**"In an age long buried by time, there existed a mighty race known as the Elementan. They were beings who could command the very elements of the earth—masters of stone, soil, and rare materials such as iron, crystal, gold, even diamond.
Each generation gave birth to Elementans with unique affinities—some shaped mountains, others bent metal, and a few could forge brilliance from the ground itself. They didn't just control the elements—they could create them, mold them, reshape them as if the earth were merely clay in their hands.
But once in several centuries, a rare soul would be born—one who held dominion over all earthly elements. This being, known in legend as the Allementan, was capable of raising mountains, channeling rivers, and bending nature to their will. They were not simply part of the earth… they were the earth itself.
Tragically, their era came to an end in fire and blood. A sudden, merciless assault wiped out their kind, leaving only screams and blue flames behind. The land that once flourished under their touch was drowned in death and silence.
Now, only a handful remain. Altair… and his family. The last heirs of a race that should never have fallen."**
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The Forgotten Sky
Dried blood still clung to his fingers. His body was coated in dust and the remnants of wounds slowly crusting over. The air around him felt alien—cold, fresh, and light.
No stench of sulfur, no searing heat upon the skin, no guttural howls of the underworld beasts.
Altair stood atop a cliff, his eyes wide as he gazed upon the world his grandfather had only spoken of in stories.
The surface world.
For the first time in two decades of life, he saw a sky untouched by black smoke.
Blue. A color unfamiliar to him.
The wind brushed against him, making him stagger slightly. The air was too light.
Yet, amidst this strange serenity, his stomach growled. Hunger.
Damn it. He was used to hunting in the underworld, feasting on Gorrmuk meat or the bitter, rock-hard Scrimson fruit. But here? He had no idea what was edible, what was poisonous, or what even counted as food.
"I finally made it out…" he muttered under his breath, before his thoughts began to spiral.
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Flashback – The Hell He Called Home
The Underworld, Six Days Earlier
As Altair rode Draaveen back to his dwelling, a tightness gripped his chest.
Something felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
As he drew closer, all he saw was ruin. Flames. Rivers of molten lava. The stench of death.
Gorrmuk and Noctoss.
They were waging war on the very land he called home.
He leapt from Draaveen's back and ran. His feet skidded over searing rocks, past scattered corpses. His trembling hands reached for the charred remains of the wooden door to his home.
There lay his grandfather's body.
Cold.
Still.
"Grandfather…?" his voice cracked. No answer came.
A hammer struck his chest—or at least, that's how it felt. His breath came in sharp bursts. His eyes locked onto the sword still gripped in the old man's hand, blood pooling around him.
Blood from both warring kingdoms.
Something inside Altair snapped.
His body ignited with golden light. Bone and flesh trembled.
Something buried deep within his blood awakened.
Awakening.
Pain tore through his body, but his mind knew only one thing—vengeance.
Wielding the newly-forged power of Steel Debris, Altair moved.
He slaughtered the armies of Gorrmuk and Noctoss without mercy.
Bones shattered. Bodies torn apart by razor-sharp fragments of metal harder than diamond.
When it was over, he collapsed amidst the corpses.
His breath ragged.
His body broken.
His heart—hollow.
He turned to his grandfather's corpse. Slowly, he took the old man's hand… and found a letter clenched within it.
Go to the surface.
Find your family.
And now… here he was.
---
Return to the Surface World
"Altair."
The voice echoed in his mind.
He lifted his head sharply—no one there.
"…Who?"
"Have you forgotten already? We've been talking for years."
Altair froze.
Only now did he realize—
The voice was clearer than ever before.
Roniver Drayth.
The spirit of the former king of Aethran who had possessed his body since he was fourteen.
"So, you've finally left that world," Roniver's voice was steadier now. "But you have no idea how to survive on the surface, do you?"
Altair clicked his tongue. He hated to admit it—but the spirit was right.
"What should I do?" he asked, rubbing his growling stomach.
"You're like a newborn child now. This world is unlike the one below. But fear not—I will guide you."
Altair sighed and looked out at the dense forest stretching before him.
The first step—survival.
With a heart still bleeding, but a will that had begun to take shape, he stepped forward into this new world.
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