MEMORIES OF A LEGEND, PART 1.

The city, if it could still be called that, felt more like a graveyard forged in flame and ash. The ground beneath Lucius's feet was torn apart by ancient craters, each one wide enough to swallow entire city blocks. Blood and fire were the only colours left in this twisted palette, painting over what once must have been thriving streets and proud towers. Flames licked the broken skeletons of buildings, resisting even the relentless downpour crashing from above. The thunder didn't simply rumble—it roared, as if the skies themselves were mourning what had been lost here.

Lucius walked slowly, carefully, as if he were trespassing inside someone else's nightmare. And maybe he was, because this memory—no, this manifestation—didn't come from his mind...

It wasn't his pain that had carved this ruin into the air. It wasn't his grief bleeding into every ruined wall or shattered statue. He could feel it—this place didn't belong to him. It belonged to the darkness.

He stole a glance at the figure standing beside him. The entity's usually unreadable blue eyes, bright and unnerving like twin stars, now seemed distant, drenched in something darker. Regret. Sorrow. Pain that had long since stopped being sharp, and had dulled into something cold and permanent. The kind of pain that lives inside you, shaping everything you do… and everything you destroy.

Lucius didn't ask, didn't further inquire. He didn't have to. Some memories weren't meant to be spoken aloud, but then, the entity's voice broke through the quiet devastation.

"...Can you guess what this place is?" The entity whispered, almost too softly to hear—like the question wasn't for Lucius at all, but for itself.

Lucius blinked, unsure how to respond. The honest answer was no. He had never seen anything like this before. This place didn't exist—not in any map, not in any history book, not in any of the memories he held. But then again, this world wasn't real. It was a realm shaped by thought, memory, and imagination. And if the darkness had summoned this place, then it had to be real… somewhere, sometime.

So he looked closer.

And that's when he saw it—the Kalarth Mountains, known more commonly as the Black mountain range. They loomed to his right, their ridgelines jagged and severe even from this distance. But that was the problem. If the mountains were to his right, then he wasn't anywhere near Varis. He was on the opposite side. The less-eastern side, which was before the black mountain range and closer to the central-eastern regions.

His gaze narrowed as it was thousands of miles away… with the Black mountains now behind him… and ruins before him... Around him meant only one location could match the description.

That's when the name hit him. Like a blade between the ribs.

"…This city," Lucius said slowly, the words catching in his throat. "It can't be… Velar, right?"

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. The darkness didn't answer, not with words. But Lucius saw it, a slight twitch around the eyes. A tilt of the head. The kind of subtle confirmation that hit harder than any scream ever could.

Velar.

The imperial capital of the Eastern Region. The pride of the Royal Dredagon bloodline. A city so vast, so fortified, so rich in mana and history that even the most daring warlords or other royal houses had never dreamt of touching it. It was one of the few places in Verdun thought to be untouchable. Unbreachable.

For over five thousand years, Velar had stood as a symbol of unshakable dominance. It wasn't just a city. It was a guardian. A gatekeeper. Positioned strategically along the Black mountains, it defended not only the Central-Eastern and the Central region, but also one of Verdun's four sacred pillars—Sialcore, the Divine City.

And yet... here it was, burning, broken, and Gone.

Lucius stared at the crumbling ruins with a rising nausea in his chest. His mind refused to accept it, but his eyes had already done the math. The black ridges of the Kalarth Range. The fractured temple spires. The placement of the skywatch towers, now half-buried in ash. This wasn't a guess anymore.

This was Velar, and someone had wiped it off the face of Verdun.

"That's impossible! This has to be a sick joke!" Lucius yelled, his voice cracking as rage surged from within. His fists clenched at his sides, shaking with disbelief. For someone born in the Eastern Region, Velar and Sialcore weren't just cities—they were sacred. To speak ill of either was to insult the very pride and patriotism rooted in every Easterner. Their loyalty wasn't blind—it was built on centuries of reverence, strength, and legacy. And yet… what stood before Lucius mocked everything he believed in.

The darkness didn't respond with scorn or outrage. It didn't try to challenge the fury of a mere child, not when words could do so much more. Instead, it posed a single question. Just one—softly spoken, but heavy enough to drown the storm.

"So you're saying you don't remember our history? The legendary history of this empire?"

Lucius froze. The anger still burned hot within him, but it could no longer blind him. His breathing steadied. His thoughts sharpened. If the darkness had asked such a question, it meant there was an answer buried somewhere in the recesses of history—one he had either overlooked or forgotten entirely.

He retraced every major event he knew. The Eastern Region had remained relatively untouched by chaos over the last millennium. The civil wars had torn through the West and Central-West. The Bloodfrost Rebellion and the Winter Wars were tragedies of the North. The South had seen the fewest battles altogether. In comparison, the East had been a stronghold of stability. No uprisings. No mass invasions. Not in the past thousand years. Which could only mean one thing—he was thinking too small.

His mind shifted toward older records. Conflicts older than a thousand years. Those that weren't retold in schools or books, but in hushed voices, in myths and sealed vaults. And in that search, one name emerged. One war. One cataclysm.

The war that shook the world itself. The two-decade-long conflict, simply known as 'The Great War.'

***

A thousand years ago, the world had known fear unlike anything since. A name had emerged from the Eastern edge of the mortal world—Arconis, the Demon King, the annihilator of the seven great empires. His dominion, the Demonic Empire of Arrbas, was a floating continent capable of breaking into others, shifting its path like a divine plague. Where it landed, or collided with, death followed. Unchallenged. Unrelenting.

Through these tactics, Arconis didn't just defeat the great empires—he erased them. Seven empires fell by his hand alone. Entire species—five in total, including the elves and dwarves—were hunted to extinction. Not one survivor. Not one remnant. Nothing left but memory and ash.

And when the tide of horror reached Verdun, the Demon King expected another grand, yet unchallenged conquest. Another empire to fall. But what awaited him wasn't fear or submission. It was resistance. It was him.

The one warrior even Arconis acknowledged as his equal. The only being who made him pause. The one who stood at the peak of this world without equal.

The then Emperor himself. The Lord of the Dragons. The King of the Asuras. The Godly One—Emperor Zero Dawn.

"Just who in the world are you!?" Lucius demanded, his voice now laced not only with awe but with something else—an unmistakable thread of myth wrapped in breathless curiosity. He wasn't merely questioning a presence anymore. No. This figure before him—this being cloaked in shadow—was no longer some ethereal guide or godlike warden. He was something else entirely. Something that did not belong to this realm. Lucius was sure of it now. Absolutely sure.

The being let out a soft chuckle, one that didn't quite match the smouldering ruin that surrounded them. It wasn't mocking—it was distracted, distant, as though memories heavier than the sky pressed down on his shoulders. As their eyes locked once more, the being finally answered, his voice smooth and almost irritatingly casual.

"I'm your Guardian Demon, Lucius... or should I address you as... The Little One?"