Raveana Seraphyne Velcrid, known to the world as Elira Althar, is a quiet yet sharp-willed young woman cloaked in grace and hidden power. With long soft curly pink hair, violet eyes, and pale skin, she carries an otherworldly beauty that contrasts with the darkness sealed within her. Slender and reserved, she's driven by the memories of a lost family and the weight of a cursed legacy. Though composed on the surface, she bears a deadly secret—when pushed too far or when wielding the demonic sword Virelaus beyond control, her hair turns black, her eyes burn red, and black ink-like markings crawl across her skin, revealing the bloodline the world tried to erase. A girl of dualities—elegant and cursed, gentle yet deadly.
❖ INTRODUCTION ❖
Not every child is born with mana.
And among those who are, fewer still ever grasp the sword destined to bear their soul.
In the ancient world of Eidralis, mana is more than power—it is identity, inheritance, and purpose. When a child's mana awakens, it manifests as a sword—unique, personal, and bound to their very being. For most, these blades are humble extensions of their will. But for a chosen few, whose mana runs deeper than blood or bone, their swords become something far more dangerous: weapons of legend, relics with names, curses, and hungers.
Among the most feared was Virelaus, the blood-hungering sword.
Forged from demonic mana, it was not made to slay monsters—but to devour men.
It chose Kaelreth Velcrid, heir of the Velcrid bloodline, at the tender age of five. His mana was so potent, so unruly, that the blade awakened before most children even discovered theirs. And though Kael trained endlessly to master it, Virelaus was never truly tamed.
By eighteen, Kael had earned a place at the Knight Academy—a prestigious institution where only the most gifted warriors trained. He stood out not only for his raw talent, but for the cursed sword at his side—a blade that pulsed like a living beast, whispering hunger to its wielder.
And watching him from the shadows was his younger sister, Raveana.
⚔️ Virelaus – The Blood-Forger's Fang
Appearance:
Virelaus is a long and heavy obsidian-black greatsword, its blade unnaturally thick and forged to deliver devastating power. Etched along the flat of the blade are crimson, vein-like markings that glow faintly, like embers slithering beneath the surface. These markings resemble demonic tattoos, pulsating with a sinister rhythm—almost as if the blade itself is breathing.
The crossguard is sharp and jagged, resembling the claws of a beast or the wings of a fallen angel, arching protectively around a massive, blood-red gemstone embedded in the center of the hilt. This gemstone, known as the Heart of Virelaus, pulses when drawn in battle, reacting to both the wielder's mana and intent.
The hilt is wrapped in a dark, almost charred leather, reinforced with black iron bands that spiral downward into a pointed pommel, designed for close-quarter puncturing. When gripped, it hums faintly with restrained malice.
Aura & Energy:
The sword radiates an aura of ancient bloodlust—not just monstrous, but human in its origin. It was not created to slay beasts, but to butcher kings, generals, and armies, carving fear into the heart of humanity itself.
When unsheathed, the air around Virelaus grows heavier, almost suffocating, and whispers sometimes echo through the mind of its wielder—words in a language long forgotten, spoken by those it has slain.
⸻
At just nine years old, Raveana Seraphyne Velcrid lived in the warmth of a household burdened by secrets but filled with love. Her father, Lord Darian Velcrid, was a noble knight—renowned for his discipline and swordsmanship. Her mother, Seliane, a gentle beast tamer, was known throughout the land for her kindness and the ability to soothe even the wildest of magical creatures. Her brother, Kael, bore the weight of the Velcrid name, shouldering its power… and its curse.
For the Velcrids were not blessed—they were marked.
Their mana did not stem from the spirit or the stars. It came from the abyss.
A demonic origin, wild and volatile. Feared by many. Hunted by more.
The Eidric Synod, the ruling magical authority over all four nations of Eidralis, had long labeled bloodlines like theirs a danger to the balance of the realm.
The Synod is a high council made up of Archmages, Grand Healers, and Knight Commanders from each magical division. They decide what is sacred… and what must be destroyed.
To the Synod, the Velcrids were not people. They were weapons waiting to go rogue.
⸻
Raveana never understood the depth of their fear until she saw what the sword could do.
When her brother overused Virelaus, his violet eyes would bleed into red. His golden hair turned black as ink. Black veins would slither across his pale skin like cursed ink, and his voice—once warm—would distort into something unrecognizable.
And in those moments, Raveana knew:
It wasn't Kael she was looking at.
It was Virelaus.
"If the sword is not controlled, it will consume you. If you do not feed it… it will feed on you."
And then one night—it came for them.
Assassins wearing the seal of the Synod descended on House Velcrid under darkness. Magic and steel filled the air. The walls burned.
Her mother pressed a final kiss to her forehead. Her father drew a glowing Null Sigil across her back—not to erase her power, but to seal part of her mana. Enough to hide her heritage. Enough to protect her from herself.
Because her mana—if fully released—could awaken Virelaus.
And the sword might eat her from the inside out.
But Kael…
Kael knelt before her, broken and bloodied, and handed her the sword that had cursed his life.
"It's yours now," he whispered.
"But Raveana, remember this—I'm not giving this to you to make you suffer, but to carry our legacy. I know you'll manage to master it and tame it… because you are its Master."
That night, the Velcrid name was wiped from history.
But one ember survived the fire.
And it was carried far, far away by a man who had once sworn an oath to her father.
⸻
Sir Gavren Althar was no ordinary knight.
He was a forgotten legend.
