Through a dark portal glowing with deep blue light, a gaunt old man with pitch-black eyes emerged, silently extending his withered hand toward Chryssa — who remained completely unaware of the danger looming behind her.
Liam ran with all the strength his legs could muster, his face fierce with desperation to reach his friend — but the old man's hand touched Chryssa's back first.
As if possessed by a dark force, the whites of Chryssa's eyes instantly turned into pitch black, just like the old man's.
Chryssa froze in place, her body starting to sway, but she quickly regained balance by shifting her footing.
Liam tensed up with a sharp intake of breath, his efforts to stop it all in vain.
"Liam…" Chryssa's voice was stiff, moments before her consciousness was completely taken over. A mysterious dark hand pulled her into the dark portal.
Liam's desperate scream rang out hysterically, as he lost someone he loved dearly.
The atmosphere shifted, revealing a haunting scene of a former battlefield. It was filled with lifeless bodies drenched in blood and blackened soil, while clouds of dusty smoke blew in the wind, which still fluttered a broken, ownerless flag.
Amidst the grim scene, Liam—his armor stained with mud and blood—sat with his head bowed, cradling the motionless Chryssa in his arms. Her body was covered in fresh wounds, one of them piercing near her heart, ending her life. Her pitch-black eyes now stared blankly, void of the light of life.
Liam sobbed alone, holding Chryssa's body tightly in his arms.
The black smoke swirled into a wave of destructive force, obliterating everything in its path. Behind that terrifying surge stood a figure cloaked in a palpable aura of darkness, smiling as he reveled in the catastrophe he had unleashed.
Shadowy fragments of a mysterious message flooded Liam's memory. It showed a hand hastily scribbling on a torn piece of worn paper, its top edge scorched. On the back of the writer's hand was a golden circle symbol—resembling the sun.
"Change the future. Stop Demanthes."
The message spoke of the Dark God who ignited a bloodshed across the continent of Arkha, unleashing a never-ending war.
"Awaken your power through the Four Warlords!"
A striking sight appears—four man, each exuding a powerful elemental aura, kneel with heads bowed before Liam.
Starting from the right is a young man with neatly styled light gray hair, bearing the refined look of someone from the upper class. Next to him is a woman with long, straight dark blue hair. Beside her kneels a young man with short, snow-white hair. And on the left, a young man with slightly wavy hair in a fiery shade of red.
As if the scene itself were shown as a crucial clue—these four are the key to defeating Demanthes, the Dark God.
The surroundings grew darker, the weight of anxiety intensifying, until silence took over—leaving only the sound of labored breathing. Liam's eyes suddenly flew open, snapping him awake from a nightmare that had felt all too real.
Liam quickly sat up, breathing rapidly as he tried to ground himself back in reality. Cold sweat streamed down his face, his heartbeat still erratic and pounding in his chest.
Once he felt calmer, Liam's golden-yellow eyes slowly scanned his surroundings. He found himself in a quiet, modest bedroom, dimly lit by the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window.
.
The warm morning sun shone down on a modest five-story apartment building, casting its light on a unit on the third floor—door number 302. Inside, Liam is busy packing clothes from the wardrobe, his movements focused and deliberate.
A neatly folded stack of clothes in his arms, Liam carry them out of the bedroom and place them atop a growing pile of personal belongings spread across the living room carpet. As he turn to head back to the bedroom, his steps halted in front of a black-framed photograph hanging on the wall.
Liam reach the photo and look at it closely. It is a picture of himself from about four years ago, smiling brightly beside a girl his age—Chryssa. Both of them were wearing academy uniforms, their expressions full of life, their bond unmistakably close.
A faint smile formed on Liam's face, but within the glint of his eyes, a trace of sorrow lingered—subtle yet unmistakable.
"Chryssa, I will bring you back—no matter what."
