In the year 376, whispers of old spoke of ancient nightmares—banished from the material world by the noble House Concordia, this noble familywas always remembered in history as The Great Torchbearers of Humanity who lead and guide them in times of crisis. After the banishment of the darkness, Humanity was given a long period of peace where the chance to rebuild was given for the price of many lives at the decicive battle lead by House Concordia, although they were hailed as the so called "Protector's of Humanity" the priced they paid was immense with the lost of the majority of their forces and the mortal wound suffered by the then Head of the Family.
The final battle to drive out the darkness was a scene ripped straight from the depths of Hell. Soldiers screamed in agony, their cries mingling with the guttural roars of demons. Holy Fire blazed across the battlefield, its golden flames searing through abyssal flesh, but the darkness pressed on, relentless and unyielding.
At the heart of the chaos, the malevolent entity loomed, its form a shifting mass of shadows and fire. It clashed with the Head of House Concordia, the man history would remember as the Sword Saint, their blows shaking the earth. The Sword Saint moved like a tempest, his blade a blur of light, but even he was mortal.
The swordmasters of the continent, fifty in total, fought beside him. They struck with precision and unity, each blade igniting with divine purpose. But the cost of victory was immense. One by one, the swordmasters fell, their names destined to be etched in history, until only 29 remained.
The Sword Saint, grievously wounded, delivered the final blow. With a roar that echoed across the battlefield, he drove his blade into the entity's core, unleashing a burst of light so brilliant it turned night to day. The darkness howled as it was torn from the material world, banished beyond the veil.
When the dust settled, the cost became clear. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers lay dead, their bodies strewn across the blood-soaked ground. The rivers ran red for days, giving the battle its infamous name: The Battle of Scarlet Rivers.
The Sword Saint was carried from the field, his wounds too great to heal. He lived just long enough to see the darkness fade from the skies, whispering words before fainting
"Did we protect them?"
The land itself bore the scars of the battle. Rivers ran red for days, and the once-green fields were charred black, littered with the broken weapons and bodies of the fallen. Even years later, nothing would grow there, as if the earth itself remembered the pain and loss. The surviving soldiers returned home as shadows of their former selves. They spoke of rivers of blood, of friends who fell beside them, and of the Sword Saint who stood as humanity's shield until his final breath. Though they lived, a part of them had died on that battlefield.
With the peace that was paid at immense cost, it lasted for centuries, Humanity, driven by their greed for power scattered once more into rivalling factions and began to kill, plunder and loot those weaker than them. One by one those who fought with the House of Concordia fell to the ones who betrayed their pledge to "Protect those weaker than them". The Head of the Family enraged but there was nothing he could do for his mortal wound was starting to worsen and eventually he succumbed to it.
Although the Family grieved his passing they must keep pushing forward to honor the duty of House Concordia, to Guide and Lead Humanity in times of crisis. Eryndor often walked the halls where the Sword Saint's blade hung, its edge still gleaming despite the centuries. 'You'll need this one day,' the old historians would say. But no blade could carry the burden of a family's legacy. The stories of Scarlet Rivers were not just tales to Eryndor—they were warnings, and he knew all too well that humanity had forgotten the price of their peace.
The year now is 677, the once renowned, revered and honored House of Concordia was shunned by Humanity, the darkness had never returned to the material world in over three centuries, the corrupt and greedy rulers, in their hubris, simply cast aside their plea to stop warring against each other. The current Head of the Family Eryndor of Concordia, warned that the darkness thrived on discord of humans. Murder, Slavery, Pillaging are nothing more than a great feast to it. They feared the darkness may return stronger than ever before. Due to his relatively young age of 21, his warnings fell on deaf ears, for the rulers thought of him as nothing more than a child stuck in the past and immature for still believing "Prophecies".
Eryndor stood in the dimly lit halls of Concordia Keep, his gaze fixed on the banners of his ancestors. Each one told a story of courage, of sacrifice, of triumph over darkness. Yet, here he was, a Concordia by name but powerless to stop the world from tearing itself apart.
"They'll only listen when it's too late,"
he muttered to himself, gripping the hilt of his sword. The weight of his family's duty felt heavier than ever.
"And by then, the cost will be immeasurable."
The city of Emberfall which is the capital city of the largest Empire on the continent, The Kaizen Empire, ruled by Emperor Nero II, was the largest breeding grounds for emotions that feeds the darkness. It was supposed to be a regular day of selling slaves, in the slaves market which the nobles frequented for their own disgusting pleasures Merchants haggled loudly, their voices carrying over the cries of chained slaves. Nobles strolled lazily, fanning themselves as they inspected the "merchandise."
