The gears of fate turn eternally.
None know where they first began their rotation, nor where they shall finally come to rest. All that is visible to mortal eyes are a few select cogs, grinding slowly—interlocking to push the titan known as "The World" forward.
This is the continent of Auroris.
A realm steeped in myth and magic.
Legend tells of an epoch in the unimaginably distant past known as the Age of Gods. In those days, deities walked the earth, shielding humanity with boundless divine power; in return, mankind served them with unwavering piety.
Yet, at an unknown turning point, the Age of Gods quietly drew to a close.
The deities ceased their descent into the mortal realm, and their miracles gradually faded into shadow. Bereft of protection, humanity was left to face the elements and the world's cruelty alone. They struggled to survive amidst blizzards and famine, evolving from primitive tribes into towns, and expanding from towns into great provinces.
After long aeons, four descendants said to carry the bloodlines of the gods rose to prominence. Each established a magnificent sovereignty:
The Solara Empire, symbolizing the Sun God, ruled by the Solar Emperor.The Kingdom of Lunaris, symbolizing the Moon Goddess, ruled by the Lunar Monarch.The Kingdom of Stellara, symbolizing the Star God, ruled by the Stellar Sovereign.The Kingdom of Aetherion, symbolizing the vast Astral Sky, ruled by the Celestial King.
The founding of these four nations marked the official dawn of the Era of Humanity. However, in those times, there was no unified calendar, and historical records remained fragmented and incomplete. Thus, exactly how many centuries the Era of Humanity endured is now impossible to verify.
Modern historians can only speculate based on surviving codexes and folklore. Ultimately, they have marked the start of the great war that ended the Era of Humanity as Year 10 Before the Lunaris Calendar (B.L.C.).
That was the year.
The Kingdom of Lunaris declared war on the other three nations. At the time, Lunaris was far from the strongest; in fact, it was arguably the weakest of the four. No one believed they would—or could—provoke a global conflict. The prevailing sentiment was simple:
The Lunar Monarch had gone utterly mad.
People predicted that the era of the four great powers was ending, and the world would soon consolidate into a triad of remaining nations. Yet, no one could have foreseen that this war would end far more than just a single kingdom.
It brought the very Era of Humanity to a close.
And in its place, it pulled back the curtain on the Age of Sword and Sorcery.
The armies of Lunaris did not rely on superior steel or disciplined soldiers. Their true strength lay in creatures that were never meant to be born of nature. Men called them "Magical Creatures."
Or more simply—Magic Beasts.
The emergence of these beasts shattered the delicate military balance between the four nations. A single Magic Beast often required a hundred soldiers to throw their lives away just to stall its advance; to truly repel one required the coordinated siege of thousands.
Yet, what appeared on the battlefield were not mere handfuls of these monsters.
They came in the tens of thousands.
In the skies, winged tigers roared as they took flight. Upon the earth, serpents large enough to swallow a hundred men coiled through the ranks. Giants taller than houses trampled city walls into dust, while near-invincible arachnids swarmed the ramparts like a rising tide.
Faced with this terror, the three rival nations were forced into a desperate alliance. But the resistance lasted only five years. The Kingdom of Stellara and the Kingdom of Aetherion fell in rapid succession, their kings taken captive.
The remaining Solara Empire gathered the remnants of the fallen armies to make a final stand. They endured for five grueling years.
In the end, even the Empire's legendary walls were breached. The Solar Emperor, descendant of the Sun God's bloodline, was captured.
And so, the Kingdom of Lunaris claimed the entire continent of Auroris. The long-standing balance of the four powers was extinguished.
The Lunar Monarch immediately decreed a new chronological era:
The Lunaris Calendar.
A brand-new era seemed to be on the horizon.
Yet, after unifying the continent, the Kingdom of Lunaris made no move to expand its administrative grip. There was no effort to reclaim the war-torn wastelands, nor any attempt to restructure civil governance. Instead, the Lunar Monarch issued a single decree.
It was a simple command, yet it sent shockwaves across the continent.
The Monarch declared:
"Bring every treasure, every curiosity, every rare jewel, every delicacy, and the most exceptional talents from across the land—bring them all to my beloved."
"Present them to your Queen."
"To Selphira."
