The battlefield was silent.

A place that had once been filled with the clash of steel and the deafening roars of void creatures now lay in eerie stillness. Corpses of monstrous beings littered the ruined land, their grotesque forms dissolving into a dark mist that the wind carried away. The sky, once torn asunder by the war's chaos, now stood still, painted in hues of dusk as the sun set upon the final battle.

Amidst the devastation, a group of warriors stood together. They had won. They had fought against the void creatures, against the monstrosities that threatened to consume the world, and emerged victorious. But as they gazed upon the battlefield, their emotions were far from triumphant.

Historias Everglen stood amidst the ruins of the battlefield, his golden eyes reflecting the smoldering remnants of war. His expression was unreadable—neither joy nor sorrow, but an eerie stillness that unsettled even those who knew him best. The wind carried the scent of blood and ash, tugging at the strands of his silver-white hair as he gazed upon the countless corpses of void creatures and fallen warriors alike.

His posture remained composed, regal even, but there was a quiet weight in the way his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. His gaze flickered over the battlefield, lingering momentarily on the void monarch's core, now sealed and dormant—a testament to their victory. And yet, no triumph gleamed in his eyes. Instead, a flicker of something else—detachment, perhaps? Or was it restlessness?

To those who observed him, it seemed as if Historias was already somewhere else, his mind drifting far beyond this moment, beyond the battlefield, beyond the war they had fought so hard to end.

Aldren Vaelthorn's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his emerald eyes scanning the remnants of war. He was a warrior, an aura master of the highest caliber, and yet, even he could not suppress the heaviness in his chest.

Beside him, Seraphine Ashford—a human blessed with Spirit Magic—stood with arms crossed, pink strands of hair fluttering in the wind. The usual sparkle in her pink eyes was dulled by exhaustion and grief.

Baldric Ironveil, a dwarven master of arcane constructs, let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his thick beard. Regis Vald, the vampire healer, observed the battlefield with an unreadable expression, his crimson eyes reflecting the flickering embers of the dying flames. Valak Allgera, the demon who wielded holy power, stood solemnly, his gaze fixed on the sealed core of the Void Monarch—an ominous, pulsing crystal that was now bound by layers of powerful enchantments.

They had ended the war. But at what cost?

........

For the first time in years, there was peace. Yet, no one could truly celebrate.

The following days were filled with sorrow as they buried their fallen comrades. Thousands had perished, their sacrifices paving the way for survival. The funerals stretched for days, each race honoring their dead in their own way. Elves whispered prayers to the spirits of nature, dwarves engraved the names of their heroes onto sacred stones, humans lit candles in mourning, and vampires offered silent tributes to the souls lost.

The weight of grief was suffocating.

Aldren stood before the graves of those he had fought beside, hands clenched into fists. He should have been happy. The war was over, the world was safe. But instead, he felt… empty.

Seraphine was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the flames of the ceremonial torches, her mind lost in thoughts.

"Do you think they'd be proud?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Baldric, standing nearby, let out a low grunt. "They gave their lives for this. I'd like to think they found peace."

No one had an answer. The dead did not speak.

And so, time passed. Days became weeks, then months, then years. Life began to return to normal. The scars of war, while never truly fading, were slowly buried beneath the march of time. Kingdoms were rebuilt, relations between races strengthened, and history began recording the tale of their victory.

Yet, even as the world moved forward, some wounds remained fresh.

And then, one day, it happened.

........

It had been five years since the war ended when the news spread like wildfire—Historias Everglen was gone.

Not dead. Not taken. Just… gone.

In his personal study within Castellas Academy, a single note was found, written in his elegant, almost lazy script:

"I'm bored. Going on a long-overdue vacation. Don't bother looking for me. I'll return if I feel like it. Maybe. Until then, take care of yourselves."

The room itself was untouched, as though he had simply stepped out for a walk. But his presence—his overwhelming aura that had once filled the academy—was completely absent.

Aldren read the note again, his hands trembling slightly. He refused to believe it at first, checking every hidden chamber, every secret passageway, every place where Historias might have left some sign of his destination. But there was nothing.

Seraphine's reaction was immediate outrage.

"A VACATION?!" she exclaimed, nearly knocking over a stack of books. "That's what he calls this?!"

Baldric merely exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Of course. Of course, he'd do something like this."

Regis chuckled, a knowing smile on his lips. "It's just like him, isn't it?"

Valak shook his head, crossing his arms. "That damn elf…"

Some were furious. Others were exasperated. But deep down, they all knew—Historias Everglen never did anything without reason. (Or did they really!, Who knows..)

Even if he claimed boredom, there was something more to this.

Still, no matter how much they searched, no trace of him remained. And so, the world continued without him… for a time.

......

Without Historias, the world continued its slow recovery. Castellas Academy flourished, becoming a symbol of unity between races. The nations that had fought in the war strengthened their bonds, vowing never to let such devastation return.

Aldren took on the responsibility of watching over the elven domain, though his thoughts often drifted to his missing friend.

Seraphine continued her studies, using her spirit magic to aid those in need.

Baldric immersed himself in research, advancing the knowledge of arcane constructs.

Regis and Valak, too, found their own paths, ensuring that the world Historias had helped save remained at peace.

But none of them truly forgot him.

And then, one fateful day, everything changed.

A group of young students—mere teenagers—found themselves lost in the depths of Everglen Forest, chased by a C-rank monster. Injured, exhausted, and desperate, they stumbled upon an ancient dwelling at the heart of the forest.

A place untouched by time.

A place where magic flowed so thickly in the air that it was suffocating.

And within that place, sleeping beside a tree laid a lone elf....

..........

To Be Continued…