June 7, 950
An explosion reverberated across the village, mingling with a symphony of wails and cries of terror. Chaos engulfed every corner as the air filled with the sounds of children's sobs. Rivers of flames surged, drowning the land and extinguishing all life.
Through the inferno emerged a man, his face etched with fear, eyes shadowed by grief. He carried a child with a serene face, while a woman's voice rang out behind him:
"Ted, please—protect our son."
The man knew he was bound to die, yet he ensured his son would survive.
⸻
June 7, 956
One of life's greatest trials is loneliness—not merely of the flesh, but of the soul. To be born only to be hated, to live only to be shunned, to feel shame simply for existing. The cruelest burden falls upon an innocent child: their heart shattered, their bright eyes dimmed, leaving an indelible mark upon soul and body until old age.
Kian, a seven-year-old boy born in Rodfir, a southern village of the Riverlands Kingdom, was born into a tunnel of solitude, accompanied only by his childhood friend and destined brother, Raphin.
The villagers despised them; not a moment in their lives passed without scorn-filled, disgusted, cruel glances. The children themselves never understood why—Raphin resented the villagers deeply. Kian, on the other hand, was a life-loving child, craving affection, a mother's gentle touch, a father's warm embrace. He had never experienced these things. Orphaned since birth, he assumed he would die orphaned too, unaware of the caprices Fate had in store.
His craving for attention manifested as unruly chaos that reverberated throughout the village, driving the men to chase him as far as the banks of the Chanselin River. He knew they would never follow him there—though not because they forgave him, but out of fear for that river, brimming with secrets and fueled by legends.
⸻
Kian, as was his habit, fled toward his spiritual guardian, the legendary river he called his "grandfather."
The Chanselin's roar was more like a quiet whisper—as though the water held a secret that nobody was meant to hear.
He sat on a slick stone, his feet brushing the water's edge, his face reflecting a childhood tinted with just a hint of malice and a vast curiosity.
Raphin, arms folded, glanced at him with a half-smile:
"Don't you ever tire of this routine?"
Kian smiled:
"No—I'd rather have them chase me than stare at me in silence."
Raphin looked at the sky.
"You know, after my family died, their gazes became like that. Could it be because we're orphans?"
Kian lay down beside him.
"When we're older, we'll understand. But I swear—I will never forgive them as long as I live."
Raphin laughed:
"They won't ask for forgiveness, because I'll destroy this filthy village."
Kian frowned:
"Seriously—why are they so afraid of this river?"
Raphin shrugged:
"It truly is eerie. I don't know why, but I recall my mother calling it the 'River of Curses.' Maybe it's because of your lineage—'the River of Legends'?"
Raphin chuckled softly.
Kian fell silent, gazing into the distance, when suddenly he heard the Hat-Seller's words echoing, as if born from the water itself:
"Child of the cursed river… the cause of our eternal ruin… do not return to my stall again."
⸻
Elsewhere, aboard a train heading from Cardinia to this village, an eighteen-year-old girl with smooth brown hair and a freckled face wept so bitterly she startled fellow passengers. No one dared ask her why. They simply handed her a tissue to dry her tears.
Her name was Eliora. She had just lost her parents, and the shock of her grief coursed through her heart—leading her back to the wellspring of her sorrow: the cursed village of Rodfir.
⸻
In the adjacent carriage, the rumble of train wheels accompanied hushed murmurs from the elders about the birth of Cardinia's doom.
One of them whispered:
"For God's sake, what's going to happen to Cardinia? Will the Chanselin prophecy come true?"