Long ago, people spoke of a witch consumed by hatred, vengeance, and a desire for destruction. No one knew the origin of the demonic force that dwelled within her.

On a night of the full moon, the witch unleashed her armies upon all living things. Not only humans suffered—animals and plants were slaughtered as well. The world fell into chaos. Forests were consumed by flames, countless creatures perished in the fires, children’s cries echoed across ruined lands, and entire villages were reduced to ashes.

Yet a hero whose name has been lost to history finally defeated the witch. Using a powerful spell, the hero restored the world in an instant. Forests grew once more, villages were rebuilt, and even the dead returned to life.

But legend says that before her death, the witch cast a resurrection curse. Since that day, no one has known when or how she might return. Only one thing remained certain: if she ever came back, the world could once again be plunged into darkness.

Centuries passed, and the tale of the witch became nothing more than a bedtime story told to children.

And yet, on certain nights when the moon was full, strange events occurred.

Travelers crossing the Forbidden Forest claimed they could hear whispers coming from the trees. Animals vanished without a trace. Even stranger, black flowers began to bloom in places where nothing should have been able to survive.

Then, on another full-moon night, in a small village on the edge of the great forest, a child was born without making a single sound.

The healers did everything they could, but nothing worked. Her heart did not beat. Her eyes remained closed. At last, they delivered the devastating news to her mother:

The baby was dead.

The entire village mourned.

For three days, the little girl’s body lay motionless inside her coffin. Her mother refused to leave her side, spending every moment beside her daughter, silently weeping and hoping for the impossible.

On the morning of the funeral, the villagers gathered to say their final farewell.

But when the father entered the room to join his wife, he froze.

His wife lay lifeless on the floor.

Her face looked peaceful, as though she had merely fallen asleep.

Beside her sat the little girl.

Alive.

Her large eyes silently observed the room.

The father could not comprehend what he was seeing.

His wife was dead without a single wound or sign of illness.

Yet the daughter who had been declared dead three days earlier was breathing once again.

No one could explain it.

Some elders called it a miracle.

Others believed a bargain had been made with an unknown force.

How else could a child return to life at the exact moment her mother drew her final breath?

That day, the village buried a mother.

And welcomed a child many had already begun to fear.

The elders named her Nysera, a word from a forgotten language meaning:

“The one whom death returned to the world.”

⸻

For several years, life seemed almost normal.

But slowly, strange patterns began to emerge.

Everyone who loved Nysera eventually disappeared from her life.

Shortly after her fifth birthday, her father succumbed to a mysterious illness unknown to any healer.

Years later, her grandmother vanished during a journey and never returned.

Following their deaths, Nysera was taken in by her grandfather.

The old man lived alone high within the mountains, far from cities, villages, and travelers.

His home stood in a place so remote that few dared approach it.

For many years, Nysera believed her grandfather simply preferred solitude.

But as she grew older, she began to wonder.

Was he truly hiding from the world…

or was he hiding from something else?

Something that had been following them all along.

A secret he could never reveal.

The years passed.

By the age of nine, her grandfather was all she had left.

He was her family.

Her teacher.

Her protector.

And the only person who had never abandoned her.

Then came that night.

A cold, silent night beneath a full moon.

Nysera awoke to her grandfather shaking her shoulders.

The moment she opened her eyes, she felt her stomach tighten.

For the first time in her life…

she saw fear in his face.

“Nysera,” he said urgently. “Listen carefully. You must leave. Right now.”

The girl sat upright.

“Leave? Why?”

“Go to the forest at the foot of the mountain. Hide there and wait for me.”

His voice trembled.

“I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Nysera shook her head.

“No. If you’re staying, then I’m staying too.”

A faint smile crossed the old man’s face.

He gently placed a hand against her cheek.

His eyes overflowed with sorrow.

“My little flower…”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“It won’t take long. There are a few things I need to take with me before I come after you.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you no matter what.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, he stopped her.

For a moment, his gaze seemed impossibly heavy.

As though he carried the weight of years of regret.

Then he spoke words she would never forget.

“This was never your fault, my little flower.”

The words confused her.

But before she could ask what he meant, he turned away.

With a heavy heart, Nysera disappeared into the forest.

Hidden among the trees, she watched as dark figures climbed the mountain path.

Men dressed in black robes.

Dark mages.

Moments later, flashes of brilliant light tore through the night.

The mountain shook.

The battle lasted only minutes.

Then…

silence.

A terrible silence.

Her grandfather never came.

Panic seized her.

Nysera sprinted through the forest, branches whipping against her face as she climbed toward the summit.

When she finally arrived, her breath stopped.

Her grandfather lay motionless upon the ground.

The world seemed to freeze around her.

Her legs refused to move.

Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside him.

Her hands trembled.

She waited for him to speak.

To smile.

To place his hand upon her head one final time.

But nothing happened.

There was only silence.

Cold.

Cruel.

Endless silence.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Why…?”

Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Why him?”

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his cloak.

“Why is it always the people I love who disappear?”

The wind howled through the trees.

Then, from somewhere within the darkness, a voice answered.

“Because they were never the ones we wanted.”

Nysera froze.

Slowly, she turned around.

Moonlight illuminated the faces standing behind her.

And in that instant…

something shattered within her.

something shattered within her.

had once called home.

And among the crowds…

those same faces.

The same cold eyes.

The same men.

As though they had been watching her for her entire life.

A sharp pain exploded inside her skull.

Images flashed before her eyes.

Whispers.

Fearful glances.

The elders’ uneasy expressions whenever they looked at her.

And suddenly, everything became clear.

The deaths of her loved ones had never been accidents.

They had never been random.

From the very beginning, there had been people who feared her existence.

People who believed she should never have been allowed to live.

