PROLOGUE: Dance of Creation

Life is considered by some a gift. By others, a curse.

The water was cold.

A chill that pierced the skin and sank down to the bones.

Because the truth is that every gift comes at a cost.

The current wrapped around his body like a shroud, slow but relentless, dragging him downward. He opened his eyes underwater, but all he could see was a dull expanse of gray.

And often, life is both the gift and the price.

He tried to move his arms, his body heavy as lead, but the surface seemed unreachable. The light above him was faint, distorted, creating reflections that took the shape of a celestial vault.

It was not a real image, but a vision.

So why do mortals fight to stay alive? The cost must be paid, sooner or later.

The water rippled, revealing an unusual scene: two meteors falling from the stormy, leaden sky.

The first was swift, a black streak headed inland, almost as if the Underworld were calling it back. The second was its exact opposite: a lightning-fast cluster of electric streaks weaving a luminous thread.

The phenomenon lasted only a few seconds as the rapid lines intertwined, forming a double helix, as if their dance were generating life in its purest essence.

Contrary to common belief, it was the light that frantically chased the darkness, not the other way around. The shadows did not seek to swallow the light—it was the light that reached for them, trying to dissipate them. Their trajectories converged toward a remote area. The meteors continued their descent until they crashed with a deafening roar.

The explosion that followed was immense, unleashing a wave of heat that incinerated everything nearby. A deep crater formed at the impact site, surrounded by smoldering debris and fragments of the meteors. The ground around it had been torn apart, bearing the marks of an unprecedented destructive force. The air split open with an earth-shattering rumble. The shockwave made the ground tremble and shattered the few homes in the area.

For an instant, everything seemed frozen in the moment after impact. A heavy, unreal silence enveloped the scene, broken only by the fading echoes of the explosion, slowly dissolving into the air.

Finally, two figures emerged from the newly formed veil of smoke. They wore masks reminiscent of traditional Italian festivities, yet the aura surrounding them carried an immense solemnity.

They were two deities, facing each other just a few meters apart.

"Are you willing to break our pact for a mortal? Ready to risk angering Fate for a mere boy, Cragar?"

"Yes, Emion. You, on the other hand, are doing this because you fear him."

"How can you be so naïve? He was on their side!"

The dark god kept advancing toward his enemy, step by step. His was not a reckless, furious charge, but a simple, slow walk. The wind howled, ruffling his long, blood-red hair.

He lifted his head and spoke calmly, "I warned you of the danger. He only needed to be protected, but you did the exact opposite."

A clap of thunder rumbled through the clouds. "Silence!"

"You cannot defeat me, Emion," his voice was calm, almost apathetic. "The truth will be revealed, sooner or later. Not even you can stop it."

Frustrated and enraged, the radiant god planted his feet firmly on the ground. His eyes burned with an intense light, but also with a hint of hatred.

"You have always sought to protect the innocent, Cragar," the immortal replied in a cutting tone, "but you cannot protect anyone if you are incapable of protecting yourself. You may be nearly as powerful as I am, but you cannot challenge our entire generation and expect to emerge victorious."

The dark god almost smiled. Life and death were inevitable cycles—he knew that all too well. Likewise, the two deities were bound to one day be forced into war, driven by their irreconcilable differences.

Fate was a force greater than any of them, impossible to escape.

"I cannot face you all," Cragar admitted, "but no one touches my children. Not even you."

"He is a threat!"

The masked deity closed his eyes. "No. He was just a boy whose life you turned into a nightmare. The threat never existed—you created it."

The ground began to tremble as strange cracks spread across its surface. "It's your fault he ended up in its grasp."

With a solemn gesture, Cragar lowered his hand toward the earth. A dark, ominous light flashed in his violet eyes as skeletal figures began to rise from the depths. Their pale bones shimmered with a spectral glow under the sunlight. One by one, they emerged from their graves, forming an army that loomed against the sky. Their bones creaked as they moved, ready to obey the command of their dark lord.

"If you still believe I will submit to you, then you have never understood my perspective."

With a motion of his hand, he signaled them to advance.

"I will kill you. Without hesitation."

The skeletons, driven by the relentless will of the god of the dead, moved with determination, ready to serve their lord in his cause. The air around them was steeped in cold, while the darkness in their hollow eyes seemed to observe the world with an inhuman chill.

Emion swallowed, recognizing the sincerity in his old friend's words.

"I-I understand," he stammered in response.

The storm subsided, the lightning faded, and the wind calmed.

"The boy will remain under your custody, and you will ensure that he becomes our ally," decreed the god of the skies.

"I swear it, in the name of Fate," the dark god replied.

They would tolerate each other—it was the only way to uphold their pact.

At last, the vision dissolved, leaving behind only the silent flow of the current as a mute testament to their passing.

