The days following the summoning passed quietly at first. The new hero—whose name was Rafael, a young man from Brazil—struggled to understand the strange world he had been called into. The air shimmered with magic, the moon glowed with two rings, and the stars moved as if alive. It was a realm far from his own, yet bound to him by fate.
Under the watchful eye of the knights, Rafael trained daily within the marble courtyards of Althra. His movements were clumsy at first, his sword heavy and his steps uncertain. Yet, unlike many heroes before him, he learned with fierce determination.
Lulu often stood beside him during his training, offering gentle correction when his stance faltered and encouragement when he stumbled.
"You hold the blade too tightly," she told him once, as he panted in exhaustion. "A sword is not only for cutting—it listens to its wielder's heart."
Rafael smiled through his fatigue. "You make it sound like it has feelings."
"In a way, it does," Lulu replied softly. "In this world, even steel remembers."
Over the following months, a quiet friendship bloomed between them. Lulu taught him the kingdom's language, guided him through the city's temples, and explained what little she knew about the cycles of the Demon King. She spoke of past heroes—how each rose and fell, and how their names faded into silence.
One night, as they stood beneath the starlit sky, Rafael asked, "Lulu… why do you keep helping every hero that appears? Don't you get tired of watching them fight and vanish?"
Lulu hesitated, her eyes reflecting the silver light of the moons. "I used to ask myself the same thing. But the Queen… she believes every hero leaves a piece of their hope behind. I want to believe that hope will someday break the curse."
Rafael looked at her, hearing something fragile behind her calm voice—an unspoken weariness, a quiet wish that this endless story might finally end.
Years passed. The young man from Brazil became a seasoned warrior, his skills honed through countless battles along the kingdom's borders. The demons grew bolder, their raids frequent, their power increasing. Each year, the tension rose like a tightening string ready to snap.
And through it all, Lulu remained by his side, watching him grow, healing his wounds, and silently fearing the day he would march to face the Demon King himself.
---
Sixteen Years Later
The world burned again.
The sky above the demon lands was split with light and shadow, each colliding in storms that tore the heavens apart. Rafael stood upon the shattered plains before the Demon King's citadel, his armor cracked, his breath ragged. His blade, once gleaming, now shimmered faintly with divine light drawn from the Queen Priestess's blessing.
Across from him, the Demon King stood tall—a figure of terrible majesty, his crimson eyes calm and ancient. His wings unfurled like black fire, and the ground trembled beneath his every step.
For six long days, they had fought. The battlefield was littered with ruins and bones of both armies, and the sky rained fragments of burning magic.
The Demon King's voice broke the silence. "You are strong, Hero. Stronger than those before you."
Rafael tightened his grip on his sword. "Then why do you keep coming back? Why does this never end?"
The Demon King paused. For the first time, his expression softened—not with cruelty, but with something close to sorrow.
"You do not understand," he said. "The cycle of the Demon King was never our doing. It began when the gods themselves were torn apart."
Rafael frowned, the words sinking into him like cold water. "What do you mean?"
"The Ten Gods of Chaos," the Demon King said slowly, his voice echoing through the realm. "They were the balance between creation and ruin. But nine of them were slain—murdered by a hand unseen. Only one remains. Only one still breathes beneath the veil of eternity."
Rafael's heart pounded. "And that one god… is the cause of all this?"
The Demon King nodded once. "The cycle began the day the nine gods perished. From that day onward, the world demanded balance—and so light and darkness were chained in endless war. Heroes and Demon Kings, born again and again, to maintain what should have never been broken."
Rafael's grip on his sword trembled. "Then who killed them? Who killed the gods?"
The Demon King's gaze lifted toward the heavens. "Even I do not know. The truth was erased before I came to be."
Silence fell. The wind carried ash across the field, whispering like the ghosts of a thousand fallen souls.
Then, with a voice almost resigned, the Demon King said, "If you wish to end this, Hero, you must kill me… and pray that the last god does not awaken."
Rafael's heart twisted. He could see now—the weariness in the Demon King's eyes, the echo of endless battles fought not for conquest, but because fate demanded it.
"I'm sorry," Rafael whispered.
The Demon King closed his eyes. "Do not be. You are merely playing the part the gods wrote for you."
Their final clash shook the heavens. The ground split open, light and shadow intertwined, and the screams of magic echoed through the void. When the light faded, the Demon King stood still for a moment, then fell to his knees.
Rafael caught him before he collapsed completely.
"May this cycle end… with you," the Demon King murmured.
And then he was gone—his body dissolving into motes of fading light.
The war was over.
---
Rafael returned to Althra, carrying the weight of victory and questions that no one could answer. The Queen Priestess awaited him in the grand hall, standing before the golden altar. Her veil shimmered under the light of countless candles, her presence calm and eternal.
She said nothing at first, only looked at him as if seeing beyond time itself.
"It's done," Rafael said quietly. "The Demon King is gone."
The Priestess inclined her head slightly. "Then the world will rest… for a time."
He hesitated. "He told me something—about the gods of chaos. About the cycle starting after nine of them died. Is it true?"
The Priestess was silent. Her hands tightened slightly, but her voice remained serene. "There are truths that even eternity cannot bear to speak aloud."
Rafael wanted to ask more, but her expression made him stop. In that silence, he sensed something unspoken—an ancient grief, a secret buried so deep that even gods might fear it.
Finally, she lifted her hand. The summoning circle began to glow beneath his feet, the same one that had brought him here sixteen years ago.
"It is time," she said softly. "Your journey in this world has ended. Return to where you belong, Hero of Althra."
Rafael swallowed hard, looking around one last time. "Will the cycle really end someday?"
The Priestess's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Perhaps… when the last god chooses to awaken."
Before he could respond, the light engulfed him—warm, blinding, and full of whispers of everything he had lived through.
And when it faded, he was gone.
The hall fell silent.
The Queen Priestess stood alone, the candlelight dancing across her golden veil. For a moment, her hand rose to her chest, where a faint mark—a sigil of forgotten divinity—glimmered briefly before vanishing beneath her robes.
She turned toward the window, gazing at the stars beyond. Her voice was a whisper, too soft for any mortal to hear.
"So long as I exist… the cycle will never end."
The wind blew gently through the temple, carrying her words into the eternal night.