In the year 790 of the Second Era of Heroes, a beautiful young woman named Yuria was introduced to an aged and weary king, whose countenance reflected the weight of years of rule and a deep depression. His long whitened hair and deep golden eyes were marks of a lineage that, according to the priests, was of divine origin, destined to rule over all men on Earth. This king, a man whose wife-sister had taken her own life by throwing herself from a tower of the great palace, carried an aura of melancholy that filled the hall where he was.
The priests, zealous in keeping alive the "divine" lineage of the king, brought Yuria to him, constantly repeating that he was a messenger from the heavens, destined to beget demigods for the future battle against the final darkness. But Yuria, though young and naive, had already heard rumors about the king and his intentions. She knew that the priests saw her as a mere instrument for the king's designs, and a feeling of unease invaded her from the moment she entered the hall.
The king, seated on his ornate throne, rose with a slowness that betrayed his age and tiredness. By doing so, everyone in the hall immediately prostrated themselves before him, except Yuria, who had been instructed to remain standing so that the king could examine her. "My king, I present Yuria to you, a commoner who possesses the blood of Arthan, the divine," announced one of the priests. Yuria heard those words without really understanding them, but something within her said that nothing good would come of this situation.
The king, with his tired gaze, walked over to the young woman and circled her, observing her in silence. Yuria, with her heart racing, thought to herself: "I hope he doesn't want anything from me, after all, I'm not beautiful or smart. I just want this to be over soon." But her wishes were denied. The king, in a subtle gesture, nodded his head, indicating his approval. Immediately, the priests took her away from the hall.
Yuria was led to a bath, where they washed her body with perfumed oils, and then dressed her in sensual garments, leaving little to the imagination. She barely recognized herself in the mirror, feeling like a puppet in the hands of those around her. During the night, she was taken to the king's chambers, where her fate was sealed.
Laid on a cold and lavish bed, Yuria saw the king approach, his body sweaty and eyes devoid of any tenderness or affection. Terror took hold of her soul as he took her innocence in a brutal and careless manner, completely ignoring the young woman's feelings. Every movement was agony, and Yuria closed her eyes, trying to disconnect from reality. All she wanted was for it to end soon.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the weary king rolled to the side, falling into a deep sleep, his snoring echoing through the shadowy chambers. Yuria remained motionless, her body aching and mind in shock. She tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. The anguish and horror of the experience had been so intense that something inside her had broken. Instead of crying, she fell silent, bitterly understanding that from that day on, she would be but a puppet in an old man's hands, with no control over her destiny.
Yuria blocked out any emotion that might arise. What she experienced that night made her realize that tears would be useless, that what remained was surviving. And so, with open eyes and without shedding a single tear, Yuria resigned herself to what life had imposed on her. In that cold and opulent room, she was transformed into something more than a young woman; she became a soul that, even imprisoned, would resist in silence the cruelty of the world around her.
In the days that followed, Yuria's life became an endless cycle of torturous nights and uncertain days. To the priests' surprise, the king, who for long seemed to be succumbing to his own melancholy, began requesting Yuria's presence night after night. It was a constant, almost obsessive demand, and no one understood the reason. After all, Yuria did not possess a dazzling beauty, had no skills to entertain the king with conversations, jokes or music, and showed no interest in drinking with him or sharing in the court's luxuries. She simply remained standing, like a statue, night after night, without uttering a single sound, without offering any resistance, accepting the fate imposed upon her.
However, the king seemed to find some comfort in her silent presence. Something in Yuria's apathy deeply pleased him, as if she were an anchor that kept him tethered to the world of the living, even if in a tenuous way. The young woman did not understand why he desired her so much, but she did not ask questions either. Her sole objective was to survive, and if that meant enduring the king's presence night after night, she would do so without protesting.
A few days later, the king made a request that surprised all his subjects. He ordered that Yuria be dressed in noble garments and placed by his side during an important audience taking place that day. However, he did not place her on the queen's throne, which remained empty at his left side, a painful memory of his deceased wife-sister. Instead, he ordered Yuria to remain standing at his right side, like an imposing figure, dressed in beautiful clothes, her posture erect, as if she were part of the decoration of the great ivory hall of the White Palace.
That night, the king's counselor, Felix Saladon, made the formal announcement of the princes' arrival. The firstborn, Merion Arkon, entered first, followed by his younger sister, Illia Arkon. They strode into the great hall with the pomp and elegance expected of the throne's heirs, their presences filling the hall with vibrant energy. Next, the kingdom's nobles began entering, filling the hall until it was crammed with important and influential figures. The night unfolded amid laughter, toasts and lively conversations, an attempt by the court to forget, at least for a few hours, the weight of responsibilities and tragedies surrounding the kingdom.
It was then that Saladon, with an authoritative gesture, requested silence. All eyes turned to him, expectation growing in the air. With his deep voice, he announced that Yuria, the young commoner now at the king's side, was pregnant. The revelation shocked those present, and soon the hall was filled with jubilant shouts and celebration. Even Prince Merion seemed genuinely happy with the news, perhaps seeing a spark of life reemerge in his dying father.