From that moment on, the armies of Lunaris were dispatched to every corner of the continent. Accompanied by Magic Beasts, they scoured the world for anything worthy of being offered as tribute—whether it was seized from the hands of commoners or unearthed from the deepest reaches of the mountains and seas.
The entire continent began to turn for the sake of a single name: Selphira.
Year 5 of the Lunaris Calendar.
In this year, the Kingdom of Lunaris made a sudden, startling announcement:
The Lunar Monarch had passed away.
Of the primary royal line, only two remained: Queen Selphira and the young Princess Lunethia, who had just turned six. With no other viable heirs to maintain order across the newly unified continent, the bureaucracy and the nobility collectively moved to crown the Queen.
Thus, Selphira was coronated as the new Lunar Monarch.
Upon ascending the throne, her first act was to abolish the previous King's decree to hoard treasures in her name. However, possessing little talent for politics, she soon delegated the vast majority of state affairs to her ministers.
It was a decision that would slowly drag the kingdom into chaos.
Internal strife broke out among the ministers as the struggle for power grew increasingly ruthless. Corruption and bribery spread through the kingdom's veins like a plague. And in the end, there was only one group left to bear the burden:
The people.
To ensure that no faction dared to rebel against the Lunaris crown, vast numbers of Magic Beasts remained stationed throughout the continent. Deprived of direct command, these terrifying entities gradually drifted into a deep slumber. They became like weapons buried beneath the earth—silent, dormant, and waiting.
Only when beckoned, or when a new command is issued, will they wake once more.
Year 15 of the Lunaris Calendar.
In the palace gardens, a young girl stood quietly bathed in the afternoon sun.
Her long, silky black hair fell softly down her back. As the sunlight spilled over her, it caught skin so exceptionally pale it looked like fresh snow—making one worry that she might simply melt away into the light. Her eyes were a clear, deep blue, reflecting a world that still held onto beauty and hope, while her lips were the color of blooming red roses.
In her arms, the girl cradled a snow-white rabbit. She stroked it gently, and around her, small dogs, squirrels, and birds gathered in a circle. It was as if every living thing felt drawn to her presence. The girl seemed to be whispering something under her breath, and the animals listened with an intensity that suggested they understood every word.
The scene was so harmonious it felt surreal—less a moment in time and more a masterpiece plucked from the pages of ancient myth.
However, the person watching this scene felt only a crushing weight.
High upon the throne in the Great Hall, the Queen of Lunaris sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the garden.
Noticing that her attention remained anchored outside the hall, the Prime Minister cleared his throat and raised his voice.
"Your Majesty," he began. "Yesterday, yet another transport convoy was ambushed by bandits. The loss of local grain and treasury funds is catastrophic. I implore Your Majesty to approve the redeployment of a portion of the army to bolster our patrols and curb these incidents."
No sooner had he finished than the Grand General stepped forward, his voice heavy and resonant.
"Your Majesty," he interjected. "The rebel forces in the south are still active, and our legions are currently in full pursuit. If we divert our strength now and the momentum of the chase falters, we risk losing our only chance to annihilate them once and for all."
Having finished his piece, the Grand General turned toward the Prime Minister, his tone turning ice-cold.
"If the Prime Minister is so insistent on increasing the guard, then we have no choice but to initiate another conscription."
The Prime Minister's voice instantly flared with rage.
"Conscription?! We have already levied the populace three times this year! Do you intend to send every man in this nation to the slaughterhouse? They are nothing more than a broken, fleeing remnant of a defeated army, yet you demand the strength of the entire country to hunt them down—"
He let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"For a Grand General, you are proves yourself remarkably incompetent."
The General's expression darkened, and he struck back without hesitation.
"Fool!"
"You lot, who hide within the capital rotely reading battle reports, understand nothing of war! If we do not annihilate them now while their strength is spent, the moment we give them room to breathe, they will return—and the price we pay then will be far bloodier!"
"Enough."
A frigid voice suddenly cut through the bickering.
Upon the throne, the Queen sat with a hand pressed lightly against her forehead, her voice thick with irritation.
"Do not bother me with such trivialities," she said flatly. "If you cannot levy more commoners, then replenish the ranks with the servants from your own households."
The Grand General erupted into a booming laugh.
