"The curse does not choose who casts it... but who is broken by it."
From the book "The Voice of the Curse" — Page 91
The entire arena was ash, watered by the blood of a mass of corpses forming a huge mountain-like shape. The sky was stained with purple, as if the final signal had been given.
"Aaah, where am I? What is this?"Raijen stood in the center of the arena, surrounded by the remains of the dead. His hands were tightly clutching his clothes, his eyes wide and his face pale with a feeling that overwhelmed him... something he had never felt before—fear. But wait!!! He noticed, above that massive mound of corpses, a person with thick silver hair holding a sword. It seemed he was the one who caused this massacre. Sitting, with lifeless, gray eyes fixed on the ground, he sighed deeply as if exhausted. His features held no emotions, as if life itself was responsible for this.
Before him, a person, crowned with a dark crown, knelt before the scattered bodies with his left foot and looked up, screaming with all his might:"For every beginning, there is an end, and for every end, there is a beginning. And for every curse, there is a price... I knew this from the start. I must be the bridge for all to cross, and some must sacrifice for others to live. This is what the flood means, and this is what freedom means—a path to salvation for some, and a peaceful life for others."
He continued, his breath ragged, his voice emerging from deep within him, as if he knew... that this ending, for him, carried within it the destruction, the martyrs, and the spilled blood—a new beginning with an unknown fate."I've bet everything I have for you."
Suddenly, four spirits appeared, each radiating their own unique color, holding four large shards that seemed to be trying to seal all that power. In seconds, each of the four spirits and the shackled person disappeared, and the shards seemed to be swallowed by an unseen force. Despite all of this, the silver-haired person did not falter a single step.
Raijen, still frozen in place, gripped his shoulder as a strong hand touched him. He heard a voice, heavy yet faint, from the person:"Wake up, wake up... the war hasn't begun yet."
Raijen could only see the hand, which wore gloves covered with symbols. Every time he turned to see the owner, the background and the image began to evaporate.
"Raijen... Raijen... wake up, Raijen!"Hilda was trying to wake him from his nightmare after seeing him panting and sweating. He opened his eyes in shock and quickly jumped out of bed, gasping as if released from the torment pressing on his chest. His mother gently touched his face with both hands, asking:"What's wrong, Raijen? You've been tossing and turning for half an hour, sweating. Was it a nightmare?"
Before she could finish, Raijen hugged her tightly, burying his face in her arms, as if something terrifying had happened that only her embrace could comfort. His voice trembled with fear, his eyes shut tightly as if refusing to see reality after what he had witnessed."Mom, I saw something terrifying."
Hilda smiled, seeming happy to hold her child, and gently stroked his hair, reassuring him."I'm always here, I won't let anything scare my little one. How about you tell me about your nightmare while we hang the laundry?"And of course, the most enjoyable thing for Raijen was squeezing out the clothes and watching them drip with water.
While his mother continued hanging the last piece of laundry, Raijen's eyes remained fixed on what he had seen. He repeated in his mind, lost in thought:"It wasn't just a dream... I'm sure of it."His mother touched his hair again, and when she saw his distant look, she smiled and said, as if trying to cheer him up:"See, Raijen, even the weather doesn't want to see you like this."
Raijen hesitated and then looked at her. She added:"Let's go inside. We're done. I'll make your favorite soup."He responded with a smile and a nod as they entered, bidding farewell to the sky, which was still cloudy.
At the same time, under the same sky, in a very distant place, on the other side of the world, there was a place called "Nevalia." This place was filled with the aura of the curse, surrounded by towering trees with dark black roots and strong, branching arms that gave it an air of majesty. The light filtering through their branches was called the "Tears of the Sky," forming a boundary around the land. It was crossed by a river called "Valinar," which should never be drunk from. It was said to carry the memories of the fifth king, and every drop of it represented a curse.
In the heart of "Nevalia" stood a massive castle, built through magical means from gray stones brought from the depths of a dead volcano. Its cracks glowed red, growing brighter whenever a war was declared or blood was shed. The castle was guarded by a group of beings called "Nibroth," a mix of wolves and shadows that appeared to anyone who ventured too close.
