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Yr.656 Beilatroris is a land of breathtaking beauty, where unique wildlife roams through dense forests, lush green pastures stretch to the horizon, and fertile fields thrive under a clear blue sky. In the snowy north, towering mountains stand as silent sentinels, their peaks crowned with ice and snow. But Beilatroris's true wonder lies not just in its landscapes, but in its people—extraordinary individuals, each tethered to the world by the mystical forces that bind them to it. In the distant past, Beilatroris was a land ruled by three ancient dragons: Sophia, the Grand Elder Arcane Dragon; Ainz, the All-Knowing Ice Dragon; and Jaldaboath, the Fire Dragon of Wrath. These mighty beings, collectively known as The Three Dragonlords and the last dragons left in this world. They wielded power beyond imagination, Sophia the strongest of them all, was the keeper of peace and balance in Beilatroris. Her magic was a beacon of hope, and she often blessed the humans, offering them aid in times of need she looked after them as if they were her children. But as time passed, the mighty Sophia began to age. Her once boundless power started to wane, and the blessings that had once been plentiful grew few and far between. Ainz seethed with hatred for Sophia, a hatred that festered deep within his icy heart. He could not understand her compassion for the weak, insignificant humans. To him, they were nothing more than pests, unworthy of the gifts of magic and life that Sophia so freely bestowed upon them. Every time Sophia intervened to save a village or heal the sick, Ainz’s anger grew. He saw her actions as a betrayal of their kind, a disgrace to the very essence of dragonhood. How could a being as powerful as Sophia lower herself to serve such frail creatures? He despised her for it, for in his eyes, it was an unforgivable weakness. Jaldaboath shared Ainz’s contempt, though his was fueled more by his desire for domination than by principle. But Ainz’s hatred was personal. He believed that Sophia’s favoritism towards the humans diminished their race, making them vulnerable and weak. He also could not stand being told what he could and couldn't do by Sophia. It was a direct affront to his pride, a daily reminder that he was not the most powerful. And there was no amount of intellect in the world that could change that. As time passed and Sophia’s strength faded with age, Ainz saw his chance. The thought of overthrowing her soon became an obsession, a consuming fire that burned in his chest. Now, with Sophia’s blessings dwindling, the human race teetered on the edge of extinction, ans Anizplagued by drought and harried by attacks from goblins and orcs—creatures and natural disasters all unleashed by Jaldaboath at Ainz’s urging. Ainz did his part by spreading rumors among the human villages, whisperings of the rivail village sending subhuman invaders to slaughter them, steal their women, and burn their crops. Fear and mistrust took root, pitting the last two human civilizations against each other. In human guise, Ainz and Jaldaboath each meticulously presented the terms of the ritual to the villages, artfully crafting their words to make it appear as though the ritual would solely benefit the human inhabitants. Promising salvation and the ability to fend for themselves instead of relying on Sophia and her blessing. Jaldaboath offered to end the drought and fight off the sub-humans he would also grant his unrelenting power, second only to the Elder Dragon herself to one who he deemed to be worthy. Ainz promised guidance, wealth and to crush all those who oppose them. Excepting the dragon's proposal, Aniz’s true intentions began to take shape. In return, both villages were entrusted with the solemn duty of preserving the souls of the dragons through the ritual known as "Eternal Will." This ritual ensured that, upon a dragon's death, its will and essence would endure, passed down through the bloodlines of chosen humans. Normally, the sheer magnitude of a dragon’s life essence would overwhelm any human, rendering such a ritual impossible. However, fate intervened. Through trials of unparalleled strength, will, and intellect, three humans accomplished the unthinkable and proved themselves worthy. Ainz made his choice: Kenzo Froesthaven a man of the northern villages, a humble young genius known for his kindness. Though he could solve problems others found impossible—fixing the mill, curing the sick—he never sought praise. The villagers hailed him as a miracle worker. But Kenzo, ever modest, refused thanks. His exceptional mental resilience far surpassed Ainz’s expectations. Kenzo not only triumphed in the physical trials but also demonstrated an intellect that Ainz had believed unattainable for humans. Meanwhile, Jaldaboath in the southern village selected two of its mightiest warriors Tyrain Emberfell, and his brother Tyranus Emberfell both revered as the pillars of their society, always sought after for there protection and wisdom. Due to Jaldaboath’s overwhelming power, even the strongest of all humans could not withstand a ritual such as this. Thus, he divided his life essence between them both—eighty percent into Tyrian and twenty percent into his brother, Tyranus. With the rituals complete and Sophia at her weakest, Ainz and Jaldaboath launched their final assault. For Ainz, this was more than a bid for power; it was the culmination of years of hatred. He would see Sophia brought low, not just to free himself from her rule, but to erase the stain of her compassion from the world. And when her reign ended, he would ensure that her name would be forgotten, along with the pitiful humans she had once sought to protect. Sophia, aware of her impending demise, desperately sought a means to extend her life, even if it required sacrificing all of her power. She knew her strength was fading, and with it, her ability to protect the land of Beilatroris. Her heart ached with the knowledge that the balance she had maintained for centuries was slipping away. In her desperation, she searched for a vessel—a human who could carry her essence and allow her to live on, if only for a little longer. A mysterious man Skinny, gaunt, and desperate, staggered into her forest and crawled his way into her Holy Cathedral that was built in her name long ago. His eyes were hollow, his clothes tattered, but his resolve was strong. He claimed to have searched for her for weeks, sent from a small village on the brink of starvation. The man’s voice quivered as he spoke of the horrors his village had endured. Since her blessings had ceased, they had been ravaged by goblins, their homes destroyed, and their food stolen. The village elders had refused Jaldaboath's aid, fearing the price that would come with it, he was never known for kindness in the past, and now they had nowhere else to turn. Tears welled up in his eyes as he begged Sophia for help, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair. Sophia’s heart softened as she listened to his plea. She saw something extraordinary in him —a latent power that few humans possessed. This man was different, and she could sense it. He was a beacon of hope, a vessel strong enough to carry her essence. Sophia promised the man that she would save his village, but in return, she needed him to become her vessel. The man, driven by a desperate need to save his people, agreed without hesitation. He would do anything to end their suffering. With the agreement sealed, Sophia cast her spell, her ancient words weaving a bond between their souls. When her life would finally end, she would live on through him. The day of reckoning soon arrived. Sophia, though weakened, stood tall, her resolve unwavering. She knew this would be her final battle, and she was prepared to give everything she had. When Jaldaboath and Ainz descended upon her, she fought with a ferocity that belied her years. The sky darkened, the earth trembled, and the air crackled with the power of their clash. Ainz