"A brilliant idea." He looked at the Prime Minister with a sneer. "The Prime Minister keeps a vast number of servants in his manor, does he not? A perfect time to send them to the front lines."
The Prime Minister ignored the mockery, bowing again toward the throne.
"Your Majesty, I fear such a move would—"
The Queen tilted her head slightly. Her crimson eyes fell coldly upon him.
"Must I..." Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "...say it a second time?"
The Prime Minister's body went rigid. He gritted his teeth, but ultimately, he lowered his head.
"…I understand, Your Majesty."
The Queen gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
"If there is nothing else, withdraw."
Once the officials had cleared the Great Hall, the Queen rose and walked slowly to the window.
Her gaze fell upon the garden, lingering on the young girl still playing amongst the animals. She let out a soft, trailing sigh.
"Lunethia..."
"You truly are becoming more beautiful by the day."
"Ten years... how did they pass so quickly?"
Her focus shifted slightly, her reflection appearing in the window glass. Aside from the striking color of her eyes and the faint traces left by the passing years, her face was nearly identical to the girl in the garden.
The Queen sighed once more. Then, she reached out and took up a silver bell resting beside the throne.
—Ding.
She rang it once, followed by two swift, rhythmic tolls.
The sound echoed through the hollow emptiness of the Great Hall. Moments later, a figure materialized silently from the shadows—a tall, imposing man cloaked in black. A patch covered one eye, while the other remained as sharp and cold as a blade.
The man approached the Queen and sank to one knee.
"Your Majesty. I await your command."
The Queen did not turn around. Still watching the girl in the garden, she spoke softly.
"Hunter."
"You are the finest assassin of the Hidden Sector. During the war, they called you the 'Hound of the Bloodmoon.'" Her voice was terrifyingly level. "Is it true that if I provide a name, you can bring me any head I desire?"
Hunter's expression did not flicker. "Give the order, Your Majesty."
The Queen turned slowly to face him. As she looked down at the kneeling man, her lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile. Then, she spoke a name with ice in her voice:
"Lunethia Virselis."
"I want her heart."
"Bring it to me."
The air in the hall seemed to freeze instantly. Hunter snapped his head up, his pupil contracting in shock.
"Your Majesty..."
"She is your daughter. Your most beloved Princess."
The Queen's brow furrowed slightly.
"Do I..." she began, her voice dropping an octave, "...require an explanation from you?"
A jolt of terror struck Hunter's heart. He immediately pressed his forehead toward the floor.
"I crave your pardon, Your Majesty. I... I shall see it done at once."
With those final words, he vanished into the shifting shadows of the Great Hall.
The Queen watched his departure in silence. Once she was alone, she turned from the throne and retreated to the depths of her private chambers. In the furthest corner of the room, a massive, ornate mirror stood tall, its silvered surface capturing her figure.
She stepped toward it, staring intensely at her own image.
"Tonight," she whispered to the glass. "Lunethia will die. I will pierce her heart myself."
Suddenly, the reflection in the mirror let out a soft, low laugh. It was a gentle sound, yet it carried an unmistakable edge of mockery.
"You cannot kill Lunethia," the woman in the mirror replied. "Your plan is destined for failure."
The Queen's gaze darkened. She let out a sharp huff of derision but offered no rebuttal. Instead, she turned to the window and poured herself a glass of deep red wine.
Night had fallen. Outside, a fine, thin rain began to patter against the stone. She took a slow sip, watching the droplets slide down the windowpane like tears.
After a long silence, she spoke coolly.
"…Then we shall wait and see."
Night deepened.
Heavy, leaden clouds choked the sky, allowing only fragmented shards of moonlight to spill through the cracks. The light fell upon the marble streets of the Royal Capital, casting a cold, silver sheen over the city. A biting wind whistled through the high towers, and the flags atop the ramparts snapped violently in the dark—a rhythmic, ominous omen.
Inside Princess Lunethia's chambers, however, the light was warm and soft.
Golden candlelight flickered, dancing across the room's opulent decor. Crimson velvet curtains draped elegantly beside her bed, and the intricate gold carvings glinted softly in the dim, amber glow.
Yet, beneath this layer of refinement and luxury—a faint, imperceptible chill lay in wait.
