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Four hundred years ago, in the quaint village of Rafaria in Region 1 of the Six Kingdoms, life seemed tranquil on the surface. Known for its unparalleled healing spells, the village thrived—or so it appeared. Behind the scenes, the villagers lived in quiet suffering. Their leader, Headmaster Kainer, a man steeped in greed and corruption, seized the majority of the village's profits for himself, leaving the spell crafters and their families struggling to make ends meet.
The tranquility of Rafaria shattered when a peculiar and devastating virus swept through the village. Victims of the virus experienced horrifying symptoms: their skin turned crimson, bubbling as though it might explode, delivering unbearable pain. The villagers, renowned for their healing magic, attempted to combat the affliction with their spells, only to discover the virus had corrupted the very magic they relied upon. Panic spread like wildfire, and despair gripped the hearts of the villagers.
Desperate for guidance, they turned to Kainer’s grand home, only to find it empty. The headmaster had fled, abandoning his people in their hour of need. Mothers clung to their children, seeking solace, while the men roamed the village, shouting Kainer’s name in vain. Amid this chaos, a strange woman walked into the village, her presence commanding attention.
“I can help you,” she announced, her voice calm yet laced with an unsettling undertone. “My village faced the same virus. I can cure you all—but you must do one thing for me.”
A grizzled man named Kairo from the crowd stepped forward, suspicion etched into his features. “And what would that be?” he asked warily.
The woman’s gaze swept over the villagers. “You must give me the power source you use to create your healing spells.”
A murmur of outrage rippled through the crowd. “No!” one man shouted. “You may not walk into our village and demand our secrets!”
The woman remained composed, but her tone grew sharper. “I wish to remain peaceful,” she said, “but I will escalate if needed.”
The villagers erupted in dissent, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony. Some were adamant about protecting their legacy, while others, gripped by fear, urged compliance. The woman’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.
“IT’S NOT A SECRET,” she declared. “We know what you have—the Power of Xero. It doesn’t belong in the hands of insects.”
The mention of the Power of Xero sent a hush through the crowd. This mysterious energy, the same used by the Clan of Solara to create the original Nine Jewels, had somehow found its way into Rafaria. Though its origins in the village were unclear, its significance was undeniable.
Rafaria’s safeguard against such situations was a protocol: the key to the Power of Xero was entrusted to a single individual. This person was Tenebris, a modest man who worked tirelessly with the team crafting healing spells. On this day, he stood among the crowd, his young daughter clinging to his hand.
The woman’s gaze locked onto the villagers. “So, I guess no one wants to speak up on where the power is?” she sneered.
Tenebris stepped forward, his voice steady. “It seems you never wanted to help us in the first place. You came here with ulterior motives.”
The woman’s smile turned predatory. “No,” she said coolly. “I truly wanted to help. But arrogance lives within you all. It seems your extinction will bring the peace you’ve refused to accept.” Her eyes shifted to Tenebris’s daughter. “Perhaps I’ll start with her.”
She raised her hand, and a dark orb began to form, pulsating with ominous energy. Tenebris knelt, pressing the key into his daughter’s trembling hands. “Run,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Run, and don’t look back.”
“Papa!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Tenebris looked into her eyes, his expression filled with both resolve and tenderness. “I’ll gladly die for the life of my life I call my daughter,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Death doesn’t scare me... as long as you make it peaceful.”
“Go!” Tenebris shouted, his voice cracking as he stood to face the looming danger. The girl hesitated before turning and fleeing into the chaos. But her little legs carried her only so far before she stopped, looking back through tear-blurred eyes. “Papa!” she screamed, running back toward him.
It was too late. The orb exploded, consuming the village in a blinding flash of destruction.
Five days later, the girl awoke in a dimly lit cave. A small campfire crackled nearby, its warmth offering no comfort to her aching heart. “Papa?” she called weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Are you there?”
A silence hung heavy in the air before a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and soothing. “Don’t worry, little one. I am not here to hurt you.”
Her wide, tear-streaked eyes searched the darkness until they found a pair of glowing white orbs—eyes peering at her from the shadows. Panic surged, and she screamed.
“Shhh,” the voice urged gently. “I barely managed to save you. It’s a miracle you’re unharmed.”
The girl’s cries turned to hiccupping sobs. “Where’s Papa?” she asked, her voice breaking.
The figure in the shadows hesitated. “He is gone,” it said softly. “He faced death—an honorable man.”
The girl’s tears flowed freely, reflecting the firelight. “Was it peaceful?” she asked between sobs. “He said to… to ‘make it peaceful.’”
“Yes, little one,” the voice assured her. “His death was made peaceful.”
A moment of silence passed before the voice spoke again. “I saw him give you something before the end—a key. May I see it?”
Unaware of its value, the girl handed over the key. The figure examined it briefly before speaking. “Little one, I will raise you as my own. Together, we will seek justice for your father and your people. Someone gained peace at the price of your pain. One day, you will reunite with your father, and peace will be for all—without pain being the cost.”
The girl’s tear-streaked face lit up with fragile hope. “Really?” she asked.
“I promise,” the voice replied.
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