and Jaldaboath attacked with relentless fury. Sophia’s magic flared, ancient and powerful, but it was no match for the combined might of her enemies. Ainz, cold and calculating, struck with precision, his every move designed to exploit her weaknesses. Jaldaboath, fueled by rage, unleashed torrents of fire that scorched the earth. Sophia’s defenses crumbled under their onslaught, and despite her best efforts, she was overwhelmed. As she fell, her final thoughts were of her vessel, and of the land she had failed to protect. Ainz watched as Sophia’s body lay broken before him, a twisted smile “She is gone,” he sneered, “and now there’s only one more obstacle in the way of absolute power.” But as he turned to face Jaldaboath, he saw the hatred burning in his eyes. From the moment they had agreed to work together, Jaldaboath had known Ainz was scheming against him. He could see it in the way Ainz’s cold eyes flickered with calculation, the way his words dripped with hidden meaning. Jaldaboath was no fool, and he had been preparing for this moment all along. With a quick exchange of words, their alliance shattered in an instant, and the two dragons turned on each other with a vengeance. The battle that followed was nothing short of cataclysmic. The sky itself seemed to tear apart as they clashed, their roars shaking the heavens. Jaldaboath’s flames raged with the intensity of a thousand suns, but Ainz met them with ice so cold it burned. For days they fought, their power tearing the landscape asunder. The ground was scorched and frozen in equal measure, rivers boiled, and mountains crumbled. Each blow they traded was filled with the hatred they had nurtured for decades. But Ainz, ever the tactician, had anticipated Jaldaboath’s every move. He knew his foe’s weaknesses, and he exploited them ruthlessly. Jaldaboath’s rage was his undoing. Blinded by fury, he fell into Ainz’s traps time and again, each one more devastating than the last. The battle reached its climax when Ainz, with a final, calculated strike, drove his icy claws into Jaldaboath’s heart. The Fire Dragon’s roar of agony echoed across the land as he crumbled to the ground, defeated. Jaldaboath “Your blood runs thin brother it will be who stands this test of time, I will forever” But victory came at a great cost. Ainz was gravely wounded, his body broken from the battle. He knew he did not have much time left. Gathering the last of his strength, he made his way to the south villages, to a grand church where Lord Kenzo awaited him. Bloodied and exhausted, Ainz shared his final teachings with Kenzo. He spoke of battle strategies, of the power he had bestowed upon him, and of the challenges that lay ahead. “You will not die of old age for the next 200 years,” Ainz whispered, his voice growing weaker with each word. “But you must be prepared for what is to come. The world will change, and you must change with it, I have faith in you Kenzo” As Ainz drew his final breath, the ritual known as the "Eternal Will" began to weave its ancient magic through those chosen to inherit the power of the Dragonlords. The air around them thickened with an almost palpable tension, as if the very atmosphere held its breath in anticipation. The ground beneath their feet trembled subtly, resonating with the arcane forces at work, while the sky above seemed to darken, cloaked in ominous clouds that swirled in unnatural patterns. The moment the ritual took hold, a searing pain unlike anything they had ever experienced surged through their bodies. This was not the pain of flesh and bone—it was something far more profound, an agony that reached into the deepest recesses of their being. It felt as though their very souls were being ripped apart, shredded into countless fragments, only to be painstakingly reassembled, each piece reforged in the crucible of the Dragonlords’ power. Their screams echoed through the temple halls, primal and raw, filled with the terror and torment of a transformation that went beyond mere physical change. The priests, their faces etched with a mixture of reverence and fear, remained steadfast in their duties. They were devoted to their leaders, their loyalty unshakable even in the face of such overwhelming suffering. Day and night, they stood vigil, never leaving the side of the afflicted. In shifts, they worked tirelessly, their hands glowing with the light of healing spells as they chanted ancient incantations in voices that grew increasingly hoarse and strained. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, mingling with the sweat and blood of those undergoing the transformation. The priests’ eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but they refused to falter, pouring every ounce of their strength into maintaining the delicate balance between life and death. For eight long days, the men chosen to bear the legacy of the Dragonlords were consumed by this excruciating process. Their bodies convulsed uncontrollably, muscles straining and bones cracking under the intense pressure of the metamorphosis. Skin blistered and peeled away, only to be replaced by something far more formidable. It was as if their human forms were being stripped down to their very essence, the remnants of their mortality burned away by the fire of the dragons’ power. The temple became a place of suffering, the walls reverberating with the anguished cries of those caught in the throes of their transformation. When the pain finally began to subside, those who survived were irrevocably changed. They emerged from their ordeal as beings that were no longer entirely human, but something other—something ancient and terrifying. Their eyes, once ordinary and round, had morphed into sharp, vertical slits that gleamed with a predatory intensity, reminiscent of the dragons from which their power was drawn. Their skin, once soft and fragile, had become as hard and unyielding as stone, with a texture that seemed to shimmer subtly in the light, hinting at the otherworldly strength now coursing through their veins. Their very presence exuded a monstrous aura, a palpable force that set them apart from the rest of humanity. People could feel the difference just by standing near them—the air around them seemed to hum with energy, a constant reminder of the ancient power that had taken root within them. But perhaps the most striking change was the gem that now adorned the center of each man’s chest. Embedded deep within their flesh, these gems were not mere ornaments—they were living conduits of the dragons’ might, pulsating softly with an inner light. These gems, eerily similar to those found on the foreheads of the dragons themselves, were the heart of their power, a tangible link to the ancient beings that had shaped their destiny. Each man who had survived the ritual now bore the mark of the Dragonlords, a symbol of the unimaginable power and the unrelenting pain they had endured to claim it. They were no longer just men; they were something more—beings forged in the fires of transformation, with the strength of dragons in their veins and the weight of an ancient legacy on their shoulders. The world they once knew would never be the same, for they had become the harbingers of a new age, their very existence a testament to the enduring power of the Dragonlords. With the ritual complete, Kenzo and Tyrion rose to power, each carving out their own kingdoms in the wake of Ainz’s and Jaldbaoth's death. Kenzo, driven by an unrelenting desire to honor Ainz and lead his people, founded the Kingdom of Frosthaven. He established the religion of Ainzsuhai, a spiritual order dedicated not only to unifying his people under a common belief but also to ensuring that Ainz’s soul would remain alive, woven into the fabric of their faith, echoing through the generations. Determined to secure a vast domain, Kenzo led his armies northward, where the icy winds of the region whispered of conquests yet to come. Kenzo’s campaigns were ruthless and calculated. His military genius, coupled with the monstrous power he