Calm waves greeted the old ship as it docked at the moss-covered stone pier. The night sky was still faintly red, streaks of lightning flashing far beyond the hills.
Captain Dargo stood at the bow, his hat tilted by the sea wind.
"Heh, you finally made it... This land smells of metal and tragedy."
Altair gazed at the harbor. Once, this place was full of laughter, the sounds of merchants, and the glow of torches. Now... only ruins and silence. A pier that seemed reluctant to welcome anyone anymore.
"Aren't you coming into the city?" Altair asked Captain Dargo.
The Captain shook his head as he jumped onto the ship's plank. He patted Altair's shoulder.
"I'm just your escort. Not a past explorer. Besides..."
He sniffed slowly.
"I can't stand another day smelling your metal and tapai. It stresses this sacred ship."
"We'll miss your shouts about the fermentation crates too, Captain," Quartzis grinned.
"And the sound of your panicked steps every time the tapai explodes," Lazric added.
Feran stood calmly, then in a flat voice:
"If your ship sinks... we'll send tapai as a sign of respect."
"DAMN IT! That's a threat! Never send tapai to my grave!" Dargo glared.
Everyone laughed softly. But behind the jokes, there was a deep feeling. Because they all knew... this farewell in a land full of memories was no ordinary farewell.
Captain Dargo climbed back onto his ship's deck, ready to turn around.
"Take care of yourselves. I'll miss... the smell of metal, fermentation, and stubborn kids who insist on entering a ruined land."
"We'll miss you too, Captain," Altair said, raising a hand.
And slowly, the old ship moved away from the harbor, slipping behind the fog.
At that very moment—the sky on the northern side exploded red.
Purple lightning struck from thick clouds like a torn wound in the sky. Thunder echoed, and red light illuminated the black clouds.
Lazric stared at the sky for a long time.
"Wow... the weather effects here are still creepy, huh?"
"Was it often like that back then?" Quartzis asked.
Altair just stared silently, then nodded.
"Blood sky... it's common in this place. Maybe this land hasn't forgotten the past war."
Feran narrowed his eyes.
"Or something isn't finished there."
They continued their steps. The wind carried the scent of metal, debris, and ancient dust. The old city was ruined, swallowed by time and war. Buildings collapsed. Roads cracked. Wild grass grew through the stone floors.
"Where do we rest?" Quartzis asked, avoiding a pile of stones.
"The city library," Altair answered. "There's still one sturdy building near the harbor... and that's where Mother used to keep her notes."
"Library?" Lazric brightened. "Please don't blow anything up this time..."
"Blame the tapai," Feran mumbled softly.
Soon after, they arrived. A large stone building with a half-ruined dome stood on the outskirts of the city. An old plaque reading "City Library" still hung, albeit crooked.
The large wooden door was pushed open slowly.
Creeeeak...
The atmosphere inside was dark. But large bookshelves still stood. Some windows were broken. The floor was dusty. But the atmosphere... was calm. Peaceful.
"Mother used to read stories to me in that corner chair and table," Altair said, pointing to a broken wooden bench and table.
"In that case, we'll rest here tonight," Feran said firmly.
Night deepened. Moonlight pierced through the broken windows of the city library, reflecting softly on the dusty, aged bookshelves. The sound of the sea wind could still be heard from afar.
In the corner of the library's main room, Quartzis and Lazric were still busy rummaging through shelf after shelf.
"Hey, this book has a picture of a lion-headed frog," Quartzis mumbled, flipping through the pages.
"This one's like... ancient fermentation notes," Lazric commented, sniffing.
"Please don't sniff all the books, Laz..."
As Lazric's hand pulled out a book titled "Rhythms of the Ancient World,"
"CLICK," a mechanical sound suddenly came from the large shelf behind them.
"...Did you hear that?" Quartzis turned quickly.
"That wasn't me sneezing, I swear," Lazric instinctively said.
The bookshelf in the corner of the room slowly shifted, revealing a secret stone passage filled with cobwebs.
Altair, Feran, and the others immediately stood up.
"What is this...?" Quartzis whispered, half-surprised, half-excited.
"A secret passage?" Lazric asked, his eyes sparkling.
"So classic," Altair mumbled.
Feran just sighed softly.
"Why is there never anything normal when we're looking for a place to sleep?"
They entered. The passage wasn't long, just a few steps before opening into a small stone room—like a library within a library, hidden, dim, and full of curved wooden shelves.
"What... is this place?" Altair asked softly.
"Like... where ancient nerds kept the last of history," Quartzis commented.
The books here were older, their covers peeling, some sealed with ancient magic.
The atmosphere was as if even the air was reluctant to move.
Feran walked slowly, tracing the shelves. His hand touched a large book whose cover was half-damaged, but still strikingly visible with a gold engraving in the center.
"This book..." he murmured.
He sat on a dilapidated wooden bench and began to open it. The first page was still intact. On it was written in large letters:
"History of the First World War: Demons vs. Four Noble Races"
Feran read aloud. His voice was heavy and calm, making everyone turn.
"Long ago, when the world was still one land without fragments, various races lived side by side. But the Demons... they were not satisfied."
"They began to study everything. Knowledge, magic, power. They wanted to be the strongest. And when they formed their own kingdom, fear emerged."
"The first Demon King... was equated with a God. The Angels intervened, restraining, fighting. But the Demons continued to grow."
"They devoured the weak... even devoured other races—humans, elves, dwarves, orcs..."
Everyone began to tense. Lazric quickly took notes. Quartzis froze, glaring at the illustrations on the next page.
Feran continued:
"However, they still kept their boundaries... with the Four Noble Elemental Races:
Dravak'aar,master of fire—the great dragon.
