Prologue - The Dream of the Sealing
The sky was breaking.
Not with thunder.
Not with storm.
But with power.
Iren stood upon a battlefield that did not belong to any single era. Mountains cracked like pottery beneath invisible pressure. Oceans rose in towering spirals before evaporating into steam. The very air trembled as if reality itself were struggling to endure what unfolded.
Seven figures stood at the center of the chaos.
The Sages.
Solaryn, radiant beyond mortal sight, wielded a halberd forged from solar fire. Each movement of his weapon left burning arcs across the heavens. Opposite him, Lunareth danced through shadow, her crescent scythe gliding soundlessly as if guided by night itself.
Dravoryn brought his colossal warhammer down, shattering earth and sky alike. Zephyra's winds screamed as invisible blades carved through the battlefield. Vaelion descended like judgment incarnate, lightning roaring from his greatsword.
Nerithal moved like an endless tide—graceful, relentless, drowning everything in her path.
And at the center—
Aetherion.
The Fire Sage.
His spear burned not wildly, but with terrifying discipline. Molten veins of light traced his form as though the sun had chosen him as its vessel.
Their powers collided.
The heavens split open.
A rift tore across the sky—vast, consuming, endless.
From it came darkness.
Creatures without names. Shapes that twisted logic. Monsters that did not belong to this world.
Iren tried to move.
He could not.
He tried to scream.
No voice answered.
The seven Sages raised their weapons together.
Light and shadow intertwined.
Flame and storm converged.
The sealing began.
The rift screamed as it closed.
And just before everything dissolved into blinding radiance—
A whisper echoed within him.
"Balance must be preserved… but at a cost."
Iren awoke with a gasp.