The clash of steel echoed through the war-torn ruins, the scent of blood and smoke saturating the cold air. Crumbling stone walls stood like broken sentinels, the remnants of what was once a proud kingdom. Flickers of orange flames danced in the distance, casting eerie shadows over the battlefield where bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls.
Amidst the carnage, he stood—his breath ragged, his body barely holding on, but his grip on his sword remained firm. His dark hair was matted with sweat and grime, his tattered armor slick with blood—some his own, but most from the countless enemies who had fallen to his blade.
"Is this… where it ends?"
The thought was bitter. His vision blurred as his legs threatened to give out, but he forced himself to stay upright.
"Not yet… I can't fall yet."
His name was… Elias. A warrior whose skills had been honed through countless battles, a man who had survived when all odds were against him. But now, even he could feel it—the end was near.
"Come on…" He tightened his grip on his sword, forcing his body to move.
Across from him stood his final opponent—a man whose power dwarfed his own. Clad in obsidian-black armor, a sinister aura rippling around him, his enemy was more than just a warrior. He was a monster, a harbinger of death who had razed entire kingdoms to the ground. His sword pulsed with dark energy, humming with malicious intent.
"You've fought well," the man spoke, his voice smooth and unbothered. "But this is where your story ends, little hero."
Elias spat blood to the side, glaring at the man with eyes filled with defiance. "Not… yet." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The enemy smiled. It was a cruel, condescending smile—one that sent a chill down Elias' spine.
"Very well," the man murmured, raising his sword high. "Die with dignity."
A burst of black energy shot toward him.
Elias barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side. The ground where he had stood moments ago cracked and shattered, sending debris flying in all directions. His body screamed in protest as he stumbled back to his feet, chest heaving.
"I can't… keep this up…"
His limbs felt like lead. His vision blurred again, and this time, it wasn't just from exhaustion. His blood was spilling faster than he could control.
"No… not yet… I have to…"
Memories flashed before his eyes. His friends, his comrades… all of them had fallen. He was the last one standing. If he failed here… all their sacrifices would be in vain.
"I won't… let that happen," he growled through gritted teeth.
One last strike. That was all he needed.
Elias steadied his breathing, channeling the last remnants of his strength into his sword. A faint glow surrounded the blade, his magic responding to his resolve. If he was going down, he was taking this monster with him.
"One last time…"
With a battle cry that echoed across the ruins, Elias surged forward. His sword cut through the air, aimed directly at the enemy's heart.
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow.
He saw the flicker of surprise in the enemy's eyes. A chance.
But it was too late.
"Fool."
The enemy's blade moved faster than Elias could react.
A sharp, searing pain exploded in his skull.
The world tilted violently as Elias felt something heavy—**the hilt of the enemy's sword—**slam against his temple.
CRACK.
The sound echoed in his ears, louder than the chaos of the battlefield. His vision exploded into white-hot agony before quickly fading into darkness.
His body crumpled to the ground, his sword slipping from his grasp.
Thud.
The cold, unforgiving stone met his head as he fell, and he felt… nothing.
Except the blood.
Warm, sticky liquid pooled around his head, soaking into the dirt and rubble beneath him.
"Ngh…" He tried to move, but his body no longer obeyed.
His mind screamed at him to get up, to keep fighting—but his limbs felt distant, like they no longer belonged to him.
"Not… like this…"
But the pain was fading.
A heavy numbness crept through his body, dragging him down into its embrace. His thoughts… were slipping away. His memories… fragments of laughter, of battles, of promises—
Fading.
"No… don't… forget…"
But the harder he tried to hold on, the faster they slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
Faces… names… voices…
They blurred, dissolving into nothingness.
"I… can't…"
His breaths grew shallow, his pulse slowing as the warmth of life drained from him.
"Is this… death…?"
It was quiet now. The battlefield was gone, the pain was gone.
Everything… was fading.
Elias… was no more.
As the last thread of consciousness unraveled, only silence remained.
And then… nothing.
A blinding warmth surrounded her.
It was strange—comforting yet unfamiliar. Softness. A sensation she had long forgotten. There was no pain, no weight of exhaustion pulling her down. Only warmth, like floating in a sea of light.
