Saigo no Taiyō no Yūsha(El Último Héroe del Sol) (ingles)

Chapter 1 – The Traitor Who Carried the Sun In the annals of Imperial history, the tale of the world's origins was written in blood and fire. The gods created, the Titans shaped, and the daemons claimed the souls of the living. From long ago, when the earth was a crucible of flame and patches of eternal shadow, the divine presence descended from the confines of the heavens. Kaelion, the primeval god, breathed life in the form of Titans: colossal beings destined to be the pillars upon which continents would rest and mountains would rise. Of these ancient beings, Helion, the Sun Titan, stood out as the most dazzling, bringing light that bathed the world and bestowed its warm flame upon those worthy to receive it. But, as in all legendary tales, darkness soon rose to challenge the peace imposed by divine creation. From the deepest abysses emerged the source of discord: the demons, chaotic beings born from the bowels of the universe. They emerged without genesis, awakened with a thirst for chaos, and with them came the first great war, whose echoes resonated in every corner of the known world. The struggles were terrible, relentless. Titans, humans, and demons clashed in a macabre dance of destruction and redemption. But the true betrayal would come not from the abyss, but from the hearts of mortals. The Solar Empire, cradle of ambition and power, saw in the titans a resource to be exploited, a force to be dominated. Thus was cemented the beginning of treason: the breaking of an ancient alliance. Okita, a young swordsman gifted with virtue and courage, lived in the Imperial Citadel amid murmurs of past glories and dreams of an uncertain future. Along with Yurichi, his friend since childhood, he had grown up believing the official version of history, fueled by imperial propaganda that extolled its supremacy. But fate, capricious as only the gods can be, led Okita to the Shadow Archives. In the Zirah Mountains, bathed in sunlight that barely dared to peek through the grayish clouds, Okita, with a deep gaze and thoughts entangled in ancient mysteries, contemplated the landscape with a restlessness that arose from deep within him. There was an indecipherable call in the wind, an ancestral whisper that pushed him toward the unknown. The small Celestial Corps squadron walked stealthily, the tension palpable in the air charged with electricity. Their footsteps echoed among the rocks that seemed to hold ancient secrets in every crack and crevice. The wind whispered forgotten melodies that crept into the soldiers' ears, fueling their deepest fears. Upon reaching the hidden entrance to the crypt, Okita's heart pounded, as if sensing the weight of the story about to unfold. The obsidian covering the doors reflected glimmering light as the squad prepared to enter the unknown. The interior of the crypt was a time capsule, a place where the walls spoke silently through the frescoes adorning its centuries-old stones. Images of titans and gods danced in the shadows of memory, defying time and oblivion with their eternal splendor. Okita moved forward with determination, his spirit resonating in tune with those beings of the past who seemed to watch him from the shadows. The worn altar glowed with a dim light, as if the fire of a distant sun reflected off its ancient stones. The pale leather-bound volumes seemed to whisper forgotten secrets to anyone who dared to touch them. Okita stretched out his hand reverently, feeling the weight of ancient history in his trembling fingers. Words written in the archaic Celestine language danced before his eyes, revealing truths buried beneath layers of lies and distorted myths. Helion's prophecy echoed in his mind like a distant echo that grew louder and louder as the days passed… The rain fell with relentless force, forming a gloomy backdrop over the rooftops of the ancient Imperial Palace. Okita, a fearless soldier emerged from the realms of uncertainty, strode resolutely through the enigmatic corridors of the Inner Bastion. A faint light, flickering and wavering, cast dancing shadows that scratched the corners of the hustle and bustle. Wrapped in the imperial cloak, which clung to his body with the weight of the deluge, Okita advanced without hesitation. Every creak of his boots echoed like a forbidden whisper in that sepulchral corridor. Tonight he was no mere emissary of the Empire. He stood there like a child of uncertainty, guided by secrets whispered in the bowels of veiled reports, forgotten maps, and confessions cruelly wrung from rebellious mouths. All the paths led to a single course.