What… did I just see?

He was swimming, though he didn't know why, nor who he was. Only the mechanical need for air pushed him forward. A dull pain began to creep into his lungs. The absence of any memory was a void in his mind, yet there was no space for panic. Only that infinite cold, the pressure of the current that caressed him, repelled him, suffocated him.

What drives mortals to want to survive? Is there a reason?

Breaking through the surface, he coughed. The water burned his throat like lava.

If that reason were to disappear, would they keep fighting?

He collapsed onto the shore. The ground beneath him was dry and dusty, rough against his skin and cracked, black as obsidian. It offered no comfort.

Shivering, he sat up, his violet eyes wandering over the landscape. It was a barren wasteland.

The sky above was a uniform gray, devoid of sun, moon, or stars. The air carried a bitter taste, like iron, and the silence was so deep it seemed to devour even the faintest traces of thought. In the distance, silhouetted against the horizon, a lone palace stood. The boy lifted his gaze and noticed a figure before him.

It was neither flesh nor bone.

A vague, flickering shape, a dense smoke shifting against an absent wind. Its eyes—if they could be called that—were empty voids, perfect for a specter.

"You… where am I? Who are you? Who am I?" he asked, but his voice was weak, broken, as if he hadn't spoken in days.

The spirit drifted forward in a fluid, unreal motion. The boy stood, his body still numb. A hollow sensation pressed against his chest, heavier than the current, more suffocating than the silence.

He turned toward the distant palace and saw the spectral figure moving in that direction.

Why not succumb?

He didn't remember why he was there, what that place was, or even his own name. Only questions without answers swirled in his mind, but he knew which choice he had to make first. The alternatives were to remain still in nothingness or follow the spirit toward the palace.

Why not surrender to the void?

He stumbled as he took the first step, too weak to walk properly, but he had chosen his path. All that remained was to continue.

Maybe there is no answer. Perhaps they fight because it is in their nature. Life goes on, always, even when it seems to have no meaning. It is the primal instinct that drives them—a rebellion against nothingness, against cruel fate.

── ⋆⋅❂⋅⋆ ──

An August evening.

"So, do you, too, long to live?"

Lilies Park was, as always, crowded with young boys and girls striving to understand the gifts they had been born with. Despite the apparent silence, the firelight cast shadows over a restless scene, filled with the curiosity of the newcomers.

One of the older ones was recounting to them how everything began. Though teenagers often struggled to maintain focus, most of those gathered hung on his every word.

The young man, nearly thirty, with chestnut hair and hazel eyes, wetted his lips before continuing.

"Alright… enough with the philosophical monologues. There's another story I'd like to share with you tonight," he said with a broad smile. "Do you know the myth of Thebribe?"

None of the listeners answered; in fact, some even shook their heads. The young man grinned.

"Thebribe is the primordial being from which everything was born. It is said that he was alone, surrounded by the utter darkness of nothingness," he paused briefly. "And yet, he found a mask. He was curious—he saw the holes for the eyes. He realized he could wear it, and so he did. Then, after a while, he began to move and dance freely. You should have seen how happy he was—he couldn't stop laughing from sheer joy. He was having fun, and it was obvious."

The storyteller was pleased to see his audience's eyes widen in fascination. Then, he turned his gaze to the crackling flames.

"He realized he was alone, but he did not stop twirling. That was when the dance of creation began. With one movement, he conjured solid ground beneath his feet, a surface on which he could spin. And thus, the earth was born."

The newcomers began to understand where the tale was headed. Slowly, some of the older companions stepped forward with drums, their rhythm building in speed, syncing with the heartbeat of those listening.

The storyteller continued.

"There couldn't be land everywhere. Much more was needed—the sky, for example. And so, with a simple step, he created it from nothing! Then he felt thirsty. Another step," he mimicked the motion, moving his hands outward as if pushing something toward them. "And there was the sea! Then the sun, the moon, and the stars! Nature, animals, and everything else…"

A little girl in the crowd, around nine years old, stood up.

"Like God?"

The storyteller made a slight grimace before sitting down again, smiling gently at his young interlocutor.

"Thebribe is the primordial being, certainly not just a simple god!" he replied with a playful tone.

"Anyway… at some point, he grew tired of dancing. He decided to take a break. He sought a refuge far from the light so he could finally rest, and so he did. End of the story."

Having finished his tale, the young man stood up, intending to leave, but was stopped by the same girl as before.

"And then what happened?"

"Ah, you want me to continue? I thought that was enough."

"Yes!" the newcomers answered in unison.

"Well then, it seems this will be a long night," he replied, sitting back down. "It's time to talk about our parents—the true gods."

A female figure approached the circle of mortals but kept her distance. She observed the storyteller through the slits of her white mask. The young man noticed her after a few moments and gave a respectful nod. She remained motionless, showing no expression, a clear sign that she did not seek attention.