had inherited, allowed him to devise strategies that crushed his enemies with terrifying efficiency. Dozens of sub-human races fell before him, their lands drenched in blood as Kenzo unleashed his might. Villages were razed, entire populations were driven to extinction, and the cries of the fallen echoed through the frozen mountains. Women, children none were spared the devastation he wrought was unparalleled, leaving a trail of death and despair in his wake as he cleared the entire northeast for his burgeoning kingdom. The land he claimed became a barren wasteland and a new plot to build his kingdom, a stark testament to his unyielding ambition. Meanwhile, in the south, Tyrion established The Emberfall Sovereignty, a realm forged in fire and blood. He founded the religion of HonoNoTami, a belief system centered around the worship of Jaldbaoth but cleverly would only refer to him as the sun, symbolizing the undying power that now coursed through his veins. Appointing his brother Tyranus as his vizier, Tyrion set out to expand his territory, seeking to unite the southern lands under his rule. However, his progress was soon challenged by the King of Goblins, a towering orc of immense strength and savagery who ruled over a vast army of goblin warriors. Tyrion and Tyranus, accompanied by an elite squad of men, faced off against the goblin forces in a confrontation that would determine the fate of the land in the south. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh as the two brothers unleashed their fury upon the battlefield. Tyrion’s sword cleaved through the goblins like a hot knife through butter, each swing fueled by the searing rage of a man determined to claim his destiny. Tyranus, by his side, fought with equal ferocity, his body a blur of motion as he cut down enemy after enemy. The orc king, however, proved to be a formidable adversary. Standing nearly twice the height of a man, his muscles bulged with raw power, and his eyes gleamed with the promise of violence. With a roar that shook the earth, he charged at the brothers, swinging his massive warhammer with bone-crushing force. The clash between them was epic, a whirlwind of steel and flame as Tyrion and Tyranus fought to overpower the monstrous orc. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered under the weight of their blows. Despite the orc king’s immense strength, Tyrion and Tyranus fought with the unyielding resolve of men who had been reborn as something greater. They moved in perfect sync, their attacks complementing each other in a deadly dance of destruction. Finally, Tyrion drove his sword deep into the orc king’s heart, while Tyranus delivered a crushing blow to his skull, shattering it like glass. The orc king fell to the ground with a thunderous thud, his blood staining the earth as the last of his life drained away. With the orc king’s defeat, the goblin forces were thrown into disarray, and their morale shattered. The remaining goblins were quickly dispatched by Tyrion’s men, their resistance crushed underfoot. The victory solidified Tyrion’s rule over the southern lands, and his people hailed him as a hero, a beacon of strength and leadership in a world teetering on the brink of chaos. The Emberfall Sovereignty was now a force to be reckoned with, its borders secure, and its future bright with the promise of further conquests. As the years went by and their kingdoms expanded, avoiding each other became increasingly impossible, and the animosity between Kenzo and Tyrion intensified. Aniz began to provoke the situation by sending priests to Emberfell to convert some of the populace to the Anizshu religion. After the priests were dismissed, the correspondence between the two realms turned hostile. Letters, carried by scribes, messengers, and even crows, were filled with thinly veiled insults and threats. Each message dripped with disdain, becoming a contest of who could outdo the other in subtle scorn. Eventually, they agreed to meet, choosing an ancient fortress on the edge of the Elder Dragon’s Forest as their first place to meet one another. The tension was palpable as the air thick. Neither spoke first, the silence between them more telling than words could ever be. Yr. 672 [Scene: The grand hall of an ancient fortress, where centuries of history seem to weigh upon the air. The massive wooden doors close with a heavy thud, sealing in the tension that has been building for years. Lord Kenzo, with his cold, calculating gaze, sits at one end of a long, intricately carved table. At the other end, Lord Tyrion, a mountain of a man with a commanding presence, sits with his brother by his side, a man equally imposing, known for his loyalty and ferocity in battle. Behind Lord Kenzo, Eisenhower, his cynical and sharp-tongued councilor, watches the proceedings with a detached smirk.] Lord Kenzo:** (breaking the silence, his voice smooth and unhurried) "Tyrion, it seems our messengers and scribes have done little more than stoke the fires of this conflict. Words that should have carried the weight of diplomacy have instead become arrows, each one laced with venom." Lord Tyrion:** (his voice a deep rumble, filled with barely restrained anger) "Diplomacy, Kenzo? Your messengers have insulted my gods, questioned my people’s right to their land, and painted our traditions as barbaric. How could you expect anything less than a response in kind?" Eisenhower:** (leaning forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm) "Perhaps, Tyrion, if your people could understand the subtlety of words rather than the blunt force of a hammer, they might have realized the wisdom in Lord Kenzo’s guidance." Tyranus:** (with a sneer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword) "Guidance? Is that what you call it? Your ‘wisdom’ is nothing more than the ramblings of a coward who hides behind clever words and twisted logic. If Kenzo had any honor, he would face us on the battlefield rather than hiding behind his false gods." Lord Kenzo:** (his voice cutting through the rising tension) "You mistake strategy for cowardice, brother of Tyrion. I have no need to prove my honor to you or anyone else. My gods have blessed me with the mind to see beyond the immediate, to plan not just for the battle, but for the war. Your strength is commendable, but it will not save you from the consequences of your hubris." Lord Tyrion:** (standing abruptly, his eyes blazing) "Hubris? My hubris is nothing compared to your arrogance, Kenzo. You think your gods have given you a divine right to lands that have been in my family for generations, lands that my people have bled and died for. Your gods are nothing but shadows, while mine have proven their power through the strength of my arm and the loyalty of my people." Eisenhower:** (mockingly) "The strength of your arm? Is that what your gods have to offer? Strength fades, Tyrion. What happens when you grow old, when your sword arm weakens? Will your gods be there to lift you up, or will they abandon you as quickly as they blessed you?" Tyranus:** (drawing his sword halfway out of its sheath, his voice low and threatening) "Watch your tongue, Eisenhower. It’s easy to speak of strength fading when you’ve never known it yourself. I’d like to see how clever you are with a blade at your throat." Lord Kenzo:** (raising a hand to calm the situation, his voice cold and commanding) "Enough. We are not here to trade insults, though it seems your brother is more interested in threats than in reasoned discourse, Tyrion." Lord Tyrion:** (his voice steady, though his anger simmers just beneath the surface) "Reasoned discourse, Kenzo? Is that what you call your attempts to convert my people to your false religion? You send your priests to my lands, spreading lies, undermining the faith that has sustained us for centuries. And when they are turned away, you call us savages, unworthy of the land we live on. Is that your idea of reason?" Lord Kenzo:** (his eyes narrowing, his voice deadly calm) "I call it salvation. Your people are