Anomalihehe

"This land was once promised... to the Children of Light.
But that promise was betrayed—
and they were cast into a forgotten dimension."

Beneath the stillness of Paragon’s world,
the echoes of an ancient prophecy have begun to resound once more.
The Throne of the Heavens has spoken—
the children of the past shall return,
to claim their right over the Promised Land.
They do not come as shadows of what once was—
but as the spearhead of a new fate.

Yet their arrival is not the only omen.

The Blessings have descended,
bound to the chosen,
standing as witness
that destiny will move once more—
amidst burning fire and fading hope.

For in the end...


"I’m sorry if my English is not very clear or easy to understand." -Author-

The Holder of Light

"I told you… I'm unbeatable," muttered Savior as he flicked the black sludge off his robe sleeve, the last drops still dripping slowly from the tip of his dark staff. The tall, oozing creature was now nothing more than a lifeless puddle of black tar. Savior began to walk calmly toward Aria, who still lay unconscious on the ground.

A sudden surge of energy rippled through the air in the distance—brief, but strong enough to awaken his old instincts. His gaze sharpened, and without a second thought, he dashed off, weaving through the trees with urgency.

When he arrived, his eyes widened.

Before him stood Arion, fully merged with Gavrilo, rampaging in a storm of chaos. Trees were uprooted, the earth cracked open, and stones flew like dust in a storm. Nari had taken cover behind collapsed rubble, helpless to intervene.

Without hesitation, Savior leapt forward, swinging his obsidian-black staff with full force.

A deafening impact rang out as the staff struck Gavrilo's armor—

"You're always the most troublesome one," Savior muttered, his voice frustrated but focused.

He attacked again and again. He tried spells, smoke toxins, even crescent-shaped energy waves.

None made a difference. Gavrilo stood unshaken.

Each strike only triggered minor bursts of energy, incapable of penetrating the armor.

Arion… seemed lost within the armor—unfeeling, unknowing, unreachable.

The armor began to dim. The white energy surrounding it flickered, then faded. Its movements slowed. Then—thud!—Gavrilo collapsed. The armor detached from Arion's body, crumbling down into a small stone relic once again, lifeless among the debris.

Savior exhaled deeply, spun his staff, and stabbed it into the ground.

"At least no one died…" he murmured.

Nari slowly emerged from her hiding spot. Her eyes fell on Arion—unconscious, but alive.

A tense, unnerving stillness hung in the air between them.

In one of Roul the Wanderer's old journals, an urban legend was recorded.

A tale of a mysterious figure known only as The Doctor—or The Plague Doctor.

"He appears when all hope is lost.

He offers power that could only come from hell,

And the price is never small—your soul.

A power that looks like a miracle… but corrodes from within.

No one knows where he comes from, or who he serves.

Just a fragment of broken minds seeking to justify their madness."

"But for those who've met him, one thing is always the same:

He touches your wounds and whispers, 'I can heal this.'

Savior gazed up at the sky as gray clouds began to gather. A thin smile tugged at his lips.

"So that's how you wrote me, Roul…"

He chuckled under his breath, turned his back, and began walking away—leaving behind the fallen Gavrilo relic, the unconscious Arion, and Nari still staring after him in disbelief.

And he… was just getting started.

A little hint part-and