Darkness was not merely the absence of light—it was something far deeper, something suffocating, vast, and endless. It stretched beyond comprehension, as if existence itself had long been erased within it.
At the very core of that void… something remained.
Not a body.
Not a soul.
But a will.
An ancient, worn-out will that should have faded long ago… yet refused to disappear.
Time had no meaning there. Moments, centuries—there was no difference.
Yet suddenly, that will trembled.
A disturbance.
A pull.
Something… was calling it back.
(…This feeling…)
It was not unfamiliar.
Then —
Memories flooded in.
Not gradually, but violently, like a dam shattering all at once.
A battlefield appeared.
Ruined land stretched endlessly. Countless corpses lay scattered. Magic raged in the sky like a storm born from destruction itself.
And at the center of it all…
He stood.
Norsin ( Hero name )
He was not merely a mage.
He was a catastrophe given form.
His long black cloak was torn by violent currents of power. His dark hair moved wildly, and his eyes… did not reflect the world.
They devoured it..
(…This is me.)
There was no doubt. No hesitation.
This was not a dream....!
This was truth,
He slowly raised his hand
No incantation.
No symbols.
No preparation.
Only intent.