lost, worshiping gods that have no place in this world. My priests offer them a path to enlightenment, to true faith. If they choose to remain in darkness, then they bring their fate upon themselves." Tyranus:** (his voice rising in anger) "You dare to speak of fate, Kenzo? The only fate that awaits your priests if they set foot on our land again is a swift death. We will not allow our people to be poisoned by your lies." Eisenhower: (his tone condescending, with a hint of amusement) "Poison? The only poison I see is in your refusal to accept the truth. You cling to outdated beliefs, as if they will protect you from the inevitable. But the world is changing, and those who refuse to change with it will be left behind, crushed under the weight of their own ignorance." Lord Tyrion: (his voice firm, filled with conviction) "My beliefs are not outdated, Eisenhower. They are the foundation of my people’s strength, the source of our resilience. You speak of change, but all I see is decay, a decay that will consume your lands long before it touches mine. My people will stand firm, as we always have, while yours crumble under the weight of their own hubris." **Lord Kenzo:** (his voice icy, cutting through the room like a blade) "Your people stand on a foundation of lies, Tyrion. Lies that have blinded them to the truth, that have led them down a path to destruction. My people, my gods, will bring them back to the light, whether they like it or not. And if they resist, they will be swept aside, like leaves in the wind." Tyranus:** (his voice filled with defiance) "You underestimate my brother, Kenzo. You underestimate our strength, our resolve. We will not be swept aside by your so-called gods. We will stand firm, and we will fight to the last man to protect our land, our people, and our faith." Eisenhower:** (with a cynical smile) "And when the last man falls, what then? What will you do when your strength fails you, when your gods do not answer your prayers? Will you still cling to your beliefs, or will you finally see the truth?" Lord Tyrion:** (his voice a low growl, filled with menace) "You speak as if the battle is already won, Eisenhower. But you forget who you are dealing with. I have faced countless enemies, each one more powerful than the last, and I have defeated them all. I will not bow to you, Kenzo, or to your false gods. If you want this land, you will have to take it by force." Lord Kenzo:** (his voice firm, his gaze unwavering) "So be it. But remember this, Tyrion—when your strength fails, and it will, it will be my mind and my gods that bring you to your knees. You will see the truth, even if it is in your final moments." [Both kings stand, their eyes locked in a final, deadly stare. The hall is silent, the tension almost unbearable. Tyranus grips his sword tightly, ready to strike at any moment, while Eisenhower watches with a smug smile. They know that the next time they meet, it will be on the battlefield, where words will be replaced by steel, and only one will emerge victorious.]** The war that followed, known as "Sedai no Sensou" (War of Generations), was a cataclysmic struggle that embodied the clashing wills of the dragons and their inheritors, each faction vying for ultimate dominion over the land. For a grueling century, the conflict consumed Beilatroris, leaving a profound impact on the world and its inhabitants. The war was not a simple or swift affair; it was a relentless cycle of shifting power and relentless combat, characterized by a series of intense, back-and-forth battles that reshaped the very fabric of the world. Throughout the century of warfare, control of territories changed hands repeatedly. The armies of Kenzo and Tyrion clashed in a series of brutal engagements, each side employing strategies that pushed the other to its limits. Towns and fortresses were besieged, captured, and retaken in a continuous cycle of aggression. Kenzo’s forces, bolstered by their dragon-given strength, would push southward into Emberfall, only to be met by Tyrion’s fierce counterattacks that drove them back. The north was a battlefield of ice and fire, with Frosthaven’s armies laying waste to the land, only for Tyrion’s troops to strike back with devastating precision. Major cities and strongholds became strategic focal points, each one changing hands multiple times, leaving behind a legacy of destruction and despair. The devastation wrought by this endless struggle was profound. The land itself bore the marks of the relentless combat. Forests were felled, rivers diverted, and landscapes scarred by the brutal warfare. The once-fertile fields were rendered barren, unable to support crops as the soil was saturated with the blood of countless battles. The natural world was forever altered, with the balance of life and death disrupted by the unending tide of violence. Amidst the chaos, the very essence of Beilatroris began to change. As the war dragged on, a new phenomenon emerged: a small portion of children born during this tumultuous period were endowed with elemental powers, reflecting the nature of their surroundings. In regions ravaged by fire, children exhibited control over flames, while those born in the frozen north could manipulate ice. These elemental abilities became a symbol of the land’s suffering and the deep-seated influence of the dragons’ power. The elemental powers both defined and divided the people, further intensifying the conflict as factions sought to exploit or control these new forces. Yr.772 When the 100th anniversary of the war had arrived, and with it, the final clash between Kenzo and Tyrion. The battlefield was a wasteland, scarred by years of relentless fighting. The air was thick with ash, and the sky was a deep, ominous gray, as if the world itself mourned the endless bloodshed. Both armies, reduced to mere fractions of their original strength, stood at the ready, knowing that this would be the final battle. All eyes were on the two kings as they faced each other, their auras radiating raw, unimaginable power. Kenzo, his skin as hard as stone and his eyes sharp as a dragon’s, glared at Tyrion with a hatred that had festered over a century. His breath was cold, the ground beneath him frosted over with every exhale. Tyrion, burning with the fire of a thousand suns, met his gaze, his own dragon-like pupils narrowing with deadly focus. The air between them crackled with energy, each man knowing that only one would walk away from this battlefield alive. With a roar that shook the heavens, Tyrion was the first to strike. He clapped his hands together with a thunderous force, unleashing the "Thunderclap Phoenix Whirlwind." A deafening boom echoed across the battlefield, followed by a whirlwind of flames that twisted into the shape of a majestic phoenix. The fiery bird screeched as it tore through the air, its searing heat scorching everything in its path. The whirlwind spun faster and faster, growing in intensity, as it hurtled toward Kenzo with the force of a raging inferno. But Kenzo was ready. He thrust his hands forward, summoning the chilling power of the north. A massive wall of ice erupted from the ground, meeting the phoenix head-on. The flames and ice clashed violently, steam hissing as the elements fought for dominance. Kenzo gritted his teeth, pouring more of his energy into the ice, forcing the whirlwind to slow. The phoenix screeched again, but as the ice continued to build, it was eventually encased in a prison of frozen fire, shattering into a million pieces. Tyrion snarled in frustration, his body surging with rage. He wasn’t finished yet. He spread his arms wide, gathering the flames from the surrounding battlefield into his hands. “God’s Flame!” he shouted, his voice booming like thunder. His hands formed a tri-beam, and from them shot a torrent of fire so intense that the ground melted into molten lava beneath it. The flames were pure and holy, burning with the fury of a vengeful deity. They tore through the air, aimed directly at Kenzo. Kenzo’s eyes narrowed. He could