A few hundreds years ago, the sky didn't turn blue in the morning. It turned the color of dried blood.
The Demon King, Malakor, didn't come from another world; he came from the cracks in the earth. He brought with him the Shadow-Legions—hordes of Orcs the size of houses, Goblins that moved like a plague of locusts, and the Dark Mages, men who had traded their souls for a drop of forbidden mana.
The Solari Empire was burning. The Great Walls of the capital were melting under the black fire of the demon priests. The Knights' swords snapped like glass against the hide of the abyss-beasts.
"Is there no one?" the Emperor cried out from his crumbling throne. "Is there no steel that can hold against the dark?"
That was when the Archmage of the North stepped forward—Theodore's great-grandfather.
He didn't wear the golden armor of the Imperial Guard. He wore simple, travel-stained robes. He didn't carry a staff of crystal; he carried a heavy, black iron sword etched with symbols that no one in the Empire could read. They were the Ancient Mantras, the lost language of the First Stars.
On the plains of Karakorum, the Archmage met the Demon King alone.
The sky roared as Malakor unleashed a wave of absolute darkness, a spell designed to erase existence itself. But the Archmage didn't cast a shield. He didn't chant a Western defensive spell.
He struck the ground with his heel, sat in the center of the battlefield, and spoke a single syllable that vibrated through the very marrow of the world:
"हुं" (HUM!)
The sound was a physical wall. The darkness didn't just stop; it shattered. The Archmage's body began to glow with the light of a thousand suns—the Vajra Aura. Every Orc within ten miles turned to ash instantly. The Dark Mages' hearts stopped beating as their own corrupted mana turned against them.
The duel lasted seven days. By the end, the Demon King was pinned to the side of a mountain by seven spears of pure golden light.
"You have won the battle, mortal," Malakor hissed, his body dissolving into black smoke. "But my seeds are already planted. The mana of this world is poisoned. Your bloodline will wither. Your descendants will be powerless ravens in a world of eagles."
The Archmage looked at the dying demon and sheathed his iron sword. "They won't need your mana," he said calmly. "They will have the Truth."
The Demon King was defeated, but the curse was real. The Archmage's power vanished from his children. The Vance family became the "Cursed Ravens," holding a territory of stone and ice, waiting for a boy who could remember the vibration that once saved the world.
Note: The Sanskrit system isn't just magic; it's a way to hack the world's rules. If you liked how Theo used 'Jugaad' to save the manor, please add this to your Library! Every Power Stone helps the Raven House rise again!"