In the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Akasganga lay the village of 'Shantigopal'. Though its name meant 'Abode of Peace,' an unspoken dread had recently settled over its people. For months, the sun had failed to rise fully, leaving the sky draped in a pale, sickly grey light. Aryan, a sturdy young man of the village, spent his days in his father's smithy, striking the glowing iron with his hammer. As he shaped the molten metal, he often wondered if his life was destined to be confined forever within the sparks of the forge and the rhythm of the anvil.
Aryan's grandfather was the eldest soul in the village. When they sat by the fire at night, the old man would read from ancient, tattered scrolls, and Aryan would listen, spellbound. His grandfather would whisper, "Aryan, this darkness is no trick of the clouds. It is the shadow of the cursed Emperor Morgos. Eons ago, he was imprisoned by the sword 'Astria.' But humanity has forgotten the old magic, and so, the shadows are spreading their wings once more."
It was the night of the new moon, yet the villagers witnessed an extraordinary sight. A massive streak of blue fire descended slowly from the heavens. Unlike a common meteor, it did not burn out; instead, it struck the pinnacle of the centuries-old 'Sun Temple' on the outskirts of the village. A thunderous roar shook the very earth. While the villagers bolted their doors in terror, a surge of adrenaline and curiosity coursed through Aryan's veins.
Armed with a specially forged iron-tipped staff and a lantern, he sprinted toward the temple. Upon reaching the ruins, he saw the central altar shattered into pieces. In its place, hovering in mid-air, was a brilliant blue crystal. It wasn't a mere stone; it was a fragment of solidified light. A rhythmic pulse emanated from the crystal—thumping steadily like the heartbeat of a living creature.
As Aryan reached out and touched the crystal, a blinding blue radiance engulfed him. Memories from a thousand years ago flooded his mind like a storm. He saw visions of golden palaces, winged steeds, and a terrifying darkness devouring everything in its path. A deep, resonant voice echoed in his mind: "The Bearer has awakened. Time is short."
Suddenly, the crystal shrank into the shape of a locket and fastened itself around Aryan's neck. He felt his vision sharpen, allowing him to see clearly through the thickest gloom. At that moment, black mists began to coalesce around the temple. Morgos's spies—known as the 'Shadow-Hunters'—had already arrived.
Aryan realized that if he returned to the village now, he would bring destruction upon his home. He remembered his grandfather's words: "When the destiny chooses you, there is no looking back." Before the first light of dawn could break, Aryan gathered a small pack from the smithy, filled with dried rations, a flintstone, and his father's finest dagger.
With one last look at his home, he stepped into the woods from which no one had ever returned. Fear gripped his heart, but the blue crystal against his chest hummed with a strange, defiant courage.