feel the heat of the attack even before it reached him. But instead of dodging, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, summoning every ounce of his strength. With a roar of defiance, he raised his hands and formed a barrier of ice so thick and dense that it seemed to absorb the light around it. The flames crashed into the barrier with the force of a meteor, the impact sending shockwaves across the battlefield. The ground trembled, and for a moment, it seemed as if the world itself would split apart. But Kenzo held firm. The ice barrier held, and with a final push,he deflected the flames, back at him Tyrion’s eyes widened in disbelief.The flames sent him careening into the sky where he dissipated the flames harmlessly. He quickly regained his composure. His body began to glow with a fiery aura, his muscles bulging with newfound power. “Ōbākurokku!” he roared, entering a state of overclocked energy. His power level skyrocketed, his body now surrounded by a blazing halo of flames. His speed and strength increased tenfold, and in the blink of an eye, he was upon Kenzo. With a powerful sweep of his leg, Tyrion unleashed the "Hell Sweep," his foot engulfed in flames as it swept low across the ground. The sheer force of the attack sent shockwaves through the earth, and the fire left a trail of molten rock in its wake. Kenzo barely had time to react as he jumped to avoid the attack but Tyrion’s leg still connected with his own,His leg buckled under the force of the impact sending him a float upside down in the air. Tyrion followed up with a blazing fast kick to the chest. Sending Kenzo skidding backward into a mountain, he quickly collected, himself his icy aura flaring as he prepared to counterattack. But Tyrion wasn’t finished. He jumped into the air, his aura glowing even brighter as he began to charge his ultimate move. “Rising Sun Obliteration!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. High above his head, he began to form a massive ball of fire, its size growing larger and larger as he poured all of his energy into it. The fireball was so bright that it seemed to outshine the sun itself, casting an eerie, reddish glow over the battlefield. The heat was unbearable, and even the soldiers watching from a far distance could feel their skin blistering from the intensity. Kenzo knew that if this attack connected, it would be the end. But he also knew that he couldn’t take Tyrion’s ultimate move head-on like the other attacks. Summoning the last of his strength, he focused his energy into a single point, his body freezing over as he prepared for the ultimate counterstrike. As the fireball reached its peak, Tyrion hurled it toward Kenzo with all his might, the flames roaring as they hurtled through the air, burning everything in their path. Kenzo raised his hand and unleashed a beam of concentrated cold, aiming it directly at the heart of the fireball. The two forces collided with a deafening explosion, after a short beam struggle, the impact created a massive shockwave that flattened everything in its vicinity. For a moment, the battlefield was engulfed in blinding light, and it seemed as if the very fabric of reality was being torn apart. But as the light faded, it became clear that both men had reached their limits. Tyrion, his energy spent, fell to one knee, his breath ragged and his vision blurred. Kenzo, his body frozen and battered, could barely stand. The two kings stared at each other, both knowing that the next strike would be their last. But before they could deliver the final blow, the battlefield was suddenly engulfed in a strange, presence. A man clad in white, his aura commanding yet his body was frail, appeared before them. His eyes, cold and unyielding, bore into the souls of the two kings. “In the name of the Elder Dragon Sophia, this war ends now,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of the world. “Your sins will never be forgiven! All the countless lives lost to your war!...the bloodshed ends here” As he removed his top, revealing a diamond gem embedded in his chest, the dragons within Kenzo and Tyrion roared in fury. They recognized the gem—the essence of Sophia—and their anger flared like never before. They rushed to smite the man, blazing towards him with the last remnants of their power. But they were too late. With a single, powerful gesture, the man exclaimed “Crystal Coffin!” and encapsulated himself and the two kings in a massive slab of diamond, halting their attack and ending the war in an instant. The battlefield fell silent, the once-mighty armies now stunned and defeated. For the next four decades, Beilatroris slowly began to heal from the devastation wrought by the war. The memory of this conflict will never fade, and the legacy of the Kings of Kenzo and Tyrion, along with their dragon lords will, were sealed within the Crystal Tomb, a testament to the price of power and the consequences of endless war. The "Sedai no Sensou" left an indelible mark on Beilatroris, reshaping not only the physical landscape but also the very essence of its people and their destinies. The war's legacy endured long after the final battle was fought, leaving a world forever altered by the dragonlords’ ambitions and the elemental forces unleashed in their wake. END OF BOOK 1 Book 2 In the world of Beilatroris, Where fields of green stretch as far as the eye can see and mountains so large they almost scrap the sky but through all of this beauty it's nearly impossible to overlook the war-ravaged land from battles fought long ago. But today's world is different there now are some who are born with a rare and remarkable gift—a jewel embedded in their skin, as natural as a birthmark, also known as a Soul Stone. Those who are blessed with a soul stone wield the elemental forces of fire and ice, marked by the color of their Jwel. All who are born with a Soul Stone are considered to carry the blood of royalty within them, a lineage that ties them to the ancient dragons who once ruled these lands. This stone is also the source of their power and their deep connection to the world. Soul Stones vary in quality from Lesser to Pure; through that quality, one can determine an individual's potential and estimated power level from birth. Lesser stones, such as Topaz or Spinel, are more common due to the thinning of dragon blood over the years. In contrast, the rarer and more powerful stones like Ruby and Sapphire mark the true nobility of Beilatroris, signifying not only immense elemental power but a direct connection to the kings of the past. While lesser stones still hold great power, they rarely compare to the might of Pure-class Soul Stones. But the rarest jewel of them all is diamond. There is a legendary tale that stands above the rest in Beilatroris—a story of a man who bore a diamond Soul Stone. But this man was not merely born with the stone; he was the chosen vessel of the Great Elder Arcane Dragon, Sophia. With her power flowing through him, he single-handedly saved Beilatroris from destruction, stopping the war and saving future generations of its people. Yet, despite this, Beilatroris has still not known true peace. Though the land has not seen war in quite some time, relations between the two great nations that arose from the ashes of the past can only be described as barely cordial. Beneath the surface of this uneasy peace, old tensions simmer, waiting for a spark to ignite them once more. And in a world where war is tied to the very essence of the culture, the potential for conflict always looms, casting a long shadow over the future of Beilatroris. Present* Yr.814 42 Years after Sedai no Sensou Our story begins with Asuka, a girl born into a land torn by conflict, just 15 years before the dawn of the Second Great War. She was left as an infant at the steps of a crumbling orphanage on a farmstead located in the far outskirts of the capital city, a place whose name had long since been forgotten by the people of Emberfell. Handed over by a shadowed man whose face she would never