The ever-bright moon hung silently in the dark sky, full of burning stars, illuminating everything below. Trees covered the land where no man had ever set foot. It was a night so serene that no sounds could be heard—not the cry of insects nor the whisper of the wind. Mysterious circles of light, each the size of a coin, danced in the air, yet the stillness remained unbroken. Mushrooms and flowers glowed with a brilliant blue, casting an ethereal chill that seemed to penetrate the souls of anyone who dared to wander there.
The trees swayed viciously from side to side, their leaves abandoning their homes to drift down to the ground. Grasses and other vegetation danced violently in the eerie silence, though it was not the wind's doing. The mysterious lights gradually faded away, disappearing forever into the night. The clouds in the sky gathered tightly together, as if conspiring to hide the moon, yet the plants below remained, glowing even more brightly than before. Meanwhile, in a small crack in the ground, a dark stem began to sprout. It grew slowly but steadily, rising until it reached the height of a broom.
"Waaah… waaah… waaah…"
The forest, once silent, was suddenly filled with the cry of a newborn, reverberating through the sleeping trees. The sky grew darker, yet the forest seemed to glow brighter. The dark stem, which had emerged from the depths, disconnected itself from the infant's abdomen. Slowly, it began to retreat back into the earth, but its strength faltered, and it dissolved into nothingness.
Minute by minute, the mysterious lights dimmed and faded away, and the eerie silence reclaimed the forest. Once more, the darkness had birthed its spawn, as it had done countless times over millennia. The cycle had never been broken, nor had it ever changed—until now.
This time was different. Unlike its predecessors, the new spawn was alone. It had no companions, no minions to command, and no demons to serve it. Only two months had passed since the war, and the being from the depths lacked the energy to fully renew the cycle. This was its final attempt—the last onslaught that would determine the fate of the world.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—
"The appearance of a hero signals the death of a demon king," a gray-bearded man said softly as he walked through the corridor of a castle. Anyone with clear vision could see that his clothes were dirty and worn, yet he seemed utterly unconcerned about how others might perceive him.
Beside him was a big, burly man, followed by their respective attendants. The attendants wore simple yet fine garments made of high-quality fabric. The burly man, clad in full knight's armor, held his great helm at his side out of respect for the hallowed place they were entering.
The group was making its way to the throne room, where the king awaited to preside over the ceremony. The event, fortunately, depended entirely on the king's signal to begin.
"Hmm, that's what's written in the book, right, Sir Glaiven?" the prideful knight asked, his voice carrying a rare note of respect.
Glaiven, with a face of quiet acknowledgment, simply nodded and continued walking down the corridor known as The Sacred Hallway.
"Ugh, the book. Yes, the book," Glaiven forcefully admitted. "But the world, and especially aristocrats, easily forget something very important." He paused as a few people passed by. They greeted the group with the proper courtly manners, chambermaids, a position even above scholars.
"It takes twenty-odd years of the Demon King's reign before the hero begins to show up. Every time, humanity pays a great price to buy that time, a time when no one else…" Glaiven continued after the chambermaids had passed.
"And who suffers the most?" Glaiven eyed the knight. "That's right, the peasants," he declared.
The knight looked at him seriously and replied, "But Sir, who cares about who suffers the most or who benefits the most? In the end, it's humanity's victory."
They didn't notice that they had stopped walking. The ever-prideful knight turned toward the window, where the rays of the sun shone brightly. Outside, the peaceful capital revealed its grandeur. Despite the war that had occurred, there were no signs of hardship. Children cheerfully played in the streets, and ordinary people went about their daily routines. Clearly, peace reigned in the heart of the kingdom's glory.
"It's the days of revelry," the knight said with a content smile, basking in the glow of the sun.
These words stirred something within Glaiven. In his heart, consumed by thoughts of humanity's future—of how it would end—the tragedies of the past seemed irrelevant now. The knight shot a glance at him.
"Thirty years of battles have come to an end," Cedric, the knight, placed his fist on his chest. "Now, they will enjoy a hundred," he proclaimed proudly.
"Yeah, it's true. The people of Fern—No. We, humanity, will be embraced by the light once again," Glaiven sighed. He approved of the knight, despite his pride and boastfulness. Cedric genuinely cared for the people, perhaps even more than the hero, even more than the king.
In the throne room, where important figures had gathered, King Alden Fernavin II, Hero Ronan, Pope Vorath of Light, other royalties, Glaiven and his group, Knight Cedric, along with some servants and knights, were present. Everyone knew what would be discussed in this gathering before they even walked in. If not the plan for the future, then it would be negotiating the gains or blaming the losses—balancing the power or securing the top spot. Everyone had their own priorities.
But what they did not know was that, somewhere in the world, in a place so unknown and untouched by humans, a being capable of changing the world was beginning to shape its own destiny. But first, it was being nurtured by the forest, preparing the land for the coming chaos. The abyss would no longer merely stare back; it would emerge from its nest to claim you.