Her white dress swayed in the late summer breeze, but her amber eyes shone with an almost disarming firmness. The storyteller swallowed, sensing her divine aura, but hid his unease behind a smile and continued.

"When Thebribe began to dance, he inevitably created the world as we know it. In doing so, he also infused life where before there had only been nothingness. Unintentionally, he gave birth to us—spectators of his dance."

He lowered his gaze for a moment.

"But Thebribe realized he was different. Humans were not like him. One day, he saw a child smiling at him; the next, an old man watched him with weary eyes. He had company, yet the loneliness in his soul did not fade."

"So what did he do?" a boy in the crowd asked.

The storyteller smiled.

"What many would do in his situation…" he looked up at the young audience, captivated by his tale. "He made some friends."

Those four words pierced the weakest hearts and moved many of the spectators to tears.

"He danced until he was utterly exhausted, creating beings that could be like him… immortal individuals, each gifted with a mask: the first generation of deities."

The storyteller had kept his audience enthralled with his tale so far, so he decided to continue. The young listeners, seated around the fire, watched with bright eyes and pounding hearts as he painted a vivid picture of the primordial world and the gods who inhabited it.

"So, the first generation consisted of four deities: Vion, the sky; Vela, the earth; Galia, the ocean," the young man cast a quick glance behind the audience, but the woman had vanished, "and Decaros, the underworld."

"What happened to them?" some of the listeners asked.

The storyteller hesitated for a moment. "They…" but before he could continue, a hand rested on his shoulder.

The female figure, who had been hidden in the darkness of the night, had given him a rather clear warning. The young man, nearly frozen in place, lifted his gaze and met her amber eyes.

It was Aena, the goddess of love. One of the twenty-four immortal deities of the last generation and the very owner of the Lilies Park. At such close proximity, he could now notice the golden details of the mask that covered her face.

Everyone fell silent as they felt her presence, radiating an aura of majesty and divine power.

The woman stepped closer to the fire, her mask reflecting the flickering flames. With a melodious voice, she said, "I believe that is enough for tonight."

The storyteller, respectful of the goddess, nodded. He did not seem surprised at all, as if he had anticipated this moment. His tale had already captured the young listeners' imaginations, and though they got up with a hint of disappointment, they did not protest.

Aena smiled gently before adding, "Of course," she continued, "if you wish to hear the full story, you will have the chance to do so when the cosmology lessons begin in mid-September."

The young audience nodded—some excited, others slightly disappointed—but they accepted her offer with gratitude. Despite their eagerness to know the rest of the story, they understood that the storyteller's version could never be as detailed as that of a teacher.

The goddess of love offered a second smile to the newcomers, but her penetrating gaze, even through the mask, betrayed an expression beyond her serene demeanor. The young ones were both confused and enchanted by her aura of mystery and beauty.

A solemn silence fell over the Lilies Park. The spectators, all still gathered around the fire, bowed deeply in a sign of respect.

After the gesture, the people made their way home, leaving the storyteller and the goddess alone. The young man stepped closer to the fire, his face shadowed by a hint of melancholy. With a fluid motion, he drew in the flames until they vanished completely, a feat made possible by the powers he had inherited from his father. He silently watched the last glimmer of light that had illuminated the evening.

Aena, noticing the storyteller's somber expression, approached him with a light step. She stopped beside him, first looking at him with affection, then with sternness.

"What are you thinking about?"

The Blendbreed lifted his gaze to the sky, the starlight illuminating his face, etched with experience and battle scars. In a hushed voice, he replied, "Just old memories."

His eyes drifted toward a distant statue still under construction. It depicted four young Blendbreeds who were now long gone. The masterfully sculpted work captured the tetrad, ready for battle. Immortal in their youth, yet lifeless. Only memories—silent witnesses of a troubled past.

"I couldn't let you continue. You made an oath that cannot be broken. Do you still remember that?"

"I know, and I hate myself for accepting it," he murmured, unable to meet the goddess's gaze. "But there's no need to worry. I'll make things easier for you by leaving this place."

Aena placed her hand on the storyteller's shoulder once more. "There's no need to go that far," she said, but he brushed her off, unwilling to be deceived by such pretenses.

"I promised to keep my memories, and I was forced into this pact, but now I'm done," he said as he stood up. "The others have moved on, and it's time I did the same."

Aena remained silent. The storyteller turned to face her, gathering all the courage he could muster.

"From now on, solve your problems without dragging your children into them. Being heroes only leads to death—whether by the hands of monsters or by yours."

Without waiting for a reply, the young man walked away toward his home. As he did, a light breeze sent a shiver through him.

It was just a strange feeling, but he sensed a change in the air.

A new era was on the horizon.