Chapter 1: Maldorian

"To die in war is our greatest pleasure."- Empreor Shakar.

Malodorian, the empire of strength and power, a city built atop Mount Krisha, named after the god of life and bringer of the cosmos. The gates of the city were guarded by towering stone statues of the gods of war, and the only way to reach Maldorian was by crossing the Bridge of Tar, a treacherous span that connected the city to the dark, mystic wilds beyond.

To journey to Malodorian, one must brave the dangers of the darkened plains, a realm inhabited by monsters and demons, haunted by the ghosts of those who had fallen prey to its many dangers. It was a place of shadow and mystery, a land where only the strongest and most fearless dared to tread.

But for those who braved the journey, the reward was great. For within the walls of Malodorian lay the heart of the empire, a place of might and power where the strongest warriors and rulers held court. It was a city of blood and steel, where battles were fought and legends were born. And at its center stood the great palace of the emperor, a towering fortress of stone and steel, guarded by the finest warriors in the land.

To reach Maldorian was to reach the pinnacle of power and glory, a place where the strongest and most feared held sway. It was a city of darkness and light, of life and death, a place where the gods themselves walked among mortals, shaping the fates of men and women with their divine will. And for those who had the courage to face its challenges, it was a place where dreams could be achieved and legends could be made.

Ten years passed since the day that Greery Blackwolf had traded her life for that of her stillborn child. And on the steps of the great palace of Maldorian, Emperor Grayson Blackwolf, father of the child, found his newborn son, motherless and alone.

Upon discovering the baby, the emperor was filled with sorrow and a new, burning rage. He picked up the tiny, sleeping form, only to find a letter wrapped around its body. The letter read:

"This baby will be named Roland. Though you are his father, I will claim him in the future, for he is my cursed child, my warrior of darkness. He bears my essence and he will be mine."

The note was signed by no one, leaving no trace of its author. But as Emperor Blackwolf read the words, a sense of foreboding filled him. For he knew that this child, his own flesh and blood, was destined for greatness - or perhaps, a darker fate. And he vowed to do whatever it took to protect his son, to keep him safe from the shadows that seemed to haunt him even at birth.

For in the world of Malodorian, danger lurked around every corner, and the gods themselves were known to shape the fates of men and women with their divine will.

By the time Roland could hold a spoon, his father had enlisted one of his elite warriors, Riktor Ravenhorn, to train him in the art of the sword. Riktor was a tall, slender man, with flowing golden hair and a well-groomed beard. He favored black clothing, and though he might have lacked brute strength, he more than made up for it with his lightning fast reflexes and unyielding determination.

His piercing blue eyes seemed to see through all that lay before him, and his long, slender fingers were skilled at wielding a sword with deadly precision. Though he was no match for the burly, muscle-bound warriors of the empire, he was more than a match for most foes, his speed and agility a formidable weapon in any battle.

As he stood tall and proud, his black cloak billowing behind him in the wind, Riktor cut an imposing figure, one that commanded respect and fear. For he was a warrior to be reckoned with, a master of the sword and a fierce defender of the empire. And as he trained young Roland in the ways of war, he knew that the boy would one day grow to be a warrior just like him - or perhaps, even greater.

The training was brutal and unforgiving, as it was for all children in the empire of Maldorian.

"Pick up that sword, child," Riktor snarled as he smacked the wooden blade out of Roland's hand with a well-placed counterstrike.

Roland gritted his teeth and fought back tears of pain and frustration as he picked up the sword once more. His heart was filled with rage as he faced off against Riktor, a fierce determination in his young eyes.

Suddenly, the air around Roland seemed to grow dark and heavy, and strange blue light began to glow from his bloodshot eyes. The moment was calm, the wind soft, but Roland could feel the leaves falling from the trees, hear the rustle of their descent. He charged forward, gripping the handle of the sword with both hands, the blade still too big and heavy for his small frame as it dragged on the ground, scraping the dirt as he charged towards Riktor.

"What is this feeling? I sense a very dark essence from this boy..." Riktor muttered to himself as he stood his ground, waiting for the counterstrike. But in the blink of an eye, Roland was upon him, moving faster than the eye could follow. Without conscious control of his own movements, the young warrior launched himself at Riktor's back, the sword in his hand aimed at the nape of the older man's neck.

But Riktor was no novice. He sensed the strike and twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blow as he struck out at the back of Roland's neck, knocking the young warrior unconscious.

Sweat pouring from his brow, Riktor gathered Roland into his arms and whispered, "That was good, young Roland. I think we've had enough for today."

Still in shock from the events that had transpired, Riktor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeply unsettling about the young boy in his arms. Something dark and dangerous lurked within Roland, something that he could only begin to guess at.

As the sun settled on the northern side of the castle, Riktor slowly made his way into the royal chambers, where Emperor Grayson Blackwolf waited on his throne. Emperor Grayson was a tall, muscular man with a full beard of black hair and a hard, battle-worn face. He was a proud and ambitious ruler, willing to do whatever it took to see the empire of Maldorian flourish throughout the realms of mankind.

His golden armor radiated a powerful aura of spiritual essence, a rare and coveted energy bestowed upon only the most worthy warriors by the gods of war.

"Emperor Blackwolf," Riktor greeted as he bowed his head in respect to the ruler of Maldorian. "How was training? Has my son been progressing?"

"My Emperor," Riktor began, "Roland is remarkable for his age. He is cunning and smart, with a tenacity that matches my own. I see in his eyes the same spark that Greery once had." Riktor hesitated as he mentioned Greery, the mother of the young prince.

"Now, now Riktor, you don't have to be so formal with me. We've shared many battles together, and I trust you more than some of my own blood relatives. Riktor, my friend, I see Greery in that boy's eyes too. Greery gave her life to bear me a child, and she died in great honor. For that, I shall never love another. But tell me, has anything strange happened during today's training? I felt a strange energy that made me uneasy. Please, Riktor, tell me anything you've noticed about my son."

The Emperor seemed worried, sensing that something was amiss.

"Grayson, I can't really say what's going on, but I sense a strong, dark essence emanating from Roland. Dark shadows formed around him and his eyes glowed a bright blue. I've heard tales of a warrior who could summon shadow essence and move faster than a bolt of lightning. This warrior was blessed by a god and ascended to the realms of the gods to wage war against them. He made the gods tremble in his rage, but ultimately, he was destroyed by his own wrath."

"Enough for now, Riktor. You've been doing a great job. We'll keep an eye on Roland and inform me if this were to happen again."

With a nod, Riktor exited the chambers, leaving Emperor Grayson to stand and stare at the glowing moon. "Deskar, god of the endless," the Emperor whispered, clutching his sword tightly.