Liam gently place the black-framed photo atop the stack of clothes. Moments later, more items joined the growing pile, raising it higher. Standing just beyond the edge of the carpet, Liam hold a small silver box in his right hand, its surface smooth and metallic, with a single button at the top. He press and hold the button firmly.
From the small silver box, a beam of white light shines out as Liam uses it to scan over all the belongings spread across the carpet. As soon as he releases the button, a glowing blue magic circle appears, encircling the illuminated area. In an instant, the entire pile of personal items vanishes as if by magic—temporarily stored in another dimension.
Liam slips the magical silver box into his pants pocket. The small, practical device is known as a "dimensional pouch." Its owner no longer needs to carry bags or drag suitcases to transport their belongings.
Before leaving, Liam stands still for a moment, quietly taking in the apartment room now emptied of his personal belongings. Only the larger furniture remains—like the sofa, table, and wardrobe. This modest apartment has held many precious memories for him. Especially the living room, where he and Chryssa used to work on academy assignments together, and the kitchen, where Chryssa would cook while Liam washed the dishes.
Memories filled with warmth and smiles.
But now, only solitude remains—and soon, even that will turn into emptiness. Liam grabs a black coat draped over the back of the sofa, then walks toward the door.
After locking the apartment door, Liam continues walking while slipping on a black coat—simple in design, yet still exuding elegance thanks to its high-quality fabric. It's the kind of outfit an ordinary citizen could never afford.
"Senior Liam!"
Three young men in patrol officer uniforms approach Liam from behind just as he reaches the street in front of the apartment building.
"So sharp! Heading out on a date, Senior?"
"I'm planning head back to Argoust after watching the competition today."
The three uniformed young men are momentarily stunned.
"Today?? Why so sudden?"
"An urgent matter," Liam replies briefly.
They continue walking, approaching the gate that separates the residential area from another zone filled with tall buildings.
"You should've told us yesterday, then we could've thrown you a farewell party."
Liam responds with nothing more than a quiet chuckle.
"No need to fuss. You can just send a letter if you suddenly miss my scolding."
"Then where should we send it? To the Argoust palace?" the three young men laugh in unison at their own joke. "Our letters would end up in the trash before they ever reach you."
Liam quickly shakes his index finger in denial.
"I already have a private residence. If you want to send a letter, address it to the House of Coral. I'll make sure to read every letter from the academy."
"Whoa, our senior just keeps getting cooler!"
As they pass through the boundary gate, the four young men are met with a view of towering, majestic buildings.
The place is known as Verlyn Academy—a specialized school for mages, those born with elemental powers. It is located within Carrion, a small autonomous territory nestled between two great kingdoms: the Kingdom of Karsh to the west and the Kingdom of Argoust to the east.
Verlyn Academy has three main departments. The first is Battlemage, the largest and most populated, consisting of young mages gifted in channeling elemental power into combat. The second is Artificer, a department for students skilled in crafting elemental equipment—tools and devices that enhance elemental control. The third is Alchemy, for those who specialize in brewing potions and creating substances that react with elemental forces.
On that special day, nearly every corner of the academy is adorned with festive decorations. Floating, shimmering crystals, colorful banners, and garlands of flowers line the pathways Liam and his three juniors walk along. Young students in academy uniforms bustle around, filling the grounds with energy and excitement as they go about their tasks.
"This annual festival is always so lively."
"Well, most of Verlyn Academy's students are battlemages, so it's no surprise their festival turns out this festive."
The four young men step into the academy's main plaza, where a towering 10-meter statue stands in grandeur—a figure clearly revered and honored.
Y'tzyar—the name of the Savior God worshipped by the people of the Arkha.
The three patrol-uniformed juniors come to a synchronized halt, then slightly bow their heads toward the statue of Y'tzyar, their expressions calm and respectful. Every passerby around the statue does the same—taking a moment to pay their respects.
But Liam does differently—he lifts his head and looks directly into the face of the grand statue. His gaze then shifts to Y'tzyar's hand, sculpted in a triangle shape with the fingertips pressed together in front of the chest. From