The sky turned crimson, split by black veins of malevolent energy that writhed like serpents
across the heavens. Across the mortal realm, a sense of foreboding spread like wildfire.
Towering cities once brimming with life were engulfed in flames, their structures crumbling as if
the earth itself sought to swallow them whole. In rural villages, the terrified cries of families
pierced the air as monstrous apparitions—twisted creations of the Seven Sins—emerged from the
shadows.
The people, unaware of the celestial struggle that had unleashed this nightmare, succumbed to
chaos. Faith in God had waned over centuries, replaced by greed, envy, and despair. It was this
very negativity that fueled the resurgence of the Sins, emboldening their subordinates to spread
ruin and despair.
Eldermere, a once-idyllic village nestled between rolling hills, was no exception. Farmers
abandoned their fields, families locked themselves indoors, and children wept in confusion. The
village's shrine, a humble structure dedicated to the divine, became a refuge for those seeking
solace.
Lyra knelt before the shrine's weathered altar, her trembling hands clasped tightly in prayer. The
healer's heart ached for the wounded she could not save. Around her, the villagers huddled in
silent fear, their faces illuminated by flickering candles. The shrine itself began to glow, faint at
first, then intensifying to a golden brilliance that bathed the room in warmth.
A figure of radiant light appeared, both otherworldly and familiar. It cast a shadow that seemed
to stretch across time itself. Lyra's breath caught as a voice, calm yet commanding, resonated
within her very soul.
"Lyra," the voice intoned, "your heart is pure. You are chosen to bear a fragment of My power.
Rise and fight, for the fate of humanity rests in your hands."
Tears welled in her eyes, her heart pounding with both fear and resolve. "I am not a warrior," she
whispered, "but I will do what I must."
As the divine blessing enveloped her, warmth spread through her body, banishing exhaustion and
doubt. Her healing magic, once modest, surged with newfound intensity. The villagers gasped as
her presence became a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.
Outside, the skies grew darker, and shadowy creatures descended upon the village. These were
the servants of Sloth, their grotesque forms shrouded in a sluggish aura that seemed to sap the
very will of those who encountered them. Lyra stepped out of the shrine, her hands glowing with
golden light.
The villagers watched in awe as she stood firm against the encroaching nightmare. Each step
forward was a declaration of defiance, her divine light pushing back the encroaching shadows. In
that moment, Lyra realized that her fight had only just begun.