After the {Great War} with the demons, leaving the humans devastated and the demons forced to retreat into the Abyss, there was nothing left.

Only the ashes of the past remained.

These ashes were purposeful, as they told the few thousand remaining humans that the Arbiter Archons expected them to become strong once again.

And so, they did just that.

With the mystic blood that mysteriously passed the abilities of a Spectral Form through lineage, Great Clans and Sects were formed, as well as the factions of Demon Hunters scattered all over the world, hunting down the infestations of demons who remained.

Beasts and animals who also acquired Spiritual Forms became {Mystics}, gaining even the brilliant intelligence of humans.

And the strongest who survived the Great War created empires, kingdoms and dynasties, and their mystic blood created the {Divine Lineages}, which all peasants and those of common origin desired oh-so-dearly.

They served nobody but themselves, and the Arbiter Archons, the Guardian Gods of the heavens and the earth, and, just like that, decades, centuries and even thousands upon thousands of years passed.

{{Within the walls of the [Northern Kingdom of the Great Diamond Wall], bordering the Dusklands…}}

Before the birth of a grand fable, there was once a frail young boy who had the embrace of nothing but a small flame to hold on to.

And even that flame was snuffed out eventually, on this particular day during the night, due to the intrusion of the Hurricane Pistols.

Upon a throne of Coldiron, a human giant sat, with a young face and soulless, brilliant eyes.

His eyes shone brighter than any fierce star, and his bulging body, hidden by his glistening armour and beast cape, was more monstrous than any beast or monster.

He was the 118th Lord of the Firmament. The King who lives in Permafrost, and the one who bears the soul of a giant.

Northern Guardian of the Dusk, Eros Morningstar.

And, as his audience, the Hurricane Pistols, a band of Demon Hunters who were infamous for their cruelty and hatred towards demons, to the point where they relentlessly slaughtered all who they thought were demons.

And, these Demon Hunters had their pistols directed at the Lord of the Firmament.

"You all know that this… is punishable by death?" The Northern Guardian said, not an ounce of fear in his voice.

"Of course, Great Northern Guardian. You have the blood of a Nobility Lineage, only below the Divine Lineages. Who would dare to try such an act against a being of undeniable might like you, except us?"

"…So, you believe me to be a demon? Do you want me to reveal my {Soul World} so that your doubts are relieved?"

The Hurricane Pistols chuckled.

"We know that you only reveal your power to those you are already intent on killing. It seems that only one side is coming out of this alive today. It's a shame, but I guess your weakling firstborn will have to take the reigns from now on."

A cool breeze began to waft through the air of the Northern Kingdom's Grand Fortress Palace, and ice began to form on the fingertips of the Northern Guardian.

His Soul World, [Imagery of Impenetrable Ice] was, quite obviously, of the ice element, and from these worldly representations of the soul that humans could see upon awakening the Spectral Form, anyone could tell their elemental affinity from a glance.

"That's sufficient enough. Your incessant chatter renders me in an extremely unpleasant mood." The Northern Guardian grunted, "I suppose one of us will have to strike first."

"Of course." One of the Demon Hunters responded before a gunshot echoed across the frozen halls, "We will be starting, and finishing this battle!"

The small bullet, infused with the magical power of mystic blood, clinked on the stone-cold floor.

The Northern Guardian rose from his throne and prepared to battle.

The power of solid ice, and the tremendous strength of the giants, which he channelled through his mystic blood, created the visage of a fearsome warrior.

One who could even fight against the dusk itself.

Meanwhile, the Hurricane Pistols, one of the most recognized Demon Hunters despite their cruel habits, could even fight against one of the Hallavan Empire's Eleven Pinnacles, who were all individuals that nobody could take lightly.

According to witnesses from all around the great kingdom, the battle that ensued between these two powerful forces echoed across the entire kingdom, causing great havoc, but not many huge casualties occurred due to the reliability of the great Knight Commanders.

Except…

"…MOM?!"

The heart-piercing scream that resembled a young child's cry for his mother echoed for a long time, in the courtyard of the Fortress Palace.

A young, 11-year-old child, with grey hair the colour of ash, and eyes that were as brilliant as his father's, screamed with agony and anguish upon the sight of his mother's deceased body, being carried by the injured Northern Guardian.

"…"

The Northern Guardian stared at him silently as he wailed and screamed, and couldn't stop the single, smallest tear from falling down his face also.

"Cassandra…"

"Oh, Cassandra… what have they done to you?"

"Was this their plan all along?"

He clutched his fist tightly, thwarting himself from unleashing his cold rage in front of his firstborn.

"I must not falter. Only because my son is watching me. Those bastards barely managed to escape with their lives… but next time, I will kill them all."

Meanwhile, as he made that vow, on that day, the light in that young boy's eyes dissipated completely and was replaced with the distant cold.

Cassandra, the Northern Guardian's first wife, and a distant relative of the Serenity Palace Clan's current Clan Head, was his mother, and the sole flame that kindled his heart.

The cold that greeted him every day could only be warded off by her, and her alone.

And, perhaps she knew that, because she made sure never to leave him alone ever, even when he dozed off peacefully, as she cradled him in her hands every time.

She was almost his personal Guardian God.

But, in an instant, she left this world, to enter the {Land of Salvation} that the Arbiter Archons rule over in the great heavens beyond the skies.

"Mom…" The young boy whispered, staring downwards.

Even then, he didn't dare to stare into the eyes of his father, who wielded the strength of giants.

"My firstborn…" The Northern Guardian said at last, "Remember this day forevermore, and instil these words in your heart."

"Unless you become stronger, stronger than you will ever even imagine, those who you love will drop like flies."

"It is only natural in this world, that is still tainted by the disease which is the Abyss to this day."

"…Evan. I command you, to remember this day, and use it to endure the cold on your own. That way, you won't have to stroll on the same foolish path as I am, and endure the same things I had to endure."

The Northern Guardian walked away, calmer than he had ever been before.

With the loss of his first wife, whom he was truly infatuated with, he had become that much colder to himself.

And, only then did Evan, his firstborn son, have the courage to stare at his shadow, in both resentment and understanding.

He knew that his father had to endure the same bitter cold he did, but, he did so in an entirely different way, which made him unable to form natural relationships with others, and that ended up making him lose the life of even Cassandra.

The Northern Guardian of that generation acted on mostly intuition, but he still had the same quality as the Northern Guardians that came before him.

The tendency to endure, even without a flame to lead the way.

And now, it was the time for this generation to come along, to create fables for the subsequent generations to follow afterwards.

And perhaps… even end the influence of the Abyss altogether.

Now, it was almost time for Evan Morningstar's journey to come to be.