For Yuria, however, this news brought no joy. Inside, her heart was tight with fear and uncertainty. She knew all too well the fate reserved for children not considered worthy by the priests. If the child she carried was not to the king or his counselors' liking, it would quickly be discarded, without mercy. However, something within her had changed. Even knowing the danger she was in, Yuria could no longer bring herself to care, as if part of her had become numb, insensitive to the cruel destiny that might lie ahead. It was as if the apathy that had accompanied her since that first night with the king had taken deep root in her soul, blocking any emotion, any reaction.
When the second moon of the first month of the year 791 rose in the sky, Yuria gave birth to a beautiful girl. The child was born with silver hair, inherited from her father, but her eyes were a deep blue, like Yuria's. This characteristic, which the young mother considered a beautiful blend of the two, was seen by the priests and the king himself as a sign of impurity, that the child was not worthy of being considered a true Arkon. Thus, without any ceremony, the girl was torn from Yuria's arms.
The young mother's heart broke in that moment, but she did not react, did not cry. The same apathy that had protected her during her nights with the king enveloped her like a cloak, shielding her from the pain of losing her daughter. She remained unshaken, staring into emptiness, as if this scene were not real. Deep down, Yuria knew there was no room for hope in this place. She merely accepted what had been imposed on her, just as she had accepted everything since being brought to the palace.
In the years that followed after losing her daughter, Yuria continued trapped in the cycle of torment her life had become. She knew the king had other lovers and concubines, many of them younger and more beautiful than her, but for some reason, old King Oberon had fixed his thoughts on Yuria. Perhaps it was a way to escape the endless pain he had carried since the loss of his wife-sister Estella. Once a proud king and legendary warrior across the continent, Oberon had been destroyed by his queen's death, whom all knew as the "Morning Star".
Estella was adored by her people for being kind and loving. Her beauty was almost mythical; silver hair that glistened in the sun as if being caressed by the very star itself, and golden eyes that shone like beacons capable of dissipating the deepest darkness. But behind this image lay a hidden sadness. Yuria constantly wondered how someone so beautiful and beloved could choose to take their own life.
Since Estella's death, King Oberon had lost the desire to live. Darkness consumed his soul, but somehow he found refuge in Yuria, even if the melancholic joy she provided him was her very own hell. Every day, Yuria lost more and more of her humanity, her empathy and emotions draining slowly like drops of water in an endless leak.
On a cold winter morning on the second moon of the first month of 795, Yuria gave birth to her second son. He was a beautiful and robust boy, with few silver hair strands, the mark of the Arkons. However, unlike other newborns, he did not cry at birth nor open his eyes. Suspicious that the baby may have been born dead, the priests suggested discarding him, as they did with those considered impure. However, one of the priests asked that the baby be given a few days to fight for his life.
Three days passed, and finally the baby gave his first sigh. Twelve days later, he cried for the first time, and on the twenty-first day, he finally opened his eyes. When he did, all around him were horrified. His eyes were not golden like his father's, nor blue like his mother's; they were crimson, a deep, hypnotizing red. Some of the priests regarded this as an ill omen and immediately decided the child should be discarded.
The decision seemed inevitable, but something stirred in Yuria when she looked into her son's eyes. Within them, she saw a silent plea for help, a fierce determination to live that shook the core of what remained of her humanity. Because how could a baby that was meant to die survive by his own strength, how could such a small being have so much will to live that he would fight against destiny to take his first breath? For the first time in years, something within her began pulsing again. Her long dormant maternal instincts awakened with an unrestrained fury. Without thinking, she lunged at the priests, tore the baby from their hands and held him with all the strength she possessed.
Yuria refused to hand over the child. Three guards were called to remove the mother's grip, but she resisted with a strength no one believed she had. Not even the presence of Felix Saladon, the king's high counselor, was enough to convince her to let go of her son. Saladon, aware of Yuria's delicate position as the king's favorite, hesitated to order the use of force against her. But knowing the child's fate was a critical matter, he summoned the commander of the White Palace guard, Gregori, the man responsible for discarding unworthy offspring.
With Gregori's arrival, the situation shifted. Experienced in dealing with such cases, he was able to finally tear the baby from Yuria's arms with the guards' help. But in that moment, something inexplicable happened. Yuria, eyes overflowing with hatred and despair, pointed her finger at her son and spoke in the ancient tongue with a distorted, guttural voice: "Seglathad, Seglathad, gare lah noryh halon, gare adame peruvel, gare laure porar ith karak lu noryh adame trempur ur reahrou nia linarin."
The priests and guards present did not understand the words, thinking they were the ravings of a madwoman. But Saladon, being a scholar of the ancient tongue, comprehended every syllable. The words echoed in his mind: "Crimson-eyed demon, your spirit shall be grand, your strength unmatched, your voice shall rise like thunder. You will be the hammer's force to topple the White Tower."
Saladon, superstitious and cunning, interpreted this as a prophecy. To him, this was no madness, but a sign of destiny. Instead of handing the boy over to death, Saladon rescued him and took him to his tower. There, he raised and taught the child all he knew: fencing, reading ancient scrolls, magic and warfare strategies. Those words were etched in his mind, and in homage to the hidden power within them, Saladon gave the boy the name of Set.