Chapter: The Rise of the Phoenixes

More than a thousand years ago, the descendants of the Sun God and the descendants of the Moon Goddess clashed in a war that would shape the fate of the world.

The Fayes, ancient elders among the Sun God's people, grew afraid. They watched as the Moon Goddess's descendants, especially the fierce Lycans, grew stronger with each passing season. The Lycans, wild and powerful, seemed destined to challenge the Sun's divine throne.

Determined to stop them, the Fayes gathered ten thousand soldiers from the East and West, marching north and south toward the borderlands of the Moon's realm. They waged a brutal war against a people they barely understood, people whose strength grew in winter, when the Sun's light was weakest and the Sun God was said to be asleep.

The battles were fierce and cold. Snow fell thick and heavy, muffling the roar of clashing steel and the cries of the fallen. The Sun's armies, clad in golden armour, struggled to hold their ground against the Moon's warriors, who moved with eerie grace and deadly precision under the pale moonlight.

At the peak of the war, the Moon's forces unleashed a devastating strike. Their warriors, especially the Lycans, howled under the full moon and surged forward like a tidal wave of shadows and claws. The Sun's armies shattered, retreating in chaos as their lines were broken. The Fayes had led their people not to victory, but to near extinction.

That is how the world remembers the war. But the royal families, those closest to the throne, knew a darker secret.

Something else had awakened during those bitter years, someone or something neither Sun nor Moon. A strange, ancient force, neither friend nor foe. It seemed to have appeared to help the Sun's armies, that's what they thought, guiding them through battles and strategies. But it always led them deeper into the coldest winters, where their strength faded, and the Moon's power grew.

Was this creature truly helping? Or was it feeding the Moon's strength from the shadows? No one dared say. Fear for the people kept the truth locked away, but that silence was a fatal mistake.

The mysterious force did not remain hidden. It raised an army of rebels, outcast beasts and bandits driven by bloodlust and chaos. These marauders burned villages and cities alike, whether they belonged to the Sun or the Moon. The war became a nightmare without end.

The Sun's people, still reeling from their defeat, had little strength left to fight this new enemy.

Then, amid the despair, a hero had risen, a man said to be the son of the Sun God himself.

He was a were-lion, his golden eyes glowing like embers, skin warmed as if kissed by sunlight, and hair flickering with fiery light. His roar was said to unleash flames that could burn away darkness. As his people perished around him, he prayed for power, begging the gods for a chance to save his world.

The Sun God and the Moon Goddess answered his plea.

They sent four celestial beings, elemental avatars of fire, wind, earth, and water, who entered the bodies of four warriors, including the were-lion. These warriors became the Phoenixes, living flames of power that could turn the tide of any battle.

With wrath and fury, the Phoenixes swept across the land. Flames roared, winds howled, the earth shook, and waters crashed. Every battlefield burned with the force of their power. Hope returned. Victory seemed within reach.

But the enemy adapted.

Demonic creatures, dark and terrible, rose to meet the Phoenixes. For the first time, the elemental avatars faced opponents who matched their power—and who had prepared for their arrival.

The war dragged on, longer and bloodier than ever. The land was scarred and broken, and hope withered under the shadow of despair.

Then, just as all seemed lost, another Phoenix appeared.

Unlike the others, this Phoenix's eyes burned violet and red, its skin was as dark as the night, and its tail shimmered silver like moonlight. Some whispered it was born from the cries of the fallen, soaked in blood and sorrow. No one knew where it had come from—or where it went when the war ended. But its arrival rekindled the fire in every Phoenix.

Its roar shattered the skies and stirred the forests. The Warriors felt their power surge through their veins like never before.

With this Phoenix's help, the war was finally won.

The Phoenixes stayed guardians and legends, but one remained missing. The shadowy Phoenix vanished without a trace.

From the ashes of the war, new beings were bor,n misfits, some called them. Vampires. Shadow walkers. Creatures born of darkness and flame, who would shape the world in the centuries to come.

Centuries Later

More than a thousand years passed.

A school was built to train the children of royalty and their loyal subjects—a place to prepare for the wars that might come again.

Peace reigned, but whispers of blood and conflict lingered in the air. The trees seemed to murmur secrets of old. Some said the dead walked once more. Others feared forgotten enemies rising from silence.

Old enemies formed fragile alliances. They trained side by side, waiting for the inevitable storm.

For every kingdom that fell, a new Phoenix was born. But the shadow Phoenix, the one who had changed the course of the war, never returned. It was never reborn.

Still, Phoenixes were revered. No matter their birth, they were treated like royalty.

Only one Phoenix in recent times was born of royal blood the Red Phoenix, known as the Fire Phoenix.

Seventeen years ago, after years of waiting, he was born.

But he was not alone.

The Fire Phoenix had a twin.

Prince Ares Lyon carried the unmistakable mark of his legendary ancestor—gold and red eyes, fiery hair, and the blood of gods. But his sister was different. Twins of opposite sexes were rare, but stranger still were her features: eyes white as snow, hair dark as night streaked with violet, and skin pale as death.

It was as if her brother had stolen the life meant for her.

If not for the matching birthmark they shared, many would have believed they'd been switched at birth.

The King ignored his daughter. He rejoiced in the birth of his son, the boy who would bring him glory.

The Queen, heavy with dread, vowed to give her daughter the love the world would deny her