LOCATION: THE FRJÓSA WASTELANDS.
54 YEARS PRIOR—DURING THE SECOND AGELESS WAR.
Thousands of First Ones' Knights cascaded down the snowy mountain ranges at the heart of the island—an avalanche of steel and flesh crashing into the frozen abyss below.
The sky wept crystals. Frigid blue shards descended from the sky with deceptive grace, embedding themselves into the ice with soft, lethal chimes.
Across the wasteland, soldiers collided in messy clusters—scrambling and slipping into one another with desperate ferocity as the Hell Raisers met them head-on.
Metal met Metal.
Blood froze before it could fall.
Winds tore men from their footing and cast them screaming into the surrounding oceans, where the endless waters swallowed them whole, dragging their armored bodies into lightless depths.
No burial. No remembrance. Just silence beneath ice.
The First Ones' dark-blue and silver armor shimmered faintly beneath the storm's wrath.
Golden sigils burned across their bodies—etched into skin like divine scars.
Necks. Arms. Chests. Even their faces.
Marks of the Balance. The Celestial Butterfly.
A gift… a gift that granted immortality.
Every soul born within the First Ones' Empire bore that mark—man or woman, child or elder. None were exempt. None were free from it.
High above the slaughter, upon the deck of the fleet's flagship, a man watched in silence.
Director Jarl.
Beside him stood a pair of generals and a single colonel, their cloaks snapping violently in the freezing winds as they stared down at the carnage below.
Unlike the knights, they did not see glory. They saw numbers. Losses. Mistakes. The cold reality behind this war.
A general stepped forward, his voice tight, strained beneath the weight of what he witnessed.
General: "It's unclear which side is gaining ground. We're losing hundreds, Director Jarl. I suggest we pull back—"
Colonel: "Suggest what?"
The interruption came sharply. The colonel turned, his expression twisted with disbelief and fury.
Colonel: "Run away? Again?"
He let out a harsh scoff, shaking his head as if the very idea offended him.
Colonel: "You must've lost your damn mind. The Empire cannot afford another retreat. Not now. Not after all the resources we've already lost.
Do us all a favor… and try using that brain of yours before you start spewing cowardice."
The General's expression hardened. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and seized the Colonel by the collar, nearly lifting him clean off the deck.
General: "You would do well to keep your mouth shut, fool. The only one speaking nonsense here is you. Think carefully before you disrespect me again."
The Colonel's eyes burned with fury. His hand curled tightly at his side, knuckles whitening as he fought back the overwhelming urge to drive his fist straight through the General's face.
Before the situation could spiral further, Jarl raised a single hand.
Silence fell instantly.
His messy orange curls lashed wildly in the frigid, aggressive winds as his sharp gaze cut between them.
Jarl: "Enough. I cannot think while you two bicker like children. Focus yourselves."
His ocean-blue cape snapped behind him, heavy with frost and clinging snow.
Jarl: "Has Umazo delivered my message to the King?"
One of the generals hesitated before answering, eyes flicking uneasily toward the shifting, fog-choked heavens above.
General: "I'm afraid not, sir. We've received… troubling reports. The enchantress has been intercepted—cornered by two Hell Raiser vessels.
Both are under the command of the Hell Hound of the Black Seas… Captain Nukuna."
Jarl exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as frustration bled through his composure.
Jarl: "Damn it… Is there a single corner of this cursed realm where victory favors us?"
His grip tightened around the frozen railing as his gaze strayed back across the battlefield below.
The slashes. The battle cries. The endless clash of bodies.
It all blurred together now.
Once, those sounds had meant something. Now they were nothing more than a dull, meaningless noise. Pointless.
——
Something shifted.
Jarl's eyes narrowed. He straightened abruptly, scanning the battlefield with renewed intensity.
Colonel: "Director…? Something wrong?"
Jarl didn't answer immediately. For a brief moment, he said nothing at all.
Jarl: "Wait… where is Telle—"
A blood-curdling scream tore through the southern expanse of the Frjósa Wastelands.
Dozens of knights collapsed instantly, clutching their ears as they dropped into the blood-soaked snow. Some writhed, others howled, their hearing blistering beneath the sheer force of the sound.
That voice was unmistakable.
Tellewin Seer.
Jarl: "Deploy one hundred soldiers to the rear of the island! MOVE—NOW!"
His subordinates scattered instantly, barking orders into the chaos as troops were rapidly redirected southward.
Jarl leaned forward, scanning the distant, frostbitten edges of the region. His gloved fingers dug into the railing, splintering the frosted wood beneath his grip.
