Seeing all of it unfold in mere seconds was too much for anyone to fully process. They remained frozen, not out of fear, but because the sheer impossibility of the situation paralyzed their minds.
To fight a being born of the Abyss... to defeat it... was a notion close to madness.
After all, it was said that creatures made from the Abyss were strong enough to rival even the Gods and Goddesses of Relisquae.
Yet, among them stood one who harbored the potential to overcome such an existence. But it demanded extraordinary focus, overwhelming mana, and a soul willing to sacrifice it all.
Volhcard exhaled sharply, his gaze steady as he stared down the Abyssal being.
The memories of his life flashed before his eyes.
Forty years ago, in the peaceful village of Vyolmir, within a modest two-story house that smelled of wood and iron, a young Volhcard sat in his room. Surrounded by towers of books, he read with fervent determination.
Tomes on Volantis, scrolls on ancient magics, and manuscripts detailing the deeds of deities filled his world. His small fingers, calloused from turning so many pages, traced every word as though engraving them into his very soul.
His heart thudded with excitement; his mind burned with an endless thirst for knowledge.
While other children played outside, young Volhcard remained indoors, studying until his eyes drooped and his head slumped against the parchment.
His parents, devoted and loving, supported his passion for learning. Yet, they worried for him. Worried that he was missing out on the world beyond words.
And so, one evening, his mother quietly gathered up all his books and hid them away.
For a week, Volhcard cried in frustration and sorrow. The world seemed dimmer without the comforting presence of ink and vellum.
One afternoon, heartbroken, he crouched outside his home, his small hands hugging his knees. His gaze remained fixed on the open sky, where the golden sun bloomed bright amidst scattered white clouds. It was the only thing that gave him peace.
"Are you alright, young man?" a voice asked, warm and strangely familiar.
Volhcard blinked, turning his head to see a tall figure standing by the fence.
A man with gentle features, sharp golden eyes, and a calm smile that seemed almost too perfect.
At the age of six, Volhcard did not yet recognize the true nature of monsters hiding behind friendly faces.
"Huh...? Oh... I'm fine, mister," he mumbled, fumbling over his words as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
The man chuckled softly and crouched down to Volhcard's level, ruffling his hair with a gentle hand. As he did, he raised his left hand, and a small ball of light floated above his palm, swirling in intricate patterns.
"From what I can see, you have an interest in magic, don't you?" he said, his voice kind, almost musical.
Volhcard's eyes widened, wonder and awe shining brightly within them. Slowly, he nodded.
The man—Aldir—smiled wider, standing up and offering his hand to help Volhcard to his feet.
"How about this," Aldir offered, the ball of light vanishing with a flick of his fingers. "Why don't I teach you magic? Just between us."
Volhcard hesitated, shifting awkwardly on his feet.
He knew better than to trust strangers, even at his young age. This man appeared out of nowhere, offering something too good to be true. His parents had warned him of people who made grand promises.
"I... I don't know..." Volhcard muttered, wringing his fingers together.
Seeing the hesitation, Aldir reached into his cloak and produced a necklace.
It bore a crystalline pendant, shifting in color as it caught the light. Surrounding it were intricate carvings of runes—symbols Volhcard instantly recognized.
The insignia of the Order of Mages.
He had seen it in his books, studied its meaning, and knew it to be genuine.
"I am a sanctioned mage," Aldir said smoothly, his voice reassuring. "One of the highest ranks. You don't need to be afraid."
He knelt again, placing a finger to his lips in a playful gesture of secrecy, and extended his other hand for a handshake.
"We'll keep it just between us, alright?"
Volhcard swallowed hard, the logical part of him screaming caution.
But the part that yearned—desperately yearned—for magic, for a chance to grow beyond the small confines of his village, overwhelmed the warnings.
"Okay..." he whispered, reaching out.
Their hands clasped.
A pact sealed.
A path set into motion, one that would lead Volhcard far from the simple life he had once known—and toward the nightmare standing before him now.
Whenever Volhcard wasn't allowed to read at home, he would slip out of the house quietly and head toward the village church. Within those hallowed walls, surrounded by stained glass and soft hymns, he would study scriptures about the Almighty Glorious Life—Relisquae's revered God of Gift, Paradise, and Peace.
