C#1: Prologue – The Great War
The fire crackled softly as night settled over the village.
A group of children sat in a loose circle, eyes wide, knees pulled close, shadows dancing across their faces. Above them, the sky was clear—too peaceful for the kind of story they were about to hear.
"Grandfather," one of them asked, voice small but curious, "is it true?"
The old man didn't answer right away. He poked the fire with a stick, watching sparks rise into the air like tiny stars.
"True?" he repeated. "Child… the world you see today only exists because of that war."
The children leaned closer.
"Long ago," the elder began, his voice low and rough with age, "when the line between myths and reality was thin… the Great War broke out."
---
Back then, the world was not as quiet as it is now.
From the cracks of the abyss came an army of demons—creatures that looked almost human, but wrong in every way that mattered. Their bodies were twisted, their eyes burned red, and wherever they marched, the land withered beneath their feet.
Cities fell. Kingdoms burned.
Human weapons were useless.
"But we weren't alone," the elder continued. "The guardians answered."
---
First came the Phoenix.
A being of fire and rebirth, it descended from the heavens in a storm of flames. Swords and spells meant nothing to it. Even when struck down, its body reformed in blazing light. With every beat of its wings, fire poured from the sky, reducing entire demon battalions to ash.
Next was the White Tiger.
It moved like a ghost across the battlefield. Its claws tore through demon flesh as easily as paper, and its breath froze the air itself. Demons didn't just die—they were trapped in ice, left as frozen warnings to the rest.
The children shivered, even though the fire burned warm.
---
Then came the Black Tortoise.
An immovable mountain wrapped in an unbreakable shell. Demons threw everything they had at it—magic, steel, claws—but nothing worked. When it moved, oceans followed. Waves crashed through demon lines, washing them away as if they were nothing more than dust.
"And above them all," the elder said softly, "was the one they called the ruler of the skies."
---
The Golden Dragon.
Its scales shone brighter than gold, lighting up the battlefield like a second sun. Fire poured from its jaws, lightning bent to its will, and no demon could face it directly and live. To humans, it was hope.
To demons… it was fear.
But even hope has limits.
---
From the center of the demon army emerged their true leader—the Ancient Demon Lord.
Unlike the others, it didn't rush forward. It watched. It commanded. And behind its power was something far worse.
"The Abyssal Leviathan," the elder whispered.
One child gasped. Another clutched his sleeve.
"It was a monster born from the void itself. Big enough to swallow worlds. The Demon Lord drew on its power… and the war changed."
---
The Golden Dragon fought the Demon Lord alone.
Their battle tore the sky apart. Mountains cracked. The earth screamed. Even the Dragon struggled against the Leviathan's endless strength.
The other guardians were surrounded. The demon army just kept coming.
For the first time… the guardians were being pushed back.
"That's when," the elder said, eyes reflecting the firelight, "the Dragon made a choice."
---
Instead of fighting alone, the guardians turned to humanity.
Their power flowed into human champions—ordinary people, blessed with divine strength. Men and women who stood up knowing they might never return.
They fought not for glory.
They fought so the world could live.
---
The elder fell silent.
The fire popped.
One child finally spoke. "Grandfather… who won?"
The old man smiled faintly, a strange look in his eyes.
"You already know the answer," he said. "Look around you."
Then his gaze drifted to one child sitting quietly at the edge of the firelight.
The elder studied him for a moment longer than the others.
"…But the war," he added softly, "never truly ends."
The wind whispered through the trees.
And somewhere far away, something ancient stirred.