Prologue — A Century Ago
A century ago, the world bled.
The human and demon races clashed in a war so brutal that mountains crumbled and rivers ran red. At the center of the chaos stood Roax, the Demon King, whose dark army shattered kingdoms with every march.
In desperation, the four mightiest human realms — the Cran Empire, Kingdom of Melia, Arcel Dukedom, and the sacred Order Kingdom — forged an uneasy alliance. Together, they summoned four vassal heroes from beyond their world:
A Spear Wielder whose strikes pierced the heavens,
An Archer whose arrows never missed,
A Sword Fighter whose blade danced faster than sight,
And a Shield Bearer who could defy death itself.
Under the banners of the Four Kingdoms, these heroes turned the tide. They clashed with Roax atop the ruins of ancient cities, and after a battle that scarred the very earth, the Demon King was sealed deep beneath the world.
But not all of his generals fell.
The feral wolf lord, Fenrir, and the immortal vampire, Dracula, along with Roax's right-hand sage, fled into the shadows.
There, they waited... nursing their hatred, whispering promises of the Demon King's return.
And so, an uneasy peace fell across the land.
Yet whispers of a prophecy soon took root.
It spoke of a child —
A boy born under the black sun, with a wolf of midnight at his side.
A boy who would either save the world... or tear it apart.
Fearing the future, the four vassal heroes sealed themselves away within a sacred tesseract, vowing to awaken only when the time of prophecy came to pass.
And somewhere, hidden in the folds of time and fate,
A lone mother ran through the misty woods, clutching a sword... and her infant son.
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(End of Prologue Part 1)
Prologue — Part 2: The Last Flight
The night was cold, and the forest breathed mist with every trembling gust.
Lohl ran, her breath ragged, her boots slipping over wet roots.
Blood stained her tunic — not her son's, but her own.
The gash across her side burned with every step, a cruel reminder that time was slipping through her fingers.
In her arms, wrapped tightly in a worn blanket, the baby boy whimpered. His dark hair clung to his forehead, his tiny hand gripping her sleeve as if sensing the danger chasing them.
Behind her, the howls of mercenaries and the thunder of hooves shattered the stillness.
They were coming.
Not demons...
Humans — men who had once feasted at noble tables, now hunting her for what she carried.
Not for her life.
Not even for her son.
But for the sword strapped across her back — a relic of power that once belonged to the royal guard, and now, by a cruel twist of fate, had chosen her.
Her legs buckled as she stumbled into a clearing.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to the child, her vision swimming.
A shadow loomed overhead — a black wolf, massive and wild, stepping silently from the trees.
For a moment, Lohl thought it was death itself.
But the wolf's golden eyes held no malice. Only... sorrow.
She collapsed to her knees, shielding her son instinctively.
The wolf drew closer, sniffing the air.
It lowered its head, as if mourning with her.
"...You," Lohl gasped, realization sparking in her dimming mind. "You're not just a beast, are you?"
The wolf said nothing. It only watched as Lohl unsheathed the sword with trembling hands.
She kissed her son's forehead, tears falling freely now.
"Forgive me... Synoh.
Live."
With her final strength, she placed the sword beside him — a blade far too large for a child, but destined to be his burden.
The wolf stepped forward, nudging the infant with its snout, a low rumble echoing from its chest.
When the mercenaries arrived, they found nothing but bloodstained grass and the fading echo of a wolf's howl, rolling across the trees like a vow.
The boy was gone.
Destiny had already carried him beyond their reach.
---
(End of Prologue Part 2)
Prologue — Part 3: Shadows Gather
Far from the peaceful forests, beyond the reach of human kings,
deep within the crumbling catacombs of the Old World,
the Dark Council stirred.
A massive wolf, fur as black as the abyss, sat upon a throne of broken bones. His golden eyes burned with ancient rage — Fenrir, the son of the primeval wolf god, and the first of Roax's chosen.
Beside him, lounging lazily upon a pillar wrapped in crimson silk, was Dracula — the blood king, whose pale smile never quite reached his eyes.
And there, flickering between realities like smoke, drifted the Dragon King and the Lich King — two monstrous beings bound by a shared hunger for destruction.
In the center of them all stood an altar, pulsing with dark magic.
A single shard of Roax's sealed spirit trembled within it — weak... yet alive.
"The child is born," Fenrir rumbled, his voice thick like rolling thunder. "The black wolf has chosen."
Dracula chuckled, running a finger along his sharp chin.
"So the prophecy moves at last. How delightful."
"But..." murmured the Lich King, his voice like dry leaves scraping across stone, "the boy's fate is uncertain. Savior... or destroyer."
Fenrir rose, his shadow swallowing the room.
"We will ensure he chooses ruin."
The Dark Council leaned closer, their power weaving together in a foul pact.
Above them, the ancient walls wept black tears.
Somewhere across the continent, a child slept beside a black wolf —
unaware that destiny, demons, and death were already clawing toward him.
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(End of Prologue Part 3)