He would sit near the front, eyes wide with curiosity, listening to the priest speak about compassion, divine order, and the sacred balance of the world. Though he was small, the weight of the words settled into his young heart.
When the lessons ended, he'd bow his head in silent prayer before leaving with a quiet smile.
From there, he made his way to the inn, where a familiar figure always waited for him in the corner booth—hooded, composed, with eyes that gleamed like they knew too much.
Aldir.
The two of them would head to the back of the inn, where an old training field lay behind a rotting fence and tall hedges. There, hidden from the eyes of the villagers, Volhcard's real education would begin.
Magic combat. Mana control. Inner focus.
And lessons unlike any taught in books.
On one such day, Aldir stood with his arms behind his back, the setting sun casting long shadows across the worn training ground.
His coat fluttered lightly with the breeze as he turned to face the young dwarf standing with clenched fists and a focused expression.
"Today, I'll explain the Six Core Concepts of Magic," Aldir began, his tone steady, eyes glinting. "These are the roots of all forms of magical practice: Elements, Healing, Cosmology, Contract, Production, and Theology. Tell me, Volhcard... do you know what each of these governs?"
Volhcard straightened his posture. His eyes shone with determination as he answered without hesitation.
"Elements refers to the manipulation of natural forces—fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, and so on. It's the foundation of offensive and defensive spells," he began, speaking clearly.
"Healing is more than just mending wounds. It can restore both physical injuries and spiritual damage. It's delicate, but powerful in the right hands."
He took a breath, continuing with confidence.
"Cosmology... that's the study and use of space-time mana. It lets the caster manipulate gravitational forces, peer into other dimensions, and even glimpse the fabric beyond our world. It's dangerous if misused."
Aldir's gaze narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
"Contract magic requires a pact—either with a magical beast, a spirit, or even a deity. It's the gateway to calling upon beings beyond Relisquae... including the Outer Gods."
Volhcard hesitated a second, then pressed on.
"Production is where a mage uses mana to craft objects. The stronger the mage, the more detailed the creation. True masters can create legendary weapons, tools, or constructs instantly... but most people can only reach the Expert Tier. It demands more mana than any other concept."
"And the last—Theology," he said quietly, almost reverently.
"It allows one to communicate directly with the gods through mana, to ask for divine favors or invoke miracles. But such power is rare, and the gods don't always answer."
As he finished, he looked up at Aldir, waiting for approval or correction.
A silence settled for a moment. Then Aldir let out a short laugh, slow and pleased.
He clapped his hands once, the sound echoing across the field.
"Perfect. Flawless. 100 marks," Aldir said, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he stepped forward. "You really are a true follower of the Almighty Glorious Life. I expected nothing less."
Volhcard scratched the back of his head, chuckling awkwardly at the praise. A faint blush dusted his cheeks.
"I just… read a lot," he murmured.
"Reading is a fine start," Aldir said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But magic… magic is not just words in a book. It's intent. It's will. It's belief. Never forget that."
His tone grew serious then, almost cold.
"Even gods fall when they forget that."
The words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and unsettling.
Volhcard didn't understand what he meant at the time.
But one day, he would.
"Magic requires a vessel—a focus to anchor the flow of mana and prevent backlash," Aldir explained, his tone calm but firm. "Most mages use staves, wands, or enchanted weapons. Only those with a death wish—or those absurdly skilled, and I do mean rarely—attempt to use their body alone as the anchor."
He stepped closer, conjuring a flicker of mana between his fingers.
"Because if someone tries to channel raw magic through their body without a proper anchor," he continued, "well... it's like forcing too much air into a balloon. Eventually, it pops."
He made a sharp snapping sound with his fingers to emphasize the point.
"That's why we need to determine your affinity and—"
Before he could finish, Volhcard turned away. The young dwarf wandered over to a nearby pile of discarded wood and selected a large stick—not too long, not too heavy, but with enough weight to feel solid in his grip.
He held it up, a determined look in his eyes.
"I want to use a staff," Volhcard said. "It fits me."
Aldir raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly and nodded.
"Very well. A fine choice. Then we'll begin with the Concepts of Elements and Healing. These will serve your future path well."
And so, training began.
