Long before the age of kings and conquerors, before the rise of magic-bound empires and the fall of legendary bloodlines, there was a time when the world of Mirredia pulsed with raw, untamed power. It was a world of dual realms—light and shadow—bound together by a trembling thread of uneasy peace.
Two races claimed dominion over this divided realm: Humans, forged in flesh and will, and Demons, born of darkness and divine flame. Though they lived in one world, they were separated by a vast, shimmering veil of power known only as the Barrier.
The Barrier was not a natural thing. It was the scar of a war that predated both races—a war so devastating it cracked the heavens and spilled divine blood upon the land. That war, now known only in whispered myths as the Reckoning of the Ancients, ended the reign of the Old Gods and set the stage for the world of men and monsters.
But the Barrier did not last forever. Over time, pathways began to open. At first, only the most powerful demons could pass through, drawn to the energy of divine blood that still pulsed in the veins of certain humans. Then came the mages, the summoners, the brave and the foolish who carved temporary rifts in the Barrier to glimpse the forbidden lands beyond.
Eventually, entire legions crossed between the realms. Trade began. Then treaties. And at last, something stranger—kinship.
From these unlikely unions were born the Hybrids. Children of two bloods, carrying both the will of man and the essence of demonkind. Some bore wings black as night. Others had eyes that glowed like burning coals, or could shift between the shadows with a thought. A few—rare and feared—were born with the Demon Ancient Body, a legendary trait traced back to the first demons, remnants of the era when the very heavens bled.
Humans both revered and feared these children. Some saw them as the future—a bridge between the realms. Others viewed them as abominations.
Still, harmony reigned for a while. A fragile peace, built on whispered promises and unspoken threats.
But peace never lasts in a world carved by fire and forged by war.
Jealousy festered. The humans envied the power that flowed so freely through their demon-born neighbors. Though they, too, were descendants of ancient bloodlines—said to be touched by the divine essence of fallen angels—they were few, and their power dimmed with each passing generation.
The demons, in turn, began to remember. Ancient memories stirred—visions of thrones lost, of oaths betrayed, of heavens that once bound them in chains. Their pride, once buried beneath centuries of uneasy cooperation, began to rise.
It was in the shadow of this tension that a prophecy was uncovered.
Written in runes older than language, hidden in the ruins of a forgotten temple between the worlds, it spoke of a time when a child of both realms would awaken forbidden power. Power not of this world, nor the next. Power drawn from the very Throne of God.
The prophecy was forbidden. Some say it was torn from the divine scrolls before time itself was measured. Others believe it was planted by a traitor among the Ancient Ones. But all who read it felt the truth in their bones:
> "When the Flame of Origin returns to flesh, And wings of both light and shadow rise, The fire once banished shall burn again. And the One Who Burns Within shall awaken."
Fear spread like wildfire.
The human priests called it heresy. The demon lords called it rebellion. The Hybrids called it hope.
And deep beneath Mirredia, in the place where the Barrier was thinnest and the air shimmered with the remnants of old power, something stirred.
To understand what stirred, to grasp why this world trembled at a single prophecy, one must turn back—far back—into a time before Mirredia was even a word. To a time when creation itself had only just begun.
A time when there were no humans. No demons. No realms. Only Light.
And from that Light, a single presence. A thought so vast it became being. A will so powerful it shaped all things.
He was called the Omnipotent One.
He did not reside in the heavens, for they had not yet been formed. He was existence, thought, eternity—and when He breathed, the breath became reality.
He forged the Eleven Heavens. Stars, time, and space bent at His will. But His power could not be contained. He left behind a sliver of Himself—a wisp of essence known as God—to watch over His creation. This wisp He placed upon a Throne of Sacred Fire, atop the highest realm of all: the Eleventh Heaven.
From that Throne, the first beings were born.
The 24 Elders, celestial overseers, were bathed in holy flame and gifted eight wings each—fire-born extensions of their authority and access to the divine. These beings became the Pillars of all existence.
Then came the Arch Angels, the first warriors and singers of praise, each with six wings. Behind them, the Administrators and the Watchers—lesser in proximity to the Throne, but vital in the governance of countless realms.
Among them all, however, one shone brightest.
A being created not beside the fire, but from it.
Lucifer, the Morning Star.
He was the sound of worship given shape. His voice birthed harmonies that moved galaxies. His very body was a symphony of power, and unlike the others, he needed no wings of fire—for the fire lived within him.
To him was given the greatest ministry: Worship.
He led the Convergences—the sacred gatherings where all creation bent in reverence to the Throne. And in those moments, Lucifer stood closest to God, pouring faith energy from all realms into the Sacred Bowl at the Altar's edge.
But it was at the peak of his glory that the seed of pride was planted.
For one day, as the Bowl filled, and the energy of countless souls surged through him, he paused.
And in that stillness, a thought.
"Why must I give this away? Why not... keep it?"
And so, the flame began to flicker.
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