Just then, he spotted them.
Two massive Hell Raiser warships, partially concealed behind the jagged mountain ridges at the island's core.
Their enormous black sails snapped violently in the wind, stretching wide like the wings of some ancient predator.
And at their center, a blazing insignia burned across the fabric. A violent fusion of red, gold, and orange—crafted like a roaring mass of flames.
Jarl's breath caught in his throat.
———
Meanwhile—at the farthest, frost-bitten edge of the polar desert—Tellewin's body was hurled through the air like discarded wreckage.
He crashed through the icy outskirts in a brutal, tumbling spiral. Bone shattered against bone as dozens of impacts tore through him—icy boulders, splintered trees, jagged outcrops—all of it colliding with his body in merciless succession.
He struck the ground.
The force fractured his spine on contact, locking his body in place as the world around him seemed to blur into fragments of white and blue.
His once-radiant ruby eyes dulled instantly, their brilliance drained into something hollow.
A scream ripped from his throat. Louder than before. Raw and guttural.
His trembling hands clawed at the massive gash engraved deep into his torso, fingers slick with blood as they pressed uselessly against the wound.
It burned.
Ferocious embers gnawed at his exposed flesh, licking eagerly at the wound as if savoring every second of his suffering.
Tellewin: "H-Hel—Ack! Aghhh… UGH! H-Help…! D-Damn it…!"
His voice collapsed.
He curled inward, his body folding into itself. He was utterly defenseless against the agony consuming him.
Tears spilled freely from his eyes,
glistening as they streamed down his cheeks in quivering lines.
The pain was unbearable.
His teeth ground together, jaw trembling as frustration, fury… and fear began to take hold.
He hated this.
Hated the way his body betrayed him.
Hated the way he had been reduced to this sniveling, weeping shell of a man.
Disgraceful.
A First Ones' general… brought low to the level of a begging child.
What was it all for?
The victories. The growth. The praise.
What did any of it matter now?
Nothing.
It meant nothing.
A broken whimper slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
Tellewin: "H-Help… please. Oh, Balance… please help me…"
Crunch.
He hadn't even seen it—the strike that brought him down. It had come too fast. No face. No form. Just absolute pain.
It was from a Hell Raiser, undoubtedly. But which one?
Who…?
Crunch.
Tellewin forced himself upright, his movements shaky and uncertain. His expression softened—just barely—as the fiery blazes within his wound began to fade, dissolving into faint traces of wandering shadow-dust.
Relief slid into his expression.
Crunch. Creak.
Tellewin's heart suddenly pounded violently against his ribs. It was fast, far too fast.
His entire body went rigid, every nerve pleading for him to move. He didn't. He couldn't.
Something deep within him refused to do so.
So he stayed still, opting to listen instead.
Every fiber of his being stretched thin, straining against the silence. Something was wrong. It felt as though his body might burst apart at any second.
Scrunch.
???: "Oy! You're quite the famous bloke, eh? Tellewin Seer."
The voice hit like carved timber—rough and impossibly steady.
It was loud and certain. Sly and shrewd. Utterly unbothered.
???: "I gotta say, you're a bit disappointing, ain't ya? Reports painted you with a prettier face. Guess they were all a pack of good-for-nothing liars, yeah?"
A slow, almost amused pause followed.
???: "Your mug's not exactly winning any beauty contests, mate. Bit of a downgrade, if I'm honest."
Tellewin's heartbeat froze. It stopped dead in its tracks.
For a few seconds, there was nothing inside his chest but empty silence.
His breath hitched—snagged in his throat like it had been torn apart mid-inhale.
Slowly did he lift his gaze forward.
A tall shadowy figure approached. Nearly seven feet.
Tellewin knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no escape left in this moment. No trick. No miracle. No last-second divine intervention.
Not after seeing him—not after recognizing that face.
His fate had already been signed in something colder than ink.
All that remained… was the waiting. And he wouldn't have to wait for long.
???: "What, you always this quiet? Or are you just that rattled? I'll assume the latter."
So it was him.
The Helldrick Commander of the Ageless Order.
One of the Royal Dictators of the Hell Raiser Kingdom.
The Champion of the Ageless Brain.
The First Raider.
Kash Shrusgar.
Silken, light-scarlet curls drifted through the falling snow, brushing against pale milk-white skin like strands of silk caught in winter wind.
A sleek black fedora sat angled atop his head, its brim traced with silver dragon-scale inlays that caught the dim light in glints.
A long black collar cape hung from his shoulders, flowing over a lean, muscular frame dressed in a fitted dark sweater and layered leather straps.
