Two Hundred and Fifteen Years Ago
Nebura was a mighty and prosperous kingdom. King Artha Starfall sat upon its throne.
Artha was a man of remarkable strength and charisma. His presence commanded loyalty, his words inspired unity, and his spirit shone brightly among his people. Not only was he revered by the citizens of Nebura, but kings across thirteen great kingdoms held him in deep respect.
At the heart of Nebura rose its capital: Starhaven, the shining jewel of the kingdom. It was a bustling center of commerce and culture. Its streets overflowed with vibrant markets, its walls stood tall in steadfast defense, and in its heart rose the magnificent Palace of Nebura, a fortress of stone and beauty that embodied the grandeur of the realm.
Artha himself was not merely a king but a leader beloved by all. Brave yet humble, fierce yet kind, his warmth and humor endeared him to his people as much as his courage on the battlefield. He was both a master of strategy and a warrior of unmatched skill, his genius in war rivaled only by his ability to inspire hope.
His reign was remembered for its triumphs. He ended the long conflict with the Kingdom of Novalot, forging a lasting peace that brought prosperity to both realms.
But peace is fragile.
One day, the heavens trembled as a great fissure tore open across the sky. From within its blackened rift, lightning cracked and shadows spilled forth. And from that abyss came creatures of nightmare: Demons, born of a world beyond the mortal realm.
Their arrival was swift, their assault merciless. Nebura's defenses, caught unprepared, faltered beneath the onslaught. The demons spread terror wherever they passed, leaving fire and ruin in their wake.
Though Artha was among the greatest warriors to walk the earth, even he could not face such darkness alone. Yet his voice carried weight enough to rouse kings and peoples alike. Through his courage and his reputation, he united ten of the thirteen great kingdoms into a single alliance. For the first time in history, men, elves, wildorians, and dwarves stood shoulder to shoulder, bound by one purpose: to resist annihilation.
Thus began a war unlike any the world had ever known. For eight long months the battle raged, each day as dreadful as a lifetime. Under Artha's command, the allied hosts fought with unbreakable spirit. His brilliance in strategy and his iron resolve became the beacon of their resistance.
The final battle shook the very foundations of the earth. Amidst fire and storm, Artha faced one of the demon lords in a duel upon which the fate of the world hinged. Their clash split the ground, thunder roared with every strike, and the very air trembled with dread power.
At last, Artha prevailed. With a mortal blow he struck the demon lord, wounding it beyond healing and forcing it, along with its legions, back into the abyss from whence they had come. The portal closed in a storm of black fire and searing lightning.
Yet victory bore a bitter price. Artha's body, pushed beyond its limits, was broken by grievous wounds. Though the world rejoiced, Nebura mourned, for their king's life ebbed swiftly away. Soon after the war was won, King Artha Starfall breathed his last.
Tragedy did not end there.
In the aftermath, as Nebura grieved, a lone demon remained behind. It slipped unseen into the royal town, spreading chaos within the palace walls. Queen Marin, Artha's beloved, was rushed into escape, but the fiend hunted her relentlessly. In a final act of cruelty, it struck her down, along with all her guards. Though the knights of Nebura scoured the land in vengeance, the creature vanished without a trace.
Thus, on a single dark day, Nebura lost both its king and its queen. No triumph could ease such sorrow. The kingdom was left in silence, its people shaken by grief even as they stood victorious over darkness.
Yet Artha's legacy endured. His courage, sacrifice, and the unity he forged among nations outlived his passing. His story became legend, carried upon the tongues of storytellers through the ages.
The death of King Artha Starfall marked the end of one era and the dawn of another. His life would forever remain a beacon, an eternal flame of hope and valor in the heart of Nebura, and in the hearts of all who heard the tale of the king who defied the abyss.
The Present Day - The Flower Gardens of Starhaven
The golden light of the setting sun bathed Nebura in warmth, its rays dancing upon the blossoms of the kingdom's most cherished gardens. In that serene hush, a sound arose... a soft, fragile cry that broke the stillness.
Laura Shine and Hans Garcia, a humble couple who managed a small restaurant near the gardens, stopped in their tracks.
Hans, with deep brown eyes and a face marked by quiet strength, stood tall. His build was ordinary yet lined with the labor of honest work, his dark hair tousled about a brow furrowed in concern. Clad in a loose cream shirt, worn trousers, and simple sandals, he carried the air of a hardworking, grounded man.
Beside him stood Laura, his steadfast wife. Her hazel eyes radiated kindness, her long orange hair flowing like firelight down her back. A modest brown gown and a cook's apron clothed her, yet there was a timeless grace about her presence. Known throughout the neighborhood for her gentle spirit and remarkable skill in the kitchen, she was loved by all who knew her.
And there, among the flowers, lay the source of the cry, a small bundle, swaddled and abandoned.
Hans (Kneeling, voice heavy with worry):
"Who could be so cruel as to leave a child here?"
The infant, with soft black hair and tiny brown eyes, whimpered at first, then grew quiet in Laura's arms as though her embrace was a shelter against the world.
Laura (Whispering, soothing the child):
"We must bring him to the guards."
Together, they hurried to the nearest guard post. Soon, a great search began. For three days and nights, messengers rode across Nebura. Guards scoured villages, cities, and farmlands. They questioned travelers, merchants, and common folk alike, leaving no path unexplored. Notices were posted in public squares, and heralds cried out in every marketplace, pleading for anyone who knew the child's kin.
But no one came. Not a single soul stepped forward.
On the third night, a weary guard approached Hans and Laura, his armor dulled by exhaustion, his expression dark with sorrow.
Guard (Voice heavy, almost ashamed):
"We have tried everything. But it seems this child truly has no one. No family. No name."
Laura (Holding the baby tighter, voice trembling):
"Then let him have us… please, allow us to care for him."
The guard blinked, startled by the raw plea. His gaze shifted to Hans, searching for confirmation.
Guard (Cautious, testing their resolve):
"Are you certain? Raising a child is no small burden. It will demand everything of you."
Hans (Firm, unwavering, with quiet conviction):
"We are certain. We will give him all the love and care he deserves."
The guard studied them in silence, then finally gave a solemn nod.
Guard (Gravely, yet gently):
"Then so be it. The child is yours to protect."
Laura (Tears streaming, clutching the baby close):
"Thank you… thank you so much."
Hans (Placing an arm around her, voice warm and steady):
"From this moment, this child is ours."
That night, in their modest home by the hearth, the baby slept peacefully in Laura's arms. Hans and Laura spent long hours whispering to one another, searching for a name. At last, Laura's gaze fell upon the cloth that swaddled the child. Burned faintly into its corner was the mark of a single letter: K.
Laura (Softly, her eyes shining with certainty):
"Key. That will be his name. It's simple, yet beautiful… just like him."
Hans (Smiling faintly, nodding):
"Key Garcia. From this night onward, that is who you are… and no matter what the world brings, you will never be alone, because our love will always be your home."
And so, under the quiet glow of the firelight, the child who would one day shape the fate of kingdoms was given his name.