Three Years Ago — Crisoff Family Estate
The soft drizzle of rain fell gently over the silent cemetery, the sky gray and heavy with sorrow.
Valen Crisoff, a boy of fifteen, stood motionless in front of two freshly carved gravestones. The names of his parents were etched into the cold stone—etched into permanence.
His small clenched tightly at his sides, his thin frame trembling—not from the rain, but from the crushing weight of grief and confusion that gnawed relentlessly at his heart.
Since he was five years old, disaster had plagued the Crisoff family.
Business after business collapsed. Relatives perished in freak accidents or succumbed to strange, incurable diseases. The misfortunes clung to them like shadows, no matter how they struggled.
The whispers spread like wildfire through the kingdom.
"The Crisoff family is cursed."
Among all their kin, only Valen's immediate family remained untouched.
His parents, desperate to break the cycle, finally sought help from the Church of Serenity. They placed their last hopes in the blessing of the high priest, praying he could lift the shadow from their family.
But before the priest could even reach their estate, tragedy struck again.
The priest's carriage veered off a cliff. There were no survivors.
When they heard the news, it was as though lightning had struck the hearts of his parents.
They became hollow—staring, silent, broken.
That night, Valen's small hands clutched his mother's sleeve tightly, his wide, pleading eyes glimmering with fear.
"Mother… what's happening to our family? Why does everyone around us die?" His voice trembled, a soft whisper that seemed to echo in the suffocating stillness.
Valencia Crisoff knelt before him, cupping his pale, cold cheeks. Her tears fell endlessly, mixing with the rain that pattered against the tall windows.
"I don't know, baby… I don't know." Her voice cracked, her mind fraying at the edges. "It must be… it must be that our family has committed some great sin. Yes. That's the only reason. It has to be."
She clutched the white stone pendant that hung from his neck, her grip tightening. "Yes… it can't be… the stone—it's still intact. It's still pure. That means you're safe." She repeated this like a prayer, over and over, as if the words alone could ward off the horrors devouring their lives.
But Valen lowered his gaze, guilt flickering in his young eyes.
"Mother… what does this stone have to do with everything?"
She gently stroked his hair, her voice soft. "The stone is sacred, sweetie. It protects our family."
Valen's lips trembled. "…Mother, that stone… I threw it away when I was five."
Her breath caught. Her heart skipped.
His father, Viscount Arthur Crisoff, froze as he sat in the corner of the room. His knuckles turned white against the armrest.
"…What did you just say?" Arthur's voice cracked, heavy with disbelief.
Valen's head sank lower. His small fingers clutched the hem of his shirt. "It was stained… it turned black. I thought it was ugly. I didn't know it was important. I replaced it with a stone I found in the garden."
Silence.
Crushing, deafening silence.
His mother staggered back, her face as pale as the marble floor beneath her knees. "Five… that's when… that's when it all began."
Arthur sank into his chair, his eyes wide with horror, his breath coming in short, broken gasps. "The priest… what he said… it was true."
The weight of denial collapsed on them, suffocating.
His mother crumpled to the floor, sobbing bitterly. "This is our fault. We didn't listen. We thought… we thought we could protect you. But we doomed everyone instead."
Arthur buried his face in his trembling hands. "If only… if only we had returned you to the church…"
Valen's voice shook as he whispered, "What… what does the stone do? Why do I need it?"
But they no longer had answers for him.
Their hearts, crushed by guilt and despair, slipped beyond reach.
Within a week, his parents took their own lives.
And so, Valen Crisoff became the last surviving descendant of the Crisoff family.
The kingdom's whispers grew louder.
"He's a cursed child."
"He killed his entire family."
"He brings nothing but misfortune."
—
After visiting his parents grave, Valen wandered into his father's abandoned study.
Dust and old parchment thickened the air. His fingers drifted across forgotten books, lingering on the remnants of a family that no longer existed.
Tonight, Valen had made up his mind.
He couldn't bear the weight of his loneliness any longer. He was ready to end it all.
As his hand brushed against the back of the desk, he noticed an unusual indentation. Without thinking, he pressed it.
Click.
A hidden door creaked open behind the shelves.
Inside, a narrow stone chamber awaited, bare except for a small raised platform in the center. Resting upon a red cushion was a single red marble.
Its surface gleamed faintly, almost as if it pulsed.
Drawn to it, Valen stepped forward and picked it up. He lifted it to his eye to peer inside—and his heart seized.
A dark figure swirled within.
Startled, he dropped the marble.
Thud.
A cold, elegant voice echoed in the silence.
"It's about time…" the voice drawled, as if he had been waiting centuries for Valen to find him.
Scarlet smoke billowed from the marble, taking the form of a tall, radiant figure. His golden hair cascaded to the floor, shimmering faintly. His golden eyes glowed softly, but the red chains coiled around his body betrayed the danger that clung to him.
His beauty was divine—yet terrifying.
"W-Who are you?" Valen stammered, stepping back.
The figure offered a calm smile, his voice like silk.
"I am Dravi—the God of Time… or I was, until I was sealed in the void."
Valen's breathing hitched.
"Don't worry," Dravi added, tilting his head as the red chains softly clinked. "This is merely a wisp of my soul, trapped in this marble for centuries."
"…What do you want from me?"
"Simple. Help me regain my strength, and I shall grant you what you desire."
Valen's fists clenched. "…Can you bring my parents back?"
Dravi's smile deepened. "Yes. I can help you turn back time. I can even help you control your ability."
"My… ability?"
Dravi's voice lowered, smooth as velvet. "You are a bearer of a rare power. The curse of misfortune. Your very presence brings ruin to others."
Valen's breath quickened. The accidents. The deaths. Was it really… because of him?
Dravi's eyes shimmered. "But it is a power you can control… with enough karma."
"Karma?"
"Karma is the currency of fate. They are accumulated by those whose names are remembered—whether through greatness, influence, or fear. Leave your mark on the world, and you will gather karma. Become a known figure. Offer it to me, and I will grant you the power to rewrite destiny."
Valen's pulse raced. "So if I become famous… I can collect karma?"
"Yes. But there is also… another way." Dravi's voice grew darker. "Heroes, kings, conquerors—those whose names ripple through the ages—they gather karma like a river collects rain. But you… you can take it like a thief in the night. By causing their downfall, their ruin, their death—their karma becomes yours."
Valen stared at him in silence.
In his understanding, those who had etched their names into the annals of history and became known figures were powerful kings and celebrated heroes.
But his path to becoming a great figure had long been sealed off, blocked by the rumors that clung to him like a curse. His name was already stained and tarnished—earning admiration and prestige was impossible.
The only path left for him…
His lips curved into a cold smile. "So long as I become a known figure, I can gather karma?"
Dravi's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. "Exactly."
And so, Valen Crisoff made his choice.
He would make his name resonate, but not in admiration—but in fear.
He would do whatever it took to gather karma and turn back time.
He would become a figure whose story would be etched in history.
If fate demanded a Villain, then a Villain he would become.