Once one of the Top 7 at the Knight Academy in his youth, Gavren had long since retired—fading into obscurity after leaving the battlefield to care for his ailing wife. Most had forgotten his name.
And that made him the perfect guardian.
Few knew he had once fought beside Darian Velcrid, nor that he was entrusted with the life of the last Velcrid child.
From that day on, Raveana Seraphyne Velcrid ceased to exist.
In her place stood Elira Althar, daughter of a retired knight who made their home deep within the forest—where no roads led and no rumors reached, in the village of Revinspire.
Gavren raised her not as a fugitive—but as his own.
He trained her with discipline, silence, and steel. Her cursed sword, Virelaus, remained with her—but always sealed, restrained. The Null Sigil on her back ensured that only a portion of her mana could surface, enough for her to live and train without awakening the darkness coiled inside her.
Though her mother had been a gifted beast tamer, no one ever taught Elira that part of her heritage. Gavren was a swordsman. The gentle magic of bonding with creatures remained locked within her—unexplored, but not forgotten.
One day, it would awaken.
That part of her blood—her mother's gift—remained dormant.
And on the morning of her eighteenth birthday, everything will start to change.
⸻
The air was cool, the morning mist curling like smoke between the trees. Elira stood at the edge of the hill, watching dew glisten on the leaves as golden sunlight filtered through the canopy below.
Behind her, Gavren stepped out, arms crossed, a long object wrapped in black cloth balanced in one hand. He cleared his throat.
"You're eighteen," he said. "That means you're ready."
Elira turned. "Ready for what?"
Gavren walked forward and gently set the bundle down. "To try."
He slowly unwrapped the cloth, revealing a beautiful silver-edged sword with a crystal inlay on the hilt. The blade shimmered faintly in the light, almost alive—but its presence was distant, cold. Watching.
"This sword," Gavren said softly, "once belonged to my wife. She passed before you ever met her… illness took her early." He paused, brushing a layer of dust from the scabbard. "After she died, I tried to form a bond with it. To make it mine. But it never answered. It didn't acknowledge me. It's been dormant for years."
Elira tilted her head, confused. "You mean it didn't let you summon it?"
He nodded. "Exactly. Without a bond, a sword like this can't be spirit-bound. You can't call it into existence from your mana field, nor return it. It stays a lifeless weapon. Only when a sword acknowledges its master, does it become soul-linked. Only then can it be summoned or dismissed at will."
Elira stepped closer. "Why are you giving it to me?"
"Because… I believe it's time it had a master again."
She stepped forward, eyes on the hilt. "So… you think it might accept me?"
"I don't know," Gavren admitted. "Why don't you try it."
Still, Elira reached out. She closed her eyes and placed her hand on the hilt, attempting to form the spirit-bind—to connect the sword to her mana.
Nothing.
It remained cold. Silent.
She tried again.
This time, her emotions overflowed—grief, hope, the pain of hiding, and the will to become someone her family could be proud of. Her mana surged, not wildly, but sincerely—pure and full of conviction.
"Please," she whispered, "I don't want to destroy anyone. Let me protect. Let me change something."
The blade shimmered faintly. A line of light traveled down its edge. The runes awoke.
Then—it vanished in a flicker of white light, absorbed into her aura.
Gavren's breath caught. His expression, normally stern and composed, softened into something near disbelief. "Very well," he said, quietly.
She opened her palm, and with a single thought, the sword reappeared—summoned from within her mana, spirit-bound to her soul.
"Aurexia" she whispered.
The blade had accepted her.
Then he handed her a sealed envelope, thick parchment pressed with golden wax.
"What's this?"
She opened it.
Inside was an elegantly printed scroll, engraved with ancient script and an insignia:
The Crest of Arcanhelm Academy.
"You've been accepted," Gavren said. "You'll enter as a first-year under a new name. You cannot use Virelaus—it's too dangerous. Let it sleep. For now, Aurexia will be your blade."
Elira stared down at the seal. A new life. A chance to blend in. A chance to hunt for the truth from within.
"I can find who did it," she murmured. "I can uncover who gave the order. I can finish what they started."
⚔️ Aurexia – The Verdant Flame
Description:
Aurexia is a slender, slightly curved longsword, forged with a rare alloy that glimmers green and gold under the light—its polished blade is veined faintly like a leaf, as though nature itself breathes through its metal. The hilt is wrapped in soft moss-green leather, with a golden guard shaped like unfurling petals. At the center of the crossguard lies a smooth gem, pale emerald in color, which softly pulses when mana flows through it.
Type of Mana:
Aurexia is infused with Verdant Mana—a rare type of elemental energy that embodies growth, balance, and life force. It draws strength from nature and emotion, enhancing its wielder's agility and allowing them to channel vitality into their strikes. Though it does not have the destructive force of fire or lightning mana, Verdant Mana is difficult to corrupt and has natural resistance to decay, curses, and dark magic.
Origin:
Aurexia was once wielded by Lady Thalira Althar, the late wife of Sir Gavren. She was not a knight nor a noble, but a gentle warrior-scholar who trained in an older path—the forgotten art of the Verdant Blades, warriors who harmonized with nature rather than dominate it. Her mana was soft yet firm: verdant, binding, and quietly resilient, capable of slowing poison, dulling fatigue, or encouraging rapid healing in those she protected.
Legacy:
When Lady Thalira passed away due to illness, Sir Gavren kept the blade hidden, believing it too sacred to be touched again. But on the eve of Elira's departure to Arcanhelm, he gave her Aurexia—not as a weapon of war, but as a reminder that strength can exist in gentleness, and legacy in quiet grace.
———