The wind howled through the dying village, its bitter breath carrying the stench of despair. I stood in the village square, watching as my people shuffled aimlessly, their faces hollowed by hunger and defeat. My voice broke through the silence, sharp and unyielding.
"Take up your tools," I said, holding up a farming implement for all to see. My hands, calloused from years of toil, wrapped around the handle. "These are not just for tilling. They are weapons—weapons against hunger, against desperation." I stepped forward and placed the tool into a villager's trembling hands, guiding his grip. "Like this. Together, we will make this land yield."Five figures stood at the edges of the square, their presence like quiet sentinels. They watched me with a mix of awe and determination, each bearing the same ethereal glow of mana that flickered around me.My disciples. My chosen. They would become the pillars of the nation I envisioned, though none of us yet understood the weight of that future.
The transformation began that day. Fields long barren began to sprout life. Day by day, I moved among them, my presence a spark that kindled hope in even the most despairing hearts.When raiders came—as they always did, drawn like vultures to the weak—I stood before my people, mana crackling around me like a living flame.
"This land is ours," I told them, my voice steady and strong. "If we stand together, no force can break us." I remember the way they looked at me, farmers gripping makeshift weapons with trembling hands. That day, they became warriors. Survivors became defenders.My disciples grew with our nation. Varyon, whose heart burned with justice, drafted laws that shielded the vulnerable. Draziel formed a militia, teaching our people to defend what we built. Calvian's trading routes brought wealth, while Luminaris preserved our hard-won knowledge in her meticulous tomes. Eryndor's rituals and prayers gave our people something to believe in when nothing else remained.But the cost of creation is always steep. Every season etched deeper lines into my face, drained more of my strength. On the eve of our fifth anniversary—when our village had grown into a thriving town—I collapsed in the same square where it had all begun. My disciples gathered around me, their faces pale with grief."This nation is my legacy," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Protect it. Guide it. And should the time come when I am no longer here, let my teachings endure."I died that night, or so the world believed. My disciples swore an oath, their mana intertwining in a brilliant display that lit the night sky.Their bloodlines became the five great houses, each bearing the name and duty of their forebearer.
But time is a cruel force. A century passed, and unity gave way to ambition. House Varyon clung to justice, but the others splintered, their paths diverging.My teachings became little more than legends, preserved in dusty scrolls no one read. The nation I had built was rotting from within.
Then, in a humble cottage on the empire's edge, I was reborn.I remember my first breath in this new life, the overwhelming rush of memories from a time long past. I was an infant, helpless in a body too small for the weight of my soul. My mother's lullabies filled the nights, her voice soft and warm.My father's hands, rough and steady, guided me as I learned to walk. For five years, I lived as their son, watching and waiting. Always waiting.
Then the raiders came.Fire swallowed our village. I watched my father fall, his body shielding me from a blade meant to end us both.My mother's arms wrapped around me in her final act of love. Her blood soaked my skin as she whispered, "Run." I obeyed, tears blinding me as I stumbled into the darkness. Smoke choked the air, screams echoing in my ears long after the flames faded into the distance.
For weeks, I wandered, scavenging what I could, my tiny frame trembling from hunger and grief.The man I had once been—the Founder of this nation—felt like a distant memory, a ghost haunting a boy too small to bear his burden. Yet, even in despair, purpose burned within me.
It was fate that brought me to him. In the muddy streets of a crumbling town, I collided with a man whose robes marked him as nobility.He knelt, his sharp eyes scanning my face. Then he froze, his gaze locking onto the aura of mana swirling faintly around me—an aura I could not suppress, no matter how much I tried.
"What's your name, child?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle."Elias," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.He studied me for a long moment, and then his stern features softened. "Come with me," he said, extending his hand. "I will give you a home, teach you to be strong. But you must promise me one thing: use your strength for the good of our people."I stared at his outstretched hand, memories of two lives crashing together. This was my chance.A chance to reclaim what was lost, to rebuild what had crumbled. My fingers curled around his.
"I promise," I said.And so began my return. The Eternal Founder, reborn as a boy named Elias, ready to guide this fractured nation back to greatness—or die trying.