Her mind was blank, devoid of memories or purpose. She didn't know who she was. She didn't know where she was. She just existed.
"What…?" Her thoughts were faint, fragmented, as if her consciousness had been pieced together from fragments of something long lost.
A voice.
"My sweet little angel," came a gentle, loving whisper.
Warmth. This warmth… it wasn't just physical. It was something deeper. Something that stirred a strange comfort within her tiny, fragile form.
"Look at her eyes," the voice cooed softly. "So beautiful… like pink stardust…"
Pink?
For a brief moment, a distant image flashed in her mind. A reflection in a cracked mirror—eyes that shimmered in shades of pink, fading into crimson. But before she could grasp the memory, it was gone.
She tried to move, but—
Small.
Her limbs felt weak, barely responding to her will. Everything felt… tiny. Her fingers curled instinctively, and she felt the softness of silk-like fabric beneath her.
"My little Aria," the voice whispered again.
Aria…?
A name. Her name.
"You'll grow up strong and beautiful," the woman murmured, her tone filled with warmth and tenderness.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and blurry shapes greeted her. Soft light poured through a nearby window, casting a warm glow over the cozy room. She could barely make out the outline of a woman—her mother.
"Welcome to the world, my precious Aria Everhart."
And just like that—everything changed.
The first five years of Aria's life were filled with wonder. From the moment she could comprehend the world around her, magic became her greatest fascination.
Year 1: As a baby, Aria would often stare wide-eyed at the faint glow of her mother's healing magic. Her tiny fingers would reach out instinctively, as if drawn to the energy. Even before she could speak, her eyes would light up whenever her father demonstrated minor spells to entertain her.
Year 2: As soon as she could hold a quill, Aria began drawing crude shapes and symbols. At first, her parents thought it was just a child's curiosity—but the patterns were familiar. Runes. Though imperfect, they resembled the foundational symbols of magical scripts. Her mother watched with growing awe.
Year 3: Words came easily to Aria, and soon after, so did reading. Her little hands flipped through beginner-level magic books, her pink eyes scanning the pages with intensity beyond her years. Mana theory. Elemental affinities. Concepts that should have been far beyond her understanding seemed… familiar.
Year 4: Aria's connection to magic deepened. She could feel mana in the air, whispers of elements calling to her. Fire—gentle and warm. Water—fluid and calm. Wind—light and free. Earth—solid and unyielding. Her mother marveled at her daughter's growing attunement.
Year 5: The culmination of her silent journey—understanding. Aria wasn't just reading or observing anymore. She understood magic. The intricacies of mana flow, the complexity of spell structures—they felt like second nature. Her tiny heart pounded with excitement, her soul craving to touch magic with her own hands.
"Mama," Aria called softly, her small feet padding across the polished marble floor as she approached her mother.
Seraphina Everhart sat by the window, tending to a potted plant that glowed faintly with life magic. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as she turned to greet her daughter.
"Yes, my love?"
Aria hesitated, her tiny hands clutching the hem of her dress. Her heart pounded with excitement, but a flicker of doubt made her voice tremble.
"Mama… can I—" She bit her lip, her pink eyes glimmering with determination. "Can I start practicing magic now?"
Seraphina blinked, her gentle smile softening. "Practice magic?" She knelt down, cupping Aria's cheek with a tenderness that made the little girl lean into her touch.
"But, sweetheart," Seraphina said softly, "You're still so young. Magic isn't easy—even for adults."
"I know," Aria whispered, her eyes shimmering with resolve. "But I've read so much… and… I feel it, Mama. I can feel the magic inside me."
Seraphina's expression faltered for a brief moment—a flicker of concern mixed with something else. Wonder.
"Please," Aria pleaded softly, her tiny fingers gripping her mother's hand. "Just… let me try."
For a moment, Seraphina was silent, her gaze searching her daughter's earnest expression. Then, with a sigh that held both resignation and pride, she gave a small nod.
"Alright, my little Aria," she murmured, her smile returning. "We'll start with something small."
Aria's eyes sparkled with joy, her heart pounding in anticipation.
This…
This was where it would begin.