know. She was left in the hands of a sick woman—Mrs. Marry, who was one of the last kind souls on that cursed farmstead—by a man whose face was hidden beneath the hood of a tattered cloak. His final words to the Infant echoed in the wind: 'You must survive for sake of the nation.' After Asuka’s sixth birthday, Mrs. Marry, the brightest source of warmth and kindness within those walls, was taken by illness, her frail body finally giving in to the years of hard labor. Her death left a void. The orphanage fell into the hands of her son, Burtrum, a man whose laziness and greed could not be rivaled. The only reason he kept the orphanage running was the threat of losing the land and being crushed by the capital’s taxes. His disdain for the children was palpable, and he ruled the orphanage not with care but with cruelty. The farmstead, once a safe haven for the lost and the abandoned, began to rot under his neglect. For six more years, Asuka found solace only in the friendship of her fellow orphans—Tidus, the oldest and their protector; Sora, whose dreams of freedom never dimmed; and Ryuga, a quiet boy with a simmering anger he dared not express. Tidus, a natural leader, taught the children the art of Emberfell kickboxing, an ancient and respected martial art. It was their only means of self-defense against the unpredictable violence that Burtrum unleashed when drunk, which was often. Slowly, the children around Asuka disappeared—some adopted by strangers, others taken by sickness in the cold, damp rooms that stank of neglect. Year after year, the orphanage’s caretakers abandoned their posts, unwilling to bear the weight of Burtrum’s violent outbursts and drunken tirades. In time, a new care taker arrived, her name was Eve. She soon became the last remaining caretaker, a gentle figure who clung to her sense of duty with the tenacity of a martyr she became a mother to them all, but she too, soon withered under the weight of Burtrum's cruelty. Soon, it was only the four friends and a handful of younger children who remained in the dilapidated building. On the morning of Asuka’s 13th birthday, the air around the orphanage was filled with the scent of blooming wildflowers and the soft chirping of birds. The children woke to the gentle warmth of the sun filtering through the dusty windows, and for once, the day felt like it belonged to them. Burtrum, their usual source of misery, had spent the night drinking himself into a stupor and was snoring loudly in his room. The kids had checked earlier, and to their relief, he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Today was theirs. In the kitchen, Eve bustled about, her gentle hums filling the room as she prepared a small breakfast. It wasn’t much—just some bread and jam—but the way she served it made the children feel like it was a feast. Her kind eyes crinkled as she smiled down at Asuka. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl,” Eve said, handing her a small, hand-woven bracelet. “I made this for you. It’s not much, but I hope it brings you a little luck in the year to come.” Asuka’s face lit up as she admired the bracelet, its simple design full of warmth and care. She slipped it onto her wrist, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Eve. It’s perfect." Tidus, always ready to lighten the mood, grinned as he nudged Asuka. "Now that you’re thirteen, I guess you’ll be getting too old to play with us kids, huh?" Asuka rolled her eyes, playfully shoving him back. "Keep dreaming, Tidus. You’ll never outgrow me." The younger kids laughed, their voices full of life as they finished their breakfast. Sora and Ryuga were already dragging Tidus and Asuka outside, their excitement contagious. “Come on! Let’s play!” Ryuga yelled, running ahead with a stick in hand, pretending it was a sword. Sora followed closely behind, her laughter echoing through the orphanage grounds. Out in the field behind the orphanage, the kids chased each other, their feet kicking up dust as they ran. Tidus and Asuka joined in, their earlier teasing forgotten as they lost themselves in the joy of the game. Asuka, now a "knight," defended her makeshift fortress—a fallen tree—while Tidus, the "evil warlord," tried to conquer it. “You’ll never take the fortress!” Asuka called out, her voice ringing with laughter as she swung her wooden sword at Tidus. “Oh, we’ll see about that!” Tidus shouted, charging forward with exaggerated determination. The younger children squealed with excitement, joining in on the battle, some on Asuka’s side, some on Tidus’s. Ryuga leaped onto Tidus’s back, pretending to wrestle him to the ground, while Sora stood next to Asuka, brandishing her own wooden stick. Tidus collapsed dramatically under the weight of Ryuga and the other kids, throwing his arms in the air. "Alright, alright, I surrender!" he laughed, his face breaking into a wide grin. Asuka and the others cheered in victory, raising their wooden weapons triumphantly. Eve watched from the doorway, her face glowing with pride and love as she saw how happy the children were, how for this brief moment, they were free. The afternoon passed in a peaceful haze. Tidus and Asuka took turns teaching the younger kids some basic self-defense, though it was more fun than serious. Tidus showed them a few kickboxing moves, the style he’d been learning since he was young, while Asuka helped the smaller kids with balance and footwork.“You’ve got to keep your stance strong,” Asuka said gently, correcting Sora’s posture. “Like this, see?” Sora nodded, determined to get it right. “I want to be as strong as you someday, Asuka.” Asuka smiled, ruffling Sora’s hair. “You will be. Stronger even.” As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they all gathered near the fire pit, which Eve had set up with some old wooden benches. She brought out a small cake—nothing fancy, just a simple sweetbread with a few berries on top—but it was more than they had expected. “Happy birthday, Asuka,” Eve said warmly, her hands resting on Asuka’s shoulders. The children clapped and cheered, their faces glowing in the soft light of the setting sun. Asuka, moved by the love surrounding her, closed her eyes for a moment, making a wish in her heart. She wished for more days like this, for her friends and Eve to always be by her side, and for the darkness in their lives—Burtrum and everything else—to stay away. But as she opened her eyes and looked at the faces of those she cared about, something stirred deep within her. A flicker of unease, a feeling she couldn’t quite place. She brushed it away, focusing on the laughter and joy of the moment. “Alright, who’s ready for another round of ‘Capture the Flag’?” Tidus called out, breaking the silence and pulling everyone back into the fun. The kids leapt to their feet, energized once again, ready to play until the stars came out. As the night wore on and the stars finally blinked into the sky, Asuka found herself sitting beside Tidus on one of the old benches. The fire had dwindled, casting soft shadows across the yard, and the younger kids had begun to drift off, leaning against each other in exhaustion. “This was a good day,” Tidus said quietly, his eyes on the stars above. Asuka nodded, her heart heavy with a mixture of joy and something else—something unspoken, lurking just beyond the horizon. “Yeah… it was.” And for that night, the only thing they had to worry about was Burtrum, still passed out from his night of drinking. But as they sat there, watching the stars, neither could have known that this peaceful night would be their last together, before the storm that would change everything. In the early morning after Asuka’s 13th birthday, a scream—piercing, raw, and full of terror—shattered the night. Asuka and Tidus bolted from their beds, racing down the hallway, hearts pounding in their throats. Turning the corner, they froze. There, in the dim light, stood a figure shrouded in shadows, towering over the limp and broken body of Burtrum. Blood pooled at the man’s feet, and Burtrum, for all his wickedness, lay gasping, trying in vain to form words. 