The world burned.
Kingdoms that had stood for centuries crumbled just by the weight of his wake. Rivers ran red, choked with the remains of the fallen, while the sky lay cloaked in an unending shroud of blackened smoke. The land shattered, devoured by an abyssal force that only left ruin in its wake. No soul was safe, for he had awakened an evil far more sinister than anything the world had ever known. It was the moment they understood everything. As the events unfolded, one question still lingered.
Who was he? And how did he know? A prophet…? A harbinger of fate? perhaps an angel sent by god? Or something even beyond? But the answer to all those questions now remained meaningless, for the world now faced its greatest threat while one of the world's greatest warriors lay unconscious while the very hands of the former killed the other.
But before we go any further, allow me to speak. I am Oathbark—an eternal sentinel, a keeper of time's deepest secrets. I have watched as ages turned to dust, as kings and empires crumbled beneath the weight of eternity. My roots have pierced the fabric of history, and my branches have whispered to the winds since the dawn of existence, carrying echoes of legends long forgotten.
But now, I shall speak of a tale unlike any before it. A tale not merely told but etched into the world's very soul. It is the birth of an epic that will shatter the order of all things, forge heroes from the embers of despair, and bring forth an era where the lines between justice and tyranny dissolve into shadow.
This is not just a tale. This is destiny, unraveling before your very eyes.
Listen well, for once you step into this tale, there is no turning back. As for what I speak, it shall not be forgotten.
This all started far more peaceful than today—not entirely without strife, but peaceful nonetheless.
The sky was not always a canvas of fire, nor did the rivers always carry the burden of blood. Long before the screams drowned the laughter, there was a time when the winds carried stories of love, not loss. It was a time when warriors stood as protectors, not as butchers. A time of relative peace.
But peace... peace is like glass. Beautiful. Fragile. Destined to break.
It began in Velyndra, a kingdom whispered to be blessed by the gods. kingdom cradled in golden sunlight, where meadows stretched endlessly, and rivers shimmered beneath skies painted in hues of lavender. The people of Velyndra laughed freely, sang without fear, and lived without the weight of war pressing on their hearts. For centuries, they had known only peace under the noble House of Rathore — so unbroken that many began to believe it would last forever.
But forever is a cruel lie. Even the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows. And in those shadows, the first cracks began to form.
The people of Velyndra did not believe in the god they had never seen but in a king who had sacrificed his blood a thousand times for its people. Someone who could even scare Satan himself. King Yashraj Rathore. His name carried through the kingdom like a ghost—spoken only in hushed voices, as if to summon him was to summon fate itself. His eyes, dark as storm clouds, seemed to see through men—peering into the corners of their souls where secrets lay buried. No one knew the limits to his strength. A man feared and loved by anyone who knew him, even a little. A man whose presence made the bravest warriors tremble, and the wisest scholars fall silent.
King Yashraj Rathore—a man whose very gaze felt like a prophecy, whose silence carried the weight of countless tomorrows. Some even whispered that the gods had cursed him with immortality. Others believed he was something beyond mortal understanding—an omen wrapped in human flesh. But if Yashraj was a curse, why did his people sleep without fear? Why did the meadows still bloom under his reign?
But even the most feared kings grow old.
On the day the twin suns rose together—an omen in itself—Yashraj relinquished his throne. Yet the crown did not fall to his firstborn son, nor the second or third. Instead, it was placed upon the brow of Hiran—a son unknown to the kingdom. Hidden from the world. A boy who had lived his life behind locked doors. The people did not cheer. They only watched; hearts heavy with questions they dared not ask.
It was a decision that felt small at the moment. A whisper lost in the breeze. But fate moves not in shouts but in dominoes—one piece tipping into the next, setting off a chain that cannot be stopped.
What seemed like a simple coronation was, in truth, the spark that would set the world on fire. The air grew colder. The rivers carried whispers. And far from the golden fields of Velyndra — in a distant village untouched by crowns or kings — a boy named Vairagya played in the dust, unaware that the tides of fate had already begun to pull him in.
