The vampire-locking traps emerged from the battlefield’s horizon, seeking an opportunity to halt those deadly attacks. Amidst this chaos, a powerful war erupted. The earth trembled from the pain and damage caused by the battle, and the sky could no longer bear the sound of clashing magic and swords. Atrius’s magic, like lightning, illuminated the sky, as if the world itself had momentarily gasped for breath.
Magical rifts appeared in the air, and his sword strikes, like massive earthquakes, shifted the tide of the battle. Yet the enemy, especially Dracensius, refused to surrender. With a roar filled with rage and determination, he commanded his forces to attack.
The allied forces, holding faith in Atrius, advanced with all their might. In this historic encounter, amidst a ruthless battle, the fate of two worlds rested in the hands of warriors fighting for faith and honor.
While Atrius fought in the heart of the battlefield, Andreas stood in a corner with a mysterious smile, thinking to himself, “Just as I predicted, this battle is ours.” He gestured to his remaining forces and shouted, “Attack, everyone! Now is the time to show our strength!”
With Andreas’s command, the battle intensified once more. Despite the stark difference in numbers, the Legends unexpectedly gained the upper hand. The power of faith and Atrius’s courage inspired his soldiers to fight to their last breath.
An hour passed, and the brutality and violence of the battlefield persisted. Atrius fought valiantly, but the cost of his bravery was steep. In exchange for taking down approximately 6,000 enemy forces, he lost his right hand and part of his abdomen. Deep wounds on his body and face bore the marks of his resilience and bravery.
Now, he stood alone on the battlefield, surrounded by about 28,000 enemies in a tight circle. All his comrades had been slain, and he now faced the challenge alone, weary and wounded.
Atrius looked around. He heard the triumphant roars of his enemies, but within him, a flame of hope still burned. He knew this battle was not just for himself but for all those who had sacrificed their lives for courage and faith. This warrior of war, alive and unyielding, was ready to fight to his last breath against all enemy forces.
At this moment, despair did not allow him to surrender. He looked at the ground with his wounds and said to himself, “Today is my day. As long as I have a breath in my chest, I will not surrender.”
Atrius glanced back and saw the sacred tree on the horizon. It was engulfed in a sorrowful silence, screaming in his heart. He saw how defenseless infants, women, and children were slaughtered by the vile sorcerers. It seemed as though there was nothing within them—not even mercy for the smallest victims.
Andreas, at that moment, mockingly looked at Atrius and said, “Now, who is the fool?! Take a look around! All your people are dead, and you are the only one left alive—if we can even call you alive.”
Then, with a savage move, Andreas severed Atrius’s leg. He barely endured the pain but was ultimately dragged toward his wife’s coffin. The coffin, made from the branches of the sacred tree, symbolized Atrius’s love and loyalty to his queen.
In the queen’s embrace lay an infant, but Atrius quickly realized it was not Arian. This infant was the child of one of the Legends, sacrificed to prevent the enemies from pursuing the prince.
Pain and despair gripped Atrius’s soul, but in his mind, courage and a strong will burned brightly. He could not allow the names of his wife and child—even if the child was not his—to fade into darkness so easily.With all his might, he shouted, “I will not surrender! My name is Atrius, and I will fight to the last breath to protect what I love!” With these words, his resolve was renewed, and he steeled himself to thwart Andreas’s plans and save what remained of his family.
Roxelius gazed at the sacred tree and, with a mocking tone, said to Atrius, “Do you know why this is called the sacred tree? Because the first of the Legend race was born here. Your child is the last, but unfortunately, he is dead. Now, I will destroy this tree so that no more Legends are ever born!”
With those words, Roxelius unleashed destructive magic upon the sacred tree, and the tree began to wither and perish. The tree, a symbol of life and hope for the Legend race, gradually disintegrated with each strike of the magic. As the tree was destroyed, the ground beneath Atrius shook, and he felt as though his world was collapsing.
But this was not the end of the story. Following this, Andreas, with cold, unfeeling eyes, decapitated Atrius. He believed that by doing so, he had eliminated the last Legend, but the truth was far more complex than he could imagine.
In a cottage deep within the forest, baby Arian, nestled in the arms of Zynarfil, suddenly began to cry. Zynarfil, who had never lost hope, gently tightened his embrace and, with tears in his eyes, whispered to the child, “So, you felt it too, my boy?”
Zynarfil knew there was still hope in this dark world. He deeply believed that Arian, Atrius’s son, represented the Legend race and all the dreams this land needed. In his heart, he felt that even in the darkest moments and direst circumstances, there was a light that could guide the way back.
History would forever remember the story of Atrius and the hidden secrets of the Legend generations. Life always finds a way, even in the midst of darkness.
Seven years had passed since the fateful battle, and the world had returned to its former calm. During this time, to honor the victory and maintain peace between the four races, a school was founded in the capital of Calostia, the realm of humans. The school was named Chrysalis.
Arian and Zynarfil were living together in their cottage. Now that Arian was seven years old, he was learning more about martial arts and magical skills. His mentor, Zynarfil—a dragon and the very one who had raised Atrius—was in charge of Arian’s training.
“Alright, Arian,” Zynarfil said, “before we start our work, first tell me—what do you know about the geography of the world?”
“Well, Master, as you know, our world consists of two major landmasses. The larger one is called Ugandra, and the smaller one... is named Zilandra. There’s also a large ocean between these two continents, named Thalaris, in honor of the goddess of water.”
“Good job, boy. Now let me tell you about the details of Ugandra. This continent is home to four races: dragons, vampires, elves, and humans. Each of these races, based on their powers and attributes, has claimed a region. Humans, being stronger in diplomacy, share borders with all three of the other races. And their country? That’s right—it’s called Calostia, with its capital located near the ocean. Let’s talk about the dragons. They’re the only creatures capable of flight, so their country lies in the Argolin Mountain Range. Between this range and the human lands lies the Magic Swamp, where, if you’re not careful, the creatures there might devour you. At the northernmost point of the swamp and the continent is a land that is mostly in darkness. Why? That’s right—because the sun rarely shines there. That’s the kingdom of vampires, known as Darkland. Lastly, the land of the elves lies in the forest, and it’s called Silanderin.”
“Master, I have a question. If we’re in a forest right now, does that mean we’re in the land of the elves?”“Not exactly, my child. We are in the forest of the Calostian kingdom... Now, come on, let’s teach you some swordsmanship. Hurry, go grab your wooden sword!”
Arian and Zynarfil practiced together every day. Zynarfil prepared him for the future and answered all of the little one’s questions—except for those related to his parents. To those, he would only say, “They were great people.”
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