Varanasi's morning sun was hidden behind a veil of ash. The sacred Ganges, once glimmering gold, now reflected a sky streaked with fire and smoke. Screams echoed between the old stone temples as portals bled into the world — black, swirling wounds in the air.
Anaya clutched her daughter's hand, running barefoot through the narrow alleys. The bells of the temples clanged not in prayer, but in panic.
"Keep close, Meera!" she cried. "Don't let go—"
But then they came.
From the portal spilled shapes that did not belong to this world — hulking, green-skinned monsters with tusks and jagged armor, wielding crude axes that dripped with black ichor. Orcs.
They laughed — a guttural, animalistic sound that scraped against the soul.
One swung its club, smashing a man into the wall beside her. Blood sprayed across her face. Meera screamed. Anaya tried to shield her, but they were surrounded.
> "Run!" she shouted. "Go, baby, run!"
Her daughter turned—
—and froze as a massive hand grabbed her.
Anaya's heart stopped.
The orc lifted Meera into the air by her hair, grinning wide, its yellow eyes glowing with cruel amusement.
> "No…" Anaya whispered, her voice cracking.
"Please… please don't…"
The monster tilted its head. Then, without hesitation, it bit down.
A sickening crunch. Blood. Silence.
Anaya's world died in that instant. Her scream shattered the air.
She fell to her knees, eyes wide, trembling hands reaching out to the crumpled, lifeless form.
The orcs laughed. "The weak cry. The strong eat," one said in a broken accent, pointing its jagged blade at her.
Her tears froze before they touched the ground. Literally.
The air around her began to change. The wind stilled. The temperature plummeted.
A strange sound — like cracking glass — filled the alley.
The second orb floated before her, glowing with a deep blue light. It pulsed once, as if hearing her grief.
> "You took everything from me…" she whispered.
"Then I'll take everything from you."
She reached out — her fingers trembling — and touched the orb.
It burst.
The world went white.
Snow exploded outward, frosting every surface, every corpse, every drop of blood. The orcs roared as ice climbed up their legs, freezing them where they stood.
Anaya rose slowly. Her hair, once black, now shimmered silver-white. Frost curled along her arms like living tattoos. Her eyes burned with glacial blue fire.
System text flared before her eyes:
> [Class Acquired: Ice Witch]
[Blessing Received: The Dragon God of Frost — Vritra's Favor]
[Skill Unlocked: Frozen Domain]
[Skill Unlocked: Glacial Shards]
She raised her hand. The air screamed as spikes of ice tore through the street, impaling the frozen orcs in one sweep.
One tried to crawl away — half-frozen, whimpering. She walked toward it slowly, each step leaving frost behind.
> "You laughed," she said softly, her voice calm, hollow.
"Laugh again."
She touched its head. The creature's skull froze, cracked, and shattered like glass.
Snow began to fall.
The portal that had brought the orcs flickered, its edges frosting over until it froze shut entirely.
Anaya stood amid the silence, the city's chaos muffled by her spreading frost. Her tears had dried. There was no pain now — only purpose.
And above her, a voice whispered — deep, ancient, and inhuman:
> "You grieve well, my chosen. Let your sorrow be the storm that ends worlds."
She looked up at the gray sky, the frost glinting in her eyes.
The gentle professor of philosophy was gone.
Only Anaya, the Ice Witch, remained.
Meanwhile in the silent realm
A vast white plain stretched endlessly in every direction — no sun, no stars, no shadows.
Just light. Endless, blinding light.
Billions of people stood scattered across it, speaking in countless tongues — cries, confusion, prayers.
Some knelt, others shouted for help, others clawed at the ground that wasn't really ground at all.
Then the light rippled.
A deep rumble echoed beneath their feet, and three enormous doors erupted from the nothingness — rising higher than mountains.
One gleamed green, swirling like emerald mist.
The second burned yellow, pulsing like molten gold.
The third bled red, leaking light that looked like living fire.
The crowd fell silent.
Then — laughter.
It rolled across the void, low and sharp, cutting through the air like thunder wrapped in silk.
Every wordless note of it pressed against their skulls. Some clutched their heads and screamed; others simply dropped to their knees.
And then — it appeared.
A being of light.
Not man, not woman — only shape and brilliance, wings of fractured glass spreading wide, eyes burning like two newborn stars.
Its very presence bent the space around it.
The laughter stopped.
It spoke.
> "How delightful. You came."
The voice wasn't just heard — it was felt.
It vibrated through bone and blood, shaking hearts and tearing at minds.
People screamed. A few fainted instantly.
Kahwina — one of the countless souls standing there — fell to his knees, blood running from his ears, his vision shattering like static.
The being paused. It turned its gaze to him, tilting its head slightly. Then it snapped its fingers.
The pain stopped. The bleeding ceased. The chaos went silent.
Every sound, every whisper froze mid-breath.
The being smiled — or something like it.
> "Apologies," it said softly, voice now smooth as flowing water. "It's been… a long time since I've spoken to mortals."
The crowd stared, trembling, speechless.
> "Allow me to welcome you," it continued, spreading its radiant arms wide.
"You who touched the first light… You have proven instinct over doubt, obedience over fear."
Its tone shifted — warmer now, yet hollow beneath the surface.
> "You are the First. My pioneers. My Order."
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