Blood slicked Ivel's hands and dripped from the jagged blade of his scythe. His breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered across the battlefield, the ground beneath him a morbid tapestry of shattered bodies and broken dreams. The air was thick with the coppery stench of fresh death, a scent that clawed at his senses and refused to fade.
He had fought until his limbs trembled, until the last grotesque beast lay still beneath his blade. Victory tasted bitter—pyrrhic at best. Ivel collapsed onto the cold earth, sinking into a pool of blood that was neither his nor theirs. Around him, silence reigned, broken only by the distant crash of waves and the whisper of the wind.
Yet, despite the carnage, his eyes drifted upward to the vast expanse of the night sky. Stars shimmered faintly through a veil of mist, and for a fleeting moment, awe softened the hardness in his chest.
"The sky is beautiful tonight," he murmured, voice barely more than a breath whilst looking at the stars in the night sky, his expression looked wistful remembering what brought him here.
This was Ivel—the cursed one. And this was only the beginning of his journey.
For two centuries, the land of Ardan had been swallowed by darkness. Once, it was a world ruled by humans—rivals warring endlessly, their battles staining the soil with blood. But those endless wars had torn more than just flesh and bone; they had rent the very fabric of reality.
From the rifts between worlds, horrors spilled forth—monsters born of nightmare and shadow. These rifts pulsed with a strange energy the people called mana, an essence that seeped into every corner of Ardan, reshaping life itself.
The event was known as the Great Reckoning. It was a reckoning not just of power, but of survival. Those who could not adapt to the mana's touch perished, their bodies and souls consumed by the new world's harsh demands. Those who survived were changed—gifted, cursed, or both—with abilities beyond imagining.
Among them, only a few could ascend through the six stages of power, from fragile Genesis to the near-divine Immortal. And in this fractured world, a boy named Ivel was born—marked by blood, destiny, and a curse that might yet save or doom them all.
Ivel was born against impossible odds—delivered in the midst of a raging ocean while monstrous creatures swarmed around his parents. His father fought fiercely to protect his laboring wife, but the battle was brutal and unforgiving. Though he succeeded in keeping her alive, he could only shield his newborn son with his last ounce of strength. Bleeding from countless wounds, the father crawled to the infant, his breath shallow and fading. With trembling hands, he marked the boy's chest with a name—"Ivel."
"Live on, my son… Ivel of the House of Veil," he whispered, a faint smile breaking through the pain as the boat drifted closer to shore. Then, with peace in his eyes, he passed away.
The boat, untended and adrift, crashed against the docks of a small town in Marneva. Curious onlookers, including a pair of merchants, climbed aboard. What they found was both grotesque and heartbreaking: a bloodied corpse clutching the tiny hand of a newborn. One merchant gasped, "What in the gods happened here?"
The other shook his head solemnly. "Looks like both parents died fighting those abominations. It's a miracle the boy survived."
As they gently lifted Ivel from the boat, one merchant noticed the blood-streaked inscription on the baby's chest. "The name's Ivel," he murmured. "His father must have had a strong will to name him even in death."
Unsure of what else to do, the merchants brought the boy to the town's church. There, they washed away the blood and fed the fragile infant. Marneva was a rare haven in a world overrun by monsters. Its location by the shore kept many ocean-dwelling beasts at bay, as if an invisible barrier protected the town. Moreover, powerful warriors—ranging from Enlightened to Ascended—stood guard, ensuring the town remained safe and well-kept.
The buildings, medieval in style, absorbed mana to power their lights and warmth. Trees swayed gently in the autumn breeze, shedding leaves that painted the ground in hues of gold and crimson.
Though Ivel had landed in a place of relative peace, his future remained uncertain. Newborns exposed to mana often took months to form their nexus, the core that would determine their survival and power. Many failed to adapt and perished. Ivel, having been drenched in the essence of dying beasts, faced an even greater challenge. Only time would reveal if he was strong enough to endure.
As the first day passed in the church, Ivel remained one of the few orphans in the quiet town of Ardva—his journey only just beginning.