The air in Emberfall was thick with the stench of sweat, desperation, and greed. Merchants called out to the crowds, their voices echoing against the towering marble walls of the slave market.Rows of chained slaves stood under the oppressive sun, their hollow eyes staring at nothing. Nobles dressed in lavish silks strolled through the market, fanning themselves with ornate fans, their laughter cutting through the cries of the enslaved.In the distance, a bard strummed a lute, singing a ballad that no one cared to hear. Children darted between the market stalls, stealing scraps of food as guards half-heartedly gave chase.
"Fifty gold pieces for this fine specimen!"
a merchant bellowed, gripping a frail man by the collar.
"He's a craftsman—look at those hands! Strong as an ox, I tell you!"
A noblewoman sneered, raising an eyebrow.
"An ox? He looks more like a mule ready for slaughter,"
she said, tossing a silver coin at the merchant.
"I'll take him. He'll scrub my floors until he dies."
Beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of unease—a tension that no one could quite place. The sun, high in the sky, dimmed for a brief moment. The shadows of the market stalls stretched unnaturally long, though no one noticed. A cold breeze swept through the square, sending shivers down the spines of even the most hardened merchants.
Without warning, the ground beneath Emberfall roared, a low rumble that grew louder with every passing second. The merchant stalls swayed, pots and trinkets clattering to the ground. A nobleman stumbled, his cane slipping from his hand as the earth bucked beneath him. A fissure tore through the center of the market, swallowing stalls and sending people screaming in all directions. Smoke and ash spewed forth, choking the air as the temperature rose unnaturally fast.Slaves bolted for freedom, their chains clinking as they ran. Guards, too panicked to chase them, clutched their weapons and looked toward the fissure, their faces pale.
The fissure deepened, and from its depths poured a darkness thicker than shadow, alive and writhing. The temperature dropped suddenly, and the cries of the crowd fell silent as a figure emerged. The ancient plague of Humanity, emerged from a crack in reality, hordes of demons from the whispers of old began to appear in numbers so uncountable, as if it was a wave of darkness manifested in the middle of the city. The figure was humanoid, but its proportions were wrong—too tall, its limbs elongated and unnatural. Wings stretched from its back, spanning the width of the square, their edges dripping with darkness that hissed as it touched the ground. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and its presence pressed against the chests of all who gazed upon it, suffocating and inescapable.
"Ahh,"
the darkness breathed, its voice like a thousand whispers overlapping.
"The material world… I'd almost forgotten the taste of it. So rich, so intoxicating. And you humans—your fear, your hatred, your greed—it's delicious."
It tilted its head, its wings spreading wide enough to blot out the sun.
The Viscount of House Elendor, his face red with indignation, shoved past the cowering crowd and pointed an accusatory finger at the darkness.
"You there, beast! I am Viscount Elendor, a noble of the Kaizen Empire! You will leave this place at once!"
The darkness tilted its head, as if amused, before appearing directly in front of the Viscount in the blink of an eye. Its hand, clawed and shimmering with void-like energy, gripped the Viscount by the collar.
The darkness said to the feeble noble,
"Where are you going, Great Viscount?"
The Viscount's bravado shattered instantly,
"P-please! I-I'll give you anything! Gold, jewels, land! Whatever you desire—just spare me!"
The darkness smiled, its fanged maw glinting.,
"Your gold is worthless to me. Your jewels, meaningless. What I desire... is your soul."
With a flick of its wrist, it hurled the Viscount into the fissure, his screams cut short as the void consumed him.
Nobles trampled over one another, screaming and clawing at each other in their desperation to escape. A noblewoman tripped on her gown, only to be shoved aside by another man who didn't bother to look back.
"Save me!" one of them cried, grabbing at a knight's arm. "You're supposed to protect me!"
The knight shook him off, his face pale as he muttered,
"Not from this..."
Commoners fled in every direction, some throwing themselves into the fissure in blind panic, others frozen in place, unable to comprehend the terror before them.
The darkness rose above the square, its wings stretching wide as it addressed the demons pouring from the fissure.
"My stewards, my children... reclaim what is rightfully ours. Feast. Murder. Bathe this world in despair. The light has grown arrogant in my absence. Let us remind them why they should fear the dark."
The demons howled in unison, a cacophony of rage and hunger, as they surged forward, tearing into the fleeing crowd.