The wind roared across the mountain.

The trees groaned violently.

One of the mages glanced around nervously.

“Did you feel that?”

No one answered.

The air had become unnaturally cold.

Then the mist appeared.

At first it was only a thin veil creeping across the ground.

But within moments, darkness poured from every direction.

A black fog.

Thick.

Silent.

Alive.

In seconds, it swallowed the entire mountainside.

The mages immediately raised their staffs.

“Light barrier!”

Brilliant spells erupted around them.

Yet the fog continued advancing.

It devoured the light itself.

Panic spread through their ranks.

“What is this?!”

“This isn’t natural!”

The darkness thickened.

Then someone screamed.

A figure stood within the mist.

A little girl.

Motionless.

Watching them.

Nysera.

No one had seen her approach.

No one had heard a single footstep.

One mage blinked.

The girl vanished.

A second later she appeared behind them.

Another blink.

She stood among the trees.

Then atop a boulder.

Then somewhere deeper in the fog.

Everywhere.

And nowhere.

The mages’ courage shattered.

They ran.

But the mountain itself seemed to betray them.

Paths twisted into unfamiliar directions.

Landmarks disappeared.

Shadows stretched unnaturally across the earth.

Voices whispered from the darkness.

Voices speaking words no living person should know.

One by one, the mages disappeared into the black mist.

Their screams echoed through the mountains.

Then gradually faded.

Until silence remained.

Complete silence.

⸻

That very same night, disaster struck Nysera’s birthplace.

An enormous fire consumed the village.

The flames burned for hours.

When dawn arrived, nothing remained but ashes.

There were no survivors.

Not a single one.

Yet among the few witnesses who observed the catastrophe from afar, strange rumors spread.

Several swore they had seen a figure standing within the sea of flames.

A child.

Perfectly still.

Unmoving.

Watching.

A little girl with glowing eyes.

A little girl who looked exactly like Nysera.

But such a thing should have been impossible.

At that time, Nysera was supposed to be hundreds of kilometers away, hidden within the mountains beside her grandfather.

So who had they seen?

And why did everyone who seemed to know the truth eventually disappear?

The questions remained unanswered.

Years passed.

The mystery became legend.

And the legend became fear.

⸻

After the destruction of the village and the strange events upon the mountain, the people of neighboring lands abandoned the old names of the region.

No one wished to be reminded of what had happened there.

Over time, a new name emerged.

Nyvaris.

Few remembered where the word came from.

Fewer still knew its true meaning.

In a language lost to history, Nyvaris meant:

“The Shadow Born from Suffering.”

Storytellers claimed that an immeasurable sorrow had taken root in those lands.

A sorrow so profound that it had transformed into hatred.

And hatred that had eventually become vengeance.

Since then, no traveler willingly crossed Nyvaris after sunset.

For some claimed that when the mountain winds blew through the valleys, they carried a voice.

The voice of a child.

A child who had lost everything.

A child who still wandered between grief and darkness.

And on certain nights, beneath the pale glow of the full moon, the wind seemed to whisper a single name.

Nysera.

A year had passed.

Time had continued its course.

The seasons had succeeded one another.

The fields had regained their greenery.

The markets were filled with laughter once more.

For the majority of the inhabitants, the tragedy of Nyvaris was nothing more than an old story told around the hearth.

But certain elders still lowered their voices when they pronounced that name.

They said that, on certain nights, a silhouette still walked among the ruins.

A child.

Always alone.

Always silent.

At the center of the continent rose the most powerful kingdom of the five nations.

The Kingdom of Solarys.

It was there that the Grand Sage resided.

For nearly two centuries, he had dedicated his life to protecting the balance of the world.

Every night, he meditated in the Hall of Stars.

An immense circular room whose ceiling represented the celestial vault.

In its center rested an ancient artifact.

The Dial of Destiny.

A relic that only the Grand Sages could use.

It was said that it granted only a single vision to each generation.

That night...

The Grand Sage gently placed his hand upon the Dial.

Nothing

As always.

He closed his eyes.

Silence reigned for several minutes.

Then...

A crack appeared on the floor.

A second one.

A third one.

The torches all went out at the exact same instant.

A silvery light flooded the room.

The Dial began to turn on its own.

Faster and faster.

Thousands of characters from a forgotten language rose into the air.

The Grand Sage abruptly opened his eyes.

Never...

Never had he witnessed such a phenomenon.

Then a voice resonated.

It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Neither man.

Nor woman.

Nor young.

Nor old.

A voice that seemed to belong to the world itself.

"In nine years..."

The Grand Sage's heart nearly stopped.

"The world will know a new form of suffering."

The ancient characters began to burn.

"The living will envy the dead..."

The ground trembled.

An immense fissure tore through the ceiling.

"When Shadow and Light become as one..."

The Grand Sage fell to his knees.

His body refused to move.

His hands trembled.

Then the final sentence appeared.

The characters were red.

Red as blood.

"The True One will open the path of the Thousand Bodies."

Silence returned.

All the lights vanished.

The Dial ceased to spin.

The Grand Sage remained motionless.

He had known hundreds of prophecies.

But none...

None had ever mentioned...

The True One.

Several hundred kilometers away...

In a forgotten forest.

A doe suddenly raised her head.

The birds ceased to sing.

The wind vanished.

Then...

Something slowly opened its eyes in the depths of the darkness.

Two white pupils.

Motionless.

They observed the world.

As if they had been awaiting this moment for a very long time.

The creature sketched a smile.

Then it whispered in an almost inaudible voice:

"Finally..."

The day after the prophecy, a silver bell rang out across the five kingdoms.

Only once.

Its echo traveled across mountains, oceans, and deserts.

To be continued….