The "Fahlhimer" Castle, the cursed empire's throne, resembled a sleeping beast from afar. It had drastically changed the balance of the world and kingdoms for over two centuries, emerging with multiple advanced techniques and weapons powered by enormous cursed energy. Perhaps this was why it held absolute rule and continuous victories, or perhaps it was for something else—who knew.
In the commander's council room __ the throne room __ the "First Fall Hall,"
It wasn't named without reason, for it was here, in this very place, that the fifth king first knelt before the entity.
The hall was vast, containing four pillars carved with indecipherable symbols. The flames of torches hung in order along the walls and columns, not emitting fire or oil, but curses trapped in small crystals beneath them. The floor was covered with a violet carpet, and above it, the ceiling depicted a scene not found in any other hall in the castle except this one and the Emperor's private hall.
A man with five faces, each facing a different kingdom, held in his right hand a cup filled with radiant light, which he poured onto the floor, where cracks absorbed it as if rejecting it. His left hand held a feather dipped in blood. Above him, five birds hovered, each carrying shards or small stones. Two of them had broken wings, and behind them, burning villages and fields were visible. From the land, a tree sprouted, its roots branching out like chains, wrapping around the throne.
The throne, located in the center of the room, was a massive chair made of iron, saturated with enormous cursed energy that seemed to renew itself daily. It was placed on a raised platform of seven steps, each representing a fallen kingdom. It was made specifically for the great military commander, "Varos Zahrald, the Seventh Shadow."
He was known for his crimson eyes with yellow eyelashes that always reflected in his gaze. His yellow hair extended to the base of his back. He never removed his military uniform, which consisted of black armor with a purple shine made from the blood of the ancients. He was usually calm, never acting on emotion, and always analyzed a situation before making a move. He was a master of psychological warfare and skilled at manipulating situations in his favor. He was also unpredictable, and his true motivations were often shrouded in mystery. He was one of the few who believed and accepted that chaos was an inseparable part of life, exhibiting a kind of asceticism and traditional values.
Before him was a long table designed for military planning, surrounded by five chairs for the five commanders of the "Breakers of Light," representing the main division. At this moment, Varos was devising his new plan.
Minutes before the meeting began, each of the five commanders had already entered with a group of guards wearing shining heavy armor. They took their positions in front of the walls, surrounding the hall, holding long spears and standing motionless and silent, as if part of the walls themselves.
Zahrald stood up and approached the table where the five commanders were already gathered. He stood firmly as his crimson eyes glowed with purple light. He spread a map showing the lands they planned to target in the future, and without any welcoming words, he raised his right hand and began speaking:
"I thought I wouldn't need to repeat the same lecture, but this time is different."
He pointed to a specific area on the map and continued:"Grana is our next target. It's not just any land, but the headquarters of the factions. If we take them down, it will be easier to take down the entire kingdom. The king, his ministers, and his personal advisor, their only goal is to protect themselves."
One of the commanders spoke up:"As you know, the government itself doesn't recognize the factions."
Zahrald looked at him and continued with a voice full of power:"The entry will be direct, and once the factions see the people burning, they will have no choice but to fully resist."
He placed his hand back and lowered his head in a way that concealed his features, adding:"And that's not all..."
After these words, the commanders felt that something bigger and more important was about to follow. Zahrald raised his face in a frightening manner, his crimson eyes growing more intense, and with a mocking smile, he said:"Valther is alive and well, right here on this fertile land."
Before he could finish his sentence, one of the guards in the hall, whose features were hidden behind his armor, stiffened. If not for the armor, his presence would have been noticeable as an intruder...
Zahrald hurled his sword directly at the guard, his smile never fading. It was not difficult for him to sense the aura that didn't match the surroundings. He struck the target. The guard, of course, was not foolish enough to think that Zahrald wouldn't notice him. The guard vanished, and the armor fell to the floor. It turned out to be a copy of one of the "Emissaries."