He was barely ten. His hands were too small to carry a sword. His heart was too tender to know what it meant to break. Yet destiny would ask him to grow in half a decade, which most men could not do in a century.
The greatest stories are not always written by kings or carved into thrones. Sometimes... they begin with a boy who never asked to be chosen. Sometimes... they begin with the fall of a single block.
The first domino had fallen, and though Vairagya could not see it yet, its shadow was already stretching toward him—waiting to break, shape, and turn him into something the world would one day remember.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the East,
"It's worrisome... as if some dark omen has stirred," Mathew murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully while his eyes searched the star-scattered sky for answers.
"Rajni," he called softly, his voice carrying through the still night to one of the orphanage's caretakers. "Come here. Tell me... do you feel it too?"
"I felt it hours ago," she admitted, her gaze flickering upward, where the stars hung unnaturally still. "The wind has lost its way, and even the night creatures refuse to sing. Something... ancient is stirring. In fact, I was just about to ask you the same. Could it be tied to the crowning of the new lord?"
Mathew exhaled slowly, his eyes lingering on the constellations as though they might offer counsel. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's something far older than kings and crowns. But whatever it is... I fear the very tide of this world is shifting."
Rajni glanced back toward the orphanage, where faint candlelight flickered like timid fireflies behind the windows. "And the children... will they be safe here?"
"They're safe for now," Mathew said, his voice low and certain. "Whatever fate stirs beyond those stars, it is not theirs to fear... not yet at the very least."
A sudden chill crept through the night air, but no breeze stirred. Somewhere beyond the hills, the distant toll of an unseen bell rang out—soft, slow, and mournful.
Rajni shivered. "Not yet? What does that mean?" she asked, her worry seeping into every word.
Mathew chuckled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "Who knows... but I suppose we'll find out soon enough." He finally turned to her, the weariness in his eyes barely masked. "For now, try to get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us."
Rajni nodded reluctantly, casting one last glance at the motionless sky before retreating toward the orphanage doors.
And still, Mathew stood beneath the stars, watching... waiting... as if daring them to reveal what came next.
As soon as Rajni left, Mathew spoke," So, how long do you plan to hide here, little Vairagya," he questioned.
Soon, Vairagya, a 10-year-old in the orphanage, left hiding slowly. His face was like a canvas showing fear. Mathew was afraid that Vairagya had heard every word they spoke. Still, he started laughing as soon as Vairagya asked, "Father Mathew, Is sister gone," Mathew asked why, "To which Vairagya replied, "Actually, I ate all the cookies she had bought for this week."
Soon after Rajni disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors of the orphanage, a soft shuffling sound broke the silence. A small figure emerged cautiously from behind one of the garden's tall hedges as if afraid the night might scold him.
It was Vairagya, barely ten years old, his face pale and wide-eyed—a canvas painted with fear and guilt. Mathew's heart sank. Had the boy overheard everything? The talk of omens, of ancient stirrings, of danger creeping unseen?
But before Mathew could speak, the boy's trembling lips parted.
"Father Mathew," Vairagya whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Is Sister Rajni gone?"
Mathew arched a brow. "She is. Why?"
The boy's serious expression cracked, giving way to a mischievous grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He scratched the back of his head, looking both sheepish and proud.
"Well... I might have accidentally eaten all the cookies she bought for the week."
For a long moment, Mathew just stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, laughter bubbled up from his chest, rich and full, echoing into the cold, quiet night.
"Vairagya," Mathew said, wiping a tear from his eye, "you may have just committed a crime far greater than anything the stars are plotting."
The boy giggled, his fear forgotten, and Mathew ruffled his hair.
"Come on, little thief," Mathew said, gently guiding him toward the orphanage. "If she finds out, you and I may need to flee by dawn."
And as they walked back through the creaking doors, leaving the restless night behind them, Mathew allowed himself—for just a moment—to forget the weight of the sky.