The first step in Elemental magic was to discover one's elemental affinity—the natural alignment a mage has with one or more forces of nature. Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. Ice. Lightning. Light. Shadow.
Volhcard spent hours under Aldir's guidance, channeling spells from each element, repeating incantations, focusing his mana through the wooden staff. At first, the results were faint—barely sparks or wisps of water. But gradually, something shifted.
Then came the breakthrough.
A gust of wind erupted from his staff, followed by a burst of flame. A moment later, a shard of ice flew through the air, embedding itself into a wooden post. The earth beneath his feet cracked from pressure as a small tremor rumbled beneath them.
Volhcard blinked in awe. "I… I can use all of them?"
Aldir stood still, expression unreadable. Not surprised. Not shocked.
Almost... expectant.
"I had my suspicions," he murmured, more to himself than to the boy. "So my theory was right... this dwarf is the vessel of Atlas himself."
He watched silently as Volhcard continued to test the elements, effortlessly switching from flame to frost, from wind to stone. Even beginner-level spells carried the force of intermediate ones—powerful and refined, fueled by a deep, dense pool of mana.
Atlas—the God of Strength, Pride, and Forging. The Father of Dwarves. It was said his divine blood flowed through all dwarvenkind, but once every three centuries, one dwarf was born as the vessel of the god himself.
Aldir narrowed his eyes, watching as spears of ice shot from the crude staff with ease and precision.
"He doesn't even realize it yet," Aldir muttered, "but the pressure of his mana... it's divine."
As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, casting the field in gold and shadow, Volhcard stood at the center—sweat on his brow, a smile on his lips, staff in hand—unknowingly awakening something ancient within him.
And Aldir, watching in silence, smiled to himself.
The future had begun to stir.
"You may continue practicing your spells," Aldir said with a calm smile. "But I must take my leave. There's work I must attend to."
With that, he stepped into the long shadow of a nearby tree—and vanished.
In an instant, he reappeared in a dim alleyway deep within the heart of the kingdom. From his back, a small green lizard crawled up onto his right shoulder, its slitted eyes glinting with intelligence as it settled into place.
"Sly," Aldir said, voice low and thoughtful, "my theory was correct. It's time to move on to the next phase of our plan."
The lizard gave a hiss of approval before leaping from his shoulder and landing on the stone ground. Its body shimmered and twisted, reshaping until it stood at around five foot eight. Now in humanoid form, it draped itself in a dark cloak and hood, concealing its identity.
A new figure emerged from the other end of the alley—clad in flowing purple robes with tassels hanging from both sleeves, their face hidden beneath a deep hood. Their presence was still, yet heavy with restrained tension.
"Leave the kingdom… and the boy… alone," came the raspy, hollow voice.
Aldir's eyes flicked toward the figure, and then he chuckled—a light, amused sound that carried a blade's edge.
He brushed past them, pausing only to pat their left shoulder with deliberate calm.
"Nothing you say or do will change the outcome, Dareth," Aldir murmured, voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "And if you even think of reporting me to the king… I'll make sure this entire kingdom vanishes from history."
Playfulness laced his words, but the threat beneath them was real—undeniable.
Dareth, the skeletal mage beneath the robes, clenched his hands. If he had teeth, he would have grit them in frustration. But he said nothing, only watching as Aldir walked away, fading into the city's shadows like a ghost of calamity.
With a weary sigh, Dareth turned and exited the alley, his gaze lifting toward the distant white spires of the church—where Aldir now cheerfully strolled, blending in as though he were nothing more than a humble teacher.
"Why must a child be condemned to such a cruel fate?" Dareth thought, his bones heavy with sorrow. "Why must this kingdom suffer for one man's ambitions?"
Meanwhile, back at the training field, Volhcard panted as he collapsed onto one knee, sweat pouring down his brow. His breaths came sharp and ragged, but his eyes remained fixed forward.
In the distance, the grand white church stood bathed in golden sunlight—its surface pristine, unmarred by decay, graffiti, or corruption… unlike what it would become in the present.
Volhcard slowly pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly.
"Father Forthun's going to nag me for being late again…" he muttered, dragging his feet toward the front doors, his staff slung tiredly over his shoulder.
Even then, despite the ache in his muscles, a small smile lingered on his face.
He still believed the future was something to look forward to.