

Looking at the wood floor, at his wife Astrid seemingly 'sleeping' on the bed, and the approaching angry shouts outside their main door, Erik could only sigh in tiredness and sadness.

Kneeling on the wood floor and taking a shaky plank out of the floor, Erik glared at Alexander who was still sleeping in determination.

"I hope fate is better for you, my child," Erik said placing baby Alexander inside the crevice.

The world was dark and unforgivable. Erik Hardwood understood such reality since his own birth.

That's why although deep inside he knew it was almost impossible, he hoped for his child a better and calmer future.

The cold of the night crept through the holes in the walls as the angry shouts arrived at the front door.

"They're here! The monsters are here!!" A female angry voice shouted behind the wooden door. Hearing it, Erik gritted his teeth as his eyes reddened in rage.

Shiny white particles started to form around his left hand as purple lightning started to sparkle around his fingers.

'Come on... Come on...' Erik thought, glaring at the door and at his sparkling hand.

As soon the front wooden door was kicked open, Erik shouted in pure rage and insanity "DIE!!!!!" as he pointed his sparkling hand towards the door.

At that moment, it seemed as if the concept of 'light' itself died. It seemed as if every source of light was forcefully sucked dry to a single focused point.

But such a moment only lasted a meaningless half a second before light returned. A blinding light so powerful that the outside crowd recoiled in pain.

And then, what Erik wanted appeared.

A thunderous roar exploded the crowd's eardrums as a bolt of powerful purple lightning burned through dozens of people, turning them to ashes before they could react.

Their clothes, their bones, their entire being... gone. Even Erik was surprised as it wasn't normally this strong.

Glancing at where his child was, Erik's eyes contracted as he thought about something.

Opening his mouth to say something, Erik could only widen his eyes as an arrow penetrated his brain.

As the people who survived the attack earlier saw that, they cheered joyfully as they started to enter the house.

"The witch is on the bed!" The same female who shouted at the beginning shouted angrily to the crowd behind her.

"Take their corpse and impale them at the entrance. No monsters allowed in this village." A calm male voice said to the crowd.

The crowd recoiled their head in fear and said, "Yes, Duke!!"

As they dragged Astrid Hardwood and Erik Hardwood's corpses in their murderous fervor, they failed to notice a faint baby cry beneath their own feet.

...

Outside Veolara Village, One hour after the Hardwood Family slaughter.

As the rain started to pour, an old man could be seen entering the village.

Glancing at the entrance, the old man noticed two corpses impaled, burned beyond recognition.

The old man only glanced before continuing. How much death, how much despair he has already seen. Nothing truly mattered anymore outside what that old hag said to him.

'... Find him, huh...' The Old man thought as his eyes focused forward.

Strangely enough, although the old man was wearing an extremely suspicious black robe with a hood covering his face, the villagers didn't even glance in his direction, completely ignoring him.

As the old man walked, trying to find any clue, he felt it.

What was that feeling? He didn't know why he felt and he didn't care to know why.

Walking towards the origin, he arrived at a window of a villager.

Right behind the window, he saw him. The reason he was there. The key to ending the cycle. He saw a baby.

'Finally... The child of destiny... So much talent... He will probably become the youngest Archmage...' The old man smiled happily as he finally ended his journey.

( Created_by_StrangeGod )

...

Inside the baby's room, 10 minutes later

"Hihihi, my baby... I'm He-" A gentle motherly voice sounded outside the baby's room before the door was opened.

Her voice stopped as if she was seeing the most terrifying nightmare she ever imagined.

Gone. Her baby was gone.

...

As the old man started his journey with the baby back to the Ignotum, the territory controlled by the Sorcerers, inside the Hardwood wooden house a baby sounded beneath the wooden floor.

As his cries intensified, the main front door slowly opened, revealing a pair of eyes.

Entering the house, the figure finally revealed itself to the light, a creature of grace and unparalleled speed, a Cheetah.

As the rays of moonlight cascaded across the room, the cheetah's eyes, orbs of liquid gold, gleamed with an intense, predatory focus as it glared at the loosely placed plank.

It kept glaring at the soft crying beneath the floor, but it didn't move.

It didn't dare to move. The cheetah, just like the old man earlier, felt something.

Something beyond the impossible. It felt like a connection. Like an ethereal bridge was built between them. Was it instinct? Was it something else? The cheetah didn't know but it didn't care to know.

Feeling more relaxed, the cheetah slowly moved the loose plank aside as it glared at the fragile baby inside the crevice. 

Strangely, although the baby was defenseless, the cheetah didn't feel its normal predatory hunger. It felt... that the baby needed protection. As if the world itself was telling to protect him. 

And the baby stopped crying and glared at the big cheetah's face. Smiling, he touched the cheetah's black nose as it closed its eyes, seemingly accepting the gesture.

...

501 A.W.D., Nerican Empire, Capital City of Malor

Under the enchanting glow of the moonlight, the royal castle stood as a silhouette against the night sky, a majestic and imposing structure steeped in history and power. The air was cool and carried a gentle breeze that rustled the red leaves of the trees surrounding the castle grounds.

A balcony, adorned with precious gems and intricate craftsmanship, was bathed in a soft, as a person could be seen looking at the horizon, in the direction of Tharismuz.

King Damion stood tall and broad-shouldered, with a physique sculpted by years of rigorous training and battle. His arms, thick with sinew, bore the scars of countless conflicts, each mark telling a story of victory and resilience. His chestplate, adorned with intricate designs, showcased the muscles beneath, a testament to his unwavering dedication to both the physical and martial aspects of kingship.

A grey crown of forged iron rested upon his head, symbolizing not only his royal authority but also his affinity for the warrior's path. His deep-set eyes, with a piercing shade of blue, reflected the wisdom acquired through years of leading his people through triumphs and tribulations. Despite his imposing and rough exterior, there was a regal grace in his movements, a balance between raw power and kingly refinement.

"My King..." In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls, and an eerie stillness hung in the air. Suddenly, a genderless, emotionless voice resonated from the depths of the darkness, sending shivers down the spines of those present. The voice had no discernible pitch, devoid of any characteristic that could hint at whether it belonged to a man or a woman.

"I know." King Damian said calmly to the shadows. His voice echoed through the ample room, carrying the weight of experience and the timbre of authority. 

For an unknown number of seconds, King Damian stood there, glaring at the horizon as silence permeated the room behind him before he continued, each word carrying a robust strength, resonating with a sense of command and raw power, "Let him go." 

...

As if the world was finally alive again, the wheels of destiny started to turn.

...

"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."

Jean de La Fontaine