Lunethia sat before her mirror, gently brushing her long black hair as it spilled down her back like a silken waterfall. She was blissfully unaware that, just beyond the doors of her chambers, stood the man who would decide her fate.
Hunter.
He stood in the silent corridor, his hand gripped tight around a dagger. His gaze remained fixed on the blade. Etched into the steel was the head of a wolf, and upon the wolf's brow sat a sliver of a crescent moon. This was a weapon bestowed upon him by the former Lunar Monarch himself after the Great War years ago. This very blade had silenced countless enemies of the Lunaris Kingdom.
Hunter's grip tightened. For the first time in his life, he felt the cold sting of hesitation.
This is the Queen's decree... I must execute it.
Yet, another thought rose from the depths of his mind: Must even the blood of royalty now stain my hands?
Hunter closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. When he opened them again, his gaze had returned to a state of frigid calm.
"I am the Kingdom's greatest assassin," he whispered, as if swearing an oath to himself. "I do not question orders. I do not hesitate."
Then, he reached out and pushed the door.
The heavy door creaked open. Lunethia caught the movement in her mirror and started, turning around quickly. When she recognized the face in the doorway, her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a breath of relief.
A warm, gentle smile spread across her face.
"Uncle Hunter?" she asked softly. "Are you still on patrol at this hour?"
The smile was so pure—so utterly defenseless.
Hunter felt a sharp pang in his chest. He forced himself to step forward, slowly raising the dagger until the cold edge of the steel pointed directly at the girl.
"I am the master of the Lunaris Hidden Sector," he said, his voice low and jagged. "In the darkness, I clear all obstacles from the Kingdom's path."
He did not look away, forcing himself to meet her eyes.
"For the greater good of the Realm—I will kill you here."
The words sounded like a formal execution decree. Yet, they also sounded like a man desperately trying to convince himself.
Lunethia's heart lunged in her chest.
Yet, she did not panic. She swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly, yet she fought to maintain a fragile composure.
"…Is it Mother?" she whispered. "Is it Mother who wants me dead?"
Hunter's pupils contracted sharply. He offered no answer, but in that stifling room, silence spoke louder than any confession.
Lunethia froze for a heartbeat. Then, a bitter, frail smile touched her lips.
"Why?"
Those two words. Hunter had heard them a thousand times before. Nearly every soul he had ever marked for death had gasped that same question.
But this time, the word struck his chest like a warhammer. Because the person asking it was the very soul he had once sworn to protect.
His hand gave a sudden, violent tremor. For a fraction of a second, the dagger nearly slipped from his palm.
Lunethia slowly closed her eyes. She spread her arms wide, a gesture of quiet surrender, as if welcoming fate itself.
"Uncle Hunter," she said softly. "Do it."
Her voice was as light as a feather. "I've felt it for a long time… the way Mother looks at me. It was… different. But I never imagined…" She let out a soft, pained laugh. "I never imagined she would actually want to kill me."
Lunethia took a deep, steadying breath. "I know I cannot run. So—" She tilted her head up slightly. "Could you… please make it quick? Let it end without too much pain?"
The chamber fell into a deathly silence. Hunter's jaw tightened so hard his teeth felt ready to shatter, a vein throbbing at his temple.
A long moment passed. Then, he suddenly spoke in a low, gravelly rasp.
"…Princess."
"Come with me."
Lunethia's eyes snapped open, stunned. Hunter slammed the dagger back into its sheath. He moved with sudden, frantic energy toward the wardrobe, pulling out several layers of travel clothing. His tone became urgent and hushed.
"Hurry. Pack only what you can carry. We must leave this place. Now."
Lunethia stared at his back, a flicker of warmth finally igniting in her eyes. She nodded quickly and began to gather her things.
The night wind whipped through the curtains.
Moments later, two figures leaped silently from the window, vanishing into the darkness as they bolted toward the city walls, leaving the capital behind.
Meanwhile—
In the deepest, most secluded chamber of the palace, the great mirror began to vibrate with a faint, rhythmic tremor. The woman in the reflection slowly curled her lips into a smile—a look of profound, unsettling meaning.
"Turn..." she whispered, her voice a ghostly thread.
"Turn, gears of fate."
"The script was written long ago."
The surface of the mirror rippled like water, as if an entire world lay sleeping just beneath the silver glass.