The edges of the cape were torn and clawed—ripped open like something had once tried to drag him into oblivion and failed.
Black gloves coated his hands, dusted with frost and fine debris. At the base of each finger sat a silver ring, perfectly aligned.
A dark brown furred belt crossed his waist, while jet-black boots pressed into the snow with calm, rhythmic certainty—each step marked faintly with raven insignias.
Strapped along his spine rested two Blessed Tools:
A wooden crossbow.
A steel halberd.
Both were carried like afterthoughts.
——
Then there were his eyes.
A lustrous lavender.
Pupils that seemed to be breathing.
They shifted softly with movement, as though the color itself was alive—flowing in and out of focus like something half-awake within him.
Kash tilted his head slightly. A faint grin tugged at his mouth.
Kash: "Are ya really not gonna say a word, lad? That scared, are ya?
Bloody hell. That's a shame."
Tellewin squeezed his eyes shut tighter than before, as if sheer refusal alone might rewrite reality itself. His lips trembled as he prayed—desperation twisting every syllable into something raw and broken.
A thick stream of snot spilled from his nose, trailing messily down his cracked lips and weathered, shattered features.
There was no survival left in him. None at all.
To stand before a man favored by the Banished Titan himself, would not be a battle. It was an ending already written. You'd be best off dropping your weapons and confessing your sins, hoping to be forgiven before you died.
Kash: "Ewgh! Don't do that shit!"
His face twisted in disgust
Before Tellewin could react, Kash lifted his boot and drove it clean into his head with effortless precision.
The impact sent him flying.
A spray of foul yellow mucus burst outward, mixing grotesquely with spit and blood as his body cartwheeled through the snow.
His mind detonated into white static. Pressure surged through his skull like collapsing ice tunnels, snapping through thought and sensation until everything gave way at once.
He hit the ground hard. Face-first. He was completely disoriented by the potent strike, mumbling into the dirty surface.
Kash: "The hell ya say, wasteman? Honestly, quit being such a wanker, for fuck's sake."
Kash stepped forward again, planting a lazy kick into Tellewin's side and rolling him over like discarded debris.
A crooked smile tugged at Kash's lips, revealing faint, shark-like canines beneath the calm.
He crouched, grabbing Tellewin by the chin and raising his head upward.
Tellewin's heart rate spiked. This was it. Not a moment. Not a chance. His death was imminent. Everything narrowed into a single question that refused to leave him alone.
What… was it all for?
Kash's grip shifted subtly, fingers pressing into the jawline as though weighing whether destruction or conversation would be more inconvenient.
A quiet hum escaped him as he considered the decision with maddening nonchalance—then, almost bored with the thought, he changed grip entirely.
Instead, he grabbed Tellewin's cheeks, squeezing them with casual force that made breath feel optional.
Tellewin: "W-What…?"
Kash let out a short, amused chuckle, leaning in just enough for his neon-lit gaze to cut straight through him.
Kash: "Ahh! So you do know how to use your voice. Good."
He reached up, brushing away a couple of tears with lazy precision before exhaling softly through his nose.
He was unimpressed more than he was entertained.
Kash: "Honestly… don't you find this a bit embarrassing? Look at yourself. You're a general, ain't ya? Ugh."
He clicked his tongue lightly.
Kash: "I just can't stand watching you lot—lost and defenseless, dragging yourselves through life like you've got no say in it. Reminds me of something… myself, back in the day. Long gone now, though."
He finally let go, standing up.
Kash rose with a lazy stretch and a faint yawn, acting as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
He strolled past Tellewin's broken form with casual indifference, whistling once under his breath before stopping just short of leaving earshot entirely.
Kash: "You're not just gonna die like this, aye? Just accept it?"
A brief pause.
A softer tone slipped through—barely noticeable, but deliberate.
Kash: "Hmph… I can see it. Plenty of ambition still kicking about in those pearly rubies of yours."
Tellewin froze—no trembling, no choking gasp, just silence settling over him as he stilled… listening.
Kash: "If you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish smoking the rest of your kin. I'll even leave you alive… a little present for the King. But only if you do me a favour."
His voice lowered to a whisper as he looked back one final time. The cold around him seeming to sharpen in response, like the world itself leaned in to hear what came next.
Kash: "Don't ever let yourself lose like this again."
And then he was gone, swallowed into the snowy fog like a thought that had already finished being spoken.
Tellewin's eyes tightened into pinpoints, tracking nothing but absence where the man had been.
The words stayed with him, continuously echoing throughout his mind.
Lose.
Don't lose.
Not like this.
Never like this.