Nymvalis, the giant serpent controlling water.
Thundralith, human-like figures with white eyes—masters of lightning.
Terravon..."
Feran paused for a moment.
"...controller of the earth. Land, stone, wood, to precious ores—gold, diamonds..."
The atmosphere grew even quieter. Feran read slowly, but clearly:
"Terravonlooked like humans... but when they used their power, their eyes and hair glowed... according to their affinity."
Altair looked at Feran. Quartzis swallowed hard.
Lazric spoke first:
"That... that... that's like all of us...!"
"Elemental Race..." Quartzis mumbled. "...they're not new. We're not strange mutations. We're... descendants of Terravon?!"
"Could be," Altair replied softly. "All this time... we thought we were a small, almost extinct race. But if this is true... we come from the oldest ancestors..."
Feran slowly closed the book. His eyes narrowed, thinking.
"Why... is this history lost?"
"And why... is the Elemental Race now hidden, chased, and hunted?" Quartzis asked.
Lazric held the manuscript tightly.
"Who wants us to forget our origins? Who hid all of this?"
Altair stood up. The dim light from the small window in the basement room illuminated his hair, which began to glow golden—without him realizing it.
"We must know more... We must dig into our history..."
And that night, amidst old shelves and dusty books, four children from the Terravon line realized that they were not only heirs to power—but also heirs to a history that wished to be erased.
The old wooden shelves in the hidden room were now like a labyrinth of history awakened from a long sleep. Books with dry leather covers were opened one by one. Dust flew. In the middle of the room, Feran still held the large book—his hands seemed to merge with page after page revealing the origin of their world.
"Feran, continue..."
Altair leaned against the stone wall, his eyes sharp, unblinking.
"Yes, Fer... please... this is like watching world history but a version that never made it into lessons," Quartzis said, sitting cross-legged and scribbling in his small journal.
Feran sighed, then opened the next page. His heavy voice once again filled the room:
"The Demons have waged many wars. They grew wild. Thirsty for power."
"Until finally... they managed to win a great battle against the Angels. How?"
Feran paused briefly.
"...By bringing down the Angels' main commander."
Lazric raised an eyebrow.
"Wow... crazy... they're really sneaky..."
Feran continued:
"Lucifer... the main war commander of the Angels... fell to the allure of power, might, and worldly freedom."
"He betrayed and became a Fallen Angel, standing on the side of the Demon King."
Quartzis hissed.
"No wonder... Angels vanished from historical accounts after that."
"After that defeat, the Angels never descended to the world again. The Demons were free."
"War after war occurred. The world began to collapse... not because of magic, but because of greed."
Feran flipped another page. Faint illustrations showed vast burning plains, hundreds of creatures fighting, and a sky dark with a mist of blood.
"When the Demons attacked the weaker races for food—humans, beastkin, elves, orcs, dwarves—the last guardians emerged."
"The Thundralith Race, the masters of lightning, first descended onto the battlefield. They allied with humans, and balanced the Demons."
Altair narrowed his eyes.
"Thundralith... those human-like figures with full white eyes..."
"After that, Terravon also descended. They stood defending the weak. Slowly, a great, inevitable battle ensued."
"Finally... the Dragon Race (Dravak'aar) and Water Serpent (Nymvalis) also got involved."
Lazric looked at Feran.
"Four noble races vs. Demons... crazy, this is like the end of the world."
Feran continued.
"And that's when... a legendary figure from Terravon emerged. The First Allementan."
"He was the master of the earth... he shook plains, raised mountains, and split the land with just his will."
Feran's voice sounded heavier now. There was a feeling... of closeness. As if that history flowed within him.
"He was said to be... the earth itself."
Feran nodded slightly, then continued:
"At the same time... the Dragon Race managed to master another element—wind. They were divided into two branches: masters of fire, and masters of wind."
"The last war took place on the border between Demons and humans."
"And there... two of the most mysterious figures in history appeared."
Everyone tensed.
Feran read slowly.
"A half-demon angel, and a Terravon, they split the land with a single attack... hand in hand with a human swordmaster and a water serpent from Nymvalis..."
Altair whispered.
"That's... like a group... like us now..."
"But who are they...?" Quartzis asked quickly. "Their names aren't written?"
Feran shook his head.
"It says here, the origins of these two figures were never precisely recorded... it is only believed that they were the key to the Demons' destruction and the birth of a new world."
He flipped another page.
"After that land division, two Noble Elemental races—Thundralith and Terravon—separated."
"And... the First Allementan changed the name of his race."
Altair slowly walked towards Feran.
"What... did he change it to...?"
Feran raised his book.
"Terravon... became 'Elementan'."
Silence.
"He wanted to hide the traces of the past. So that his race would no longer be labeled 'Noble', no longer hunted, not involved in war, and become neutral. They chose a path... of silence."
"To be guardians of the world from the shadows."
Lazric gaped.
"So... we... are Terravon."
"And the First Allementan... is the ancestor of our power..."
"...But why was all this hidden?" Quartzis stared sharply at Feran. "And why doesn't any other race know about this?"
Altair looked up at the room's ceiling.
"Or... pretending not to know?"
Feran closed the book. His hands gripped its damaged cover tightly. His eyes darkened.
"If everyone knew... they would be afraid. Or want to control us."
"Or exterminate us... before we grow again."
Night deepened, but none of them moved an inch.
Now they knew who they were. But the question remained—who wanted the world to forget all this?
And... who were the two mysterious figures who split the world 10,000 years ago?
Altair looked at Feran.
"We have to read everything. Until the end."