Darkness was not just a force—it was a concept.

When the world moved at its steady pace, with the Gods watching over their realms and their chosen champions upholding balance, Darkness came like a plague.

It didn't roar or announce itself.

It crept in.

Like a virus, it spread across the globe—infecting everything it touched.

It sank into the hearts of people, twisted their minds, and snapped the compass that once pointed toward right and wrong.

Humans turned their backs on the gods.

They stopped praying.

They stopped listening.

They lived only for themselves.

They hunted.

They preyed.

They devoured.

Anything and everything.

The once-civilized race, full of dreams and progress, collapsed into savagery—dragged back to an ancient age where all that mattered was sex, sleep, and survival.

The world became a jungle.

There was no safety. No sanctuary.

And the Darkness spared no one.

Only a few remained untouched—those strong enough to hold their minds, those deeply connected to the Divine.

They still remembered what was right.

They still saw the world clearly.

And they were the only ones who could hope to rebuild what had been lost.

But the Darkness wasn't just a mist or a feeling.

It wanted form.

It wanted flesh.

To stay in the world, it needed a home. A vessel.

So the warriors of the gods began their search—across every realm—looking for that cursed vessel.

Because if they could find it…

They could weaken the Darkness.

Maybe even stop it.

Before it swallowed everything.

At that time, on the planet Aeros, there was only one region that remained untouched—unseen by the eyes of the warriors.

The land of the witches.

For years, the champions of the Gods scoured every corner of the world. They searched tirelessly, investigating every place where the Darkness might have hidden, every region where it could plant its seed and spread.

But they found nothing.

Except—one place remained.

Far in the frozen north, tucked away in isolation, was a village where the last of the witches lived.

A land that no one had set foot in.

A silence too loud to ignore.

The warriors grew wary. Suspicion bloomed.

And so, they set out to investigate.

But no matter the path they took—whether with diplomacy or with force—they were met with resistance.

The witches refused to move.

They blocked every road, sealed every passage, and cloaked their home in spells older than time. No outsider was allowed in. Not even those chosen by the Gods.

Their refusal only deepened the warriors' doubts.

What were they hiding?

And why, in a world falling into chaos, were they the only ones untouched?

The suspicion grew—and with it, the whispers spread like wildfire.

The witches were harboring Darkness.

That single accusation was enough to turn fear into fury.

A special battalion was formed, led by none other than the strongest Warden of that era. His mission was absolute:

Hunt down every last witch—and anyone connected to them.

They believed that by doing so, they would either uncover the vessel of the Darkness…

…or destroy it in the process.

And so began the infamous Witch Hunt.

A grim, merciless operation led by Sir Martin Tonkeston—a name now drenched in blood and history.

What followed left a scar on the world that time could never heal.

A species was wiped out.

An entire lineage… erased.

The End.

Adrian let out a long sigh and set the old diary aside.

The author of this entry—he was no ordinary man. He was a Warrior chosen by the Gods.

That explained it.

Why hadn't he lost his mind when the rest of the world was slipping into madness.

Why did he have such detailed knowledge of the Witch Hunt—the event most records only dared to mention in fear.

It all pointed to one thing:

The witches were suspected of harboring the vessel of Darkness.

Adrian leaned back, mind spinning.

"If only I could access Aviris' memories…" he thought. The man had lived a thousand years ago—he had to know something.

Wait.

Annabelle.

She might know.

He opened the chat box.

She wasn't online.

Adrian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm.

No panic. Think.

The book mostly detailed the spread of Darkness—how people slowly lost their morals, how civilization fell apart piece by piece.

Could that mean… he was one of them?

"No… Aviris was sane. That doesn't fit."

He shook the thought away, brows furrowed as he sank deeper into contemplation.

This was something else… something hidden.

And he was getting closer.

Maybe the warriors chosen by the Gods? That was a possibility. And back then, those warriors could wield magic freely—independent magic, not bound by armaments.

Not to mention… Aviris had retained his sanity.

After all, he was the one who forged the Infinity Sword.

Wait... he knew blacksmithing too, didn't he?

No—that can wait.

"Focus, Adrian. Focus."

He tried to sort through the fragments—the memories he had received recently—but none of them revealed anything concrete.

They were all scattered emotions, faint flashes.

He knew Aviris cared deeply for Bella. That much was clear.

But… he never let her get too close.

She barely knew anything about him.

Just that he was the legendary runesmith who had forged the blade that saved the world.

Beyond that—nothing.

No past. No dreams. No reason why he always looked so far away, even when he stood right beside her.

And that… frustrated Adrian to no end.

Bella had tried—again and again—to understand him. To reach him.

But Aviris kept his distance.

Always just out of reach.

Hmm… so there's no other clue.

Adrian's thoughts kept circling back to that one thread.

He had to be connected to the warriors chosen by the Gods.

There was no other explanation.

If he had been part of the witches' society, he would've perished during the Witch Hunt—just like the rest of them.

But he hadn't.

He had survived. And not just survived—he had remembered.

Forging the Infinity Sword… resisting the Darkness… leaving behind pieces of himself across time.

That could only mean one thing.

"I'm a child of the Gods," Adrian whispered to himself.

°°°°°°°°

A/N:- Cringe…

Thanks for reading.