'Help... me…' he wheezed, his eyes wide with terror. But before either child could move, the shadowy figure planted a boot on Burtrum’s head and drove it into the floor with a sickening crack. The figure stepped forward, revealing himself as a tall, gaunt man with skin pale as death, his eyes icy blue and devoid of humanity. His long, silver hair fell in straight strands, slick with the blood of the man he'd just murdered. Behind him stood two soldiers, clad in dark armor, and a boy—no older than fourteen—with shockingly white hair, blood splattered across his face and a necklace of red soul stones around his neck. His eyes burned a deep, unnatural crimson, as if the blood he had spilled lived in his veins. Eisenhower, the pale man, turned to Asuka. 'Eisenhower's eyes narrowed, and his smile sent chills down her spine. The man’s gaze locked onto Asuka's eyes. "Hello, child," he said, his voice a low, sinister rumble. "My name is Eisenhower Rook. What’s yours?"Asuka stood rooted to the spot, her limbs frozen with fear. Tidus, beside her, said nothing. "Eisenhower's eyes narrowed, and his smile sent chills down her spine. "Is there anyone else here, love?" his voice cold and cruel. 'What’s… your… name?' Asuka and Tidus remained silent, paralyzed by fear. Asuka’s body trembled, her breath shallow. Eisenhower’s lip curled as he exclaimed. 'Is there anyone else here!?' Asuka’s voice came out as a whisper. 'No…' But Burtrum, always the coward, seized his final moment. 'She’s lying!' he screeched, his voice gurgling through broken teeth. 'Spare me, and I’ll tell you where the others are!' Eisenhower didn’t even glance down at him. He snapped his fingers, and in a flash, the boy with the soul stones raised an arm, an ice spear materializing out of thin air. With one swift movement, it pierced Burtrum’s skull, silencing him forever. Asuka stifled a scream, biting down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. She had seen death before, but never like this. "Search the house," Eisenhower commanded his men. "Ill show you what I do with liars." The soldiers scattered to search the orphanage,Tidus tried to step forward, but Eisenhower moved faster. He flicked his hand, and icy chains erupted from the ground, binding both Asuka and Tidus to the wall. Cold seeped into their skin, numbing them instantly. 'Let us go!' Asuka screamed, her voice shaking. Eisenhower approached her slowly, his eyes locking onto the two small ruby soul stones embedded in her wrists. 'Listen closely, child,' he said, his voice dripping with disdain. 'You are cursed with power far beyond your comprehension. A mere pawn in a game that will erase you from history. Your bloodline is nothing—cowards, fools. Soon, you will all be forgotten.' 'I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!' Asuka spat, her voice filled with defiance despite the fear surging through her. Eisenhower sneered. "You will, his voice dripping with malice. He conjured a blade of ice, its edge gleaming wickedly. With deliberate cruelty, he dragged the blade across and carved a line from her ear to the corner of her mouth. The pain was blinding, and Asuka’s scream tore through the night. Soon after, the soldiers returned, dragging a beaten and bruised Eve into the room. Her face was swollen, most of her clothes torn off. Eisenhower slowly walks over to Eve and then picks her up by her hair he notices the mark of the king on her chest. After exhaling and shaking his head in disappointment, he then began striking her face repeatedly with his fist. Tidus looked down, tears streaming silently as he muttered, "Please... no... don’t." "Eve!" Asuka cried. "Why are you doing this to us?" "Children, please... look away," Eve gasped, her voice weak but steady. "I’ll be fine. "But Eisenhower didn’t stop. His fist connected with Eve’s face over and over, each punch more vicious than the last. Her blood spattered the cold floor, and Eisenhower’s voice rose into a manic laugh. "You still don’t see it, do you?" Eisenhower growled between blows. "Your bloodline is a stain upon the world, a monarch of weakness. You’ll never reach your potential, and this woman, this insect, will die because of it." Eve’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, her eyes staring blankly ahead. Asuka’s heart shattered. She couldn’t hear Eisenhower’s taunts anymore. The only thing left in her was rage—an uncontrollable, blinding rage.As Asuka's vision blurred with tears and fury, the ruby soul stones on her wrists began to pulsate, emitting an intense red glow. The air around her thickened with heat, and a low rumble echoed through the orphanage. Flames erupted from her wrists, wild and untamed, engulfing the room in a fiery inferno. The very walls seemed to wail as the fire consumed them. The two soldiers near Eisenhower had no time to react. One was instantly swallowed by the flames, his screams cut short as his body turned to ash. The other staggered back, desperately trying to shield himself, but the heat was unbearable. He collapsed, the fire overtaking him. Eisenhower's cold eyes widened ever so slightly, a hint of surprise breaking through his icy demeanor. "Interesting," he muttered. The boy with the blood-streaked white hair sprang into action, stepping between Eisenhower and the raging flames. He thrust his hands forward, summoning a barrier of ice that clashed violently with the fire, steam exploding outward. Amid the chaos, Tidus seized the moment. Grabbing Asuka's hand, he pulled her toward the gaping hole the explosion had torn in the wall. "We have to go, now!" he shouted over the roar of the flames. Asuka hesitated, her eyes locked on Eisenhower, but the sight of Eve's lifeless body spurred her into motion. They sprinted through the debris, the heat singeing their skin as the orphanage began to collapse behind them. Beams fell, and walls crumbled, but they didn't look back. The early morning air hit them like a cold slap as they burst outside, their lungs gasping for breath. The forest loomed ahead—a labyrinth of shadows and unknown dangers. But it was their only refuge. They plunged into the treeline just as a deafening crash signaled the orphanage's final demise. Deeper into the woods, they found the other children huddled together, eyes wide with fear. Sora and Ryuga rushed forward. "What happened?" Sora cried. "Where's Eve? She just told us to run to the woods after we heard a scream." Asuka's throat tightened, the words catching painfully. "She's... she's gone," she managed to whisper. "No," Sora shook her head vehemently. "No, she can't be. We have to go back!" "We can't," Tidus said firmly, though his own voice wavered. "They're coming for us. We have to keep moving." Ryuga glanced back toward the glow of the burning orphanage. "But where will we go? We have nothing—no food, no supplies." Asuka took a deep breath, steadying herself. "We head to the capital of Emberfall. It's the only place we might find help." "Two weeks' journey?" Ryuga exclaimed. "How are we supposed to survive that?" "I won't let anyone else die," Asuka said, her eyes hardening with determination. "We'll find a way." Reluctantly, the group agreed. Gathering what little they had, they set off into the night. The forest swallowed them, its canopy blotting out the stars. Every rustle made them jump, but they pressed on, fear propelling them forward. For days they trekked, the journey taking its toll. The younger children grew weak with hunger, their pace slowing. Water was scarce, and the forest offered little in the way of sustenance. Asuka's guilt gnawed at her—she had led them into this, and their suffering was a burden she bore heavily. One night, as they rested beside a shallow stream, Tidus approached her. "We can't keep going like this," he said quietly. "The little ones won't make it."Asuka stared into the trickling water. "What choice do we have? If we stop, they'll find us.""Maybe we can hunt," Tidus suggested. "Set some traps. At least buy us some time to rest. "She nodded absently. "Do what you can” The gentle flow of the stream provided a soft backdrop to the silence between them. Asuka knelt by the water, staring down at her reflection, her mind replaying the chaos of the escape. The flames, the destruction—things she hadn't meant to unleash. Tidus sitting down beside her. Hesitated, then spoke, his voice careful. “Asuka… that explosion back at the orphanage. What was that?” Asuka’s hands stilled in the water, her body tensing. She drew a shaky breath, but kept her eyes on the stream. “I… I don’t know.” Her voice was soft, laced with confusion. Tidus frowned, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve never done anything like that before?” Shaking her head, Asuka pulled her hands from the water and hugged her knees to her chest. “Never. I didn’t even know I *could* do something like that.” Her voice wavered. “One second, I was just... so angry.” She swallowed, her gaze distant. “I wanted to save Eve. I wanted to hurt Eisenhower. I wanted him to *feel* it.” Tidus watched her closely, the disbelief and uncertainty on her face mirroring his own. “It wasn’t just fire, though. That was… intense. Like a force I’ve never seen.”Asuka let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t me. At least, not the me I know.” She looked down at her hands, still trembling slightly. “I’ve never felt that kind of power before. It was like I was drowning in it. I couldn’t control it. It just… happened.” Tidus nodded, his voice softening. “I know. But you saved us, Asuka. You tried to save her.” Her eyes, filled with guilt, finally met his. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t save Eve. And what if… what if it happens again? What if I can’t stop it?” Tidus gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, and we’ll figure this out. Together.” Asuka gave a weak huff, managing a faint smile as she glanced back down at the stream. “You sure you won’t change your mind when I accidentally set you on fire next time?” Tidus laughed softly, nudging her shoulder. “I’ll try to dodge faster.” The tension between them lightened, though the weight of what had happened still lingered. Tidus leaned a little closer, his tone more serious. “Whatever this is, we’ll deal with it. You’re not alone.” Asuka looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and gratitude. “Thanks,” she whispered. Tidus nodded, his voice steady. “You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.” They sat in silence for a little while longer, the world around them quiet, the weight of their worries feeling just a bit easier to bear together. Meanwhile, the children huddled together for warmth, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow. Sora tried to comfort them, telling stories of brighter days, but her voice lacked its usual warmth. As dawn broke, Asuka wandered a short distance from the camp, her thoughts heavy. The soul stones on her wrists felt heavier than ever, their once-vibrant glow now dim. She clenched her fists, anger and frustration welling up. "Why me?" she whispered. "What am I supposed to do?" "Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," a voice called out. She spun around, startled. A figure emerged from behind a tree—a young woman draped in a cloak of emerald green. Her eyes were sharp, a piercing shade of violet, and a sly smile played on her lips. "Who are you?" Asuka demanded, taking a defensive step back. "Name's Selene," the woman replied casually. "Been tracking you for a while now." "Tracking me? Why?" Selene shrugged. "Word travels fast when someone leaves a trail of fire and destruction. That, and Eisenhower has a hefty price on your head." Asuka's heart skipped a beat. "You're a bounty hunter?" "Was," Selene corrected. "But I'm not here to turn you in. In fact, I'm here to help." "Why should I trust you?" "Because," Selene said, her expression turning serious, "Eisenhower is a threat to us all. He's collecting soul stones—for something catastrophic. And if he gets yours— no one will be safe." Asuka eyed her warily. "What do you know about my soul stones?" "More than you might think," Selene replied. She opened her cloak and revealing a small single Diamond soul stone embitted on the top of her chest where her collar bone. Her stone shimmered softly. "You're not the only one with... gifts." Back at the camp, Tidus noticed the stranger talking to Asuka and hurried over, his hand instinctively moving to the makeshift weapon at his side. "Is everything alright?" he asked, eyeing Selene suspiciously. "Relax, I'm a friend," Selene said, raising her hands. "We don't have much time. Eisenhower's is much closer than you think." As if on cue, a distant howl echoed through the forest—a haunting, unnatural sound that sent a chill down their spines. "His Arctic Hounds," Selene muttered. "They can track soul stones over great distances." Asuka felt a surge of panic. "What do we do?" "You need to learn to suppress your stones' energy," Selene said urgently. "I can teach you, but we have to move. Now." Tidus hesitated. "How do we know we can trust you?" "You don't," Selene admitted. "But your options are limited." Another howl pierced the air, closer this time. The other children looked up, fear flashing in their eyes. Asuka made a decision. "We follow her." Gathering the group, they set off at a brisk pace, Selene leading the way. She navigated the forest with ease, guiding them through hidden paths and dense underbrush. The sounds of pursuit grew fainter, but did not disappear. After several grueling hours, they arrived at the mouth of a cave concealed behind a waterfall. "In here," Selene instructed. Inside, the cave opened into a spacious cavern illuminated by luminescent fungi that cast an ethereal glow. The children collapsed gratefully onto the cool stone floor. "This place is shielded," Selene explained. "They won't be able to sense your soul stones here." "How is that possible?" Asuka asked, marveling at their surroundings. "Old magic," Selene replied. "From a time before the wars." Asuka sat down, exhaustion catching up to her. "You said you could teach me to suppress the stones." Selene nodded. "Yes, but it won't be easy. It requires focus and control—something you've yet to master." "I'm willing to try," Asuka said determinedly. "Good," Selene smiled faintly. "Because if you don't, Eisenhower will find you, and not just you—everyone you care about." Over the next few days, Selene began training Asuka. She taught her how to channel her emotions, to find the calm within the storm of her mind. The process was grueling. Each attempt left Asuka drained, but she persisted. Meanwhile, Tidus and the others worked to replenish their supplies. The cave provided shelter, but food was scarce. Tidus ventured out to hunt, always cautious of lurking dangers. One evening, as Asuka sat meditating, she sensed a presence. Opening her eyes, she noticed the waterfall at the entrance of the cave looked to be frozen in place. As she peered into the frozen waterfall she saw the boy with the blood-streaked white hair standing at the cave's entrance, his crimson eyes locked onto hers. After an explosion the boy said "Found you," softly with a smile on his face. Alarm shot through her. "Selene!" she shouted. The boy stepped forward. "There's nowhere left to run. "Selene appeared beside Asuka in an instant, daggers drawn. "Get back," she warned. The boy tilted his head. "You can't protect her. None of you can."Asuka stood, her fear giving way to resolve. "Who are you?" He regarded her silently before answering. "I am Lucien. A bearer of soul stones from the capital of the Frosthaven Citadel." "Why are you helping Eisenhower?" she demanded. "Because he showed me the truth," Lucien replied. "This world is broken. Only through your destruction can it be reborn." "You're wrong," Asuka retorted. "I've done nothing all you're doing is hurting innocent people." Lucien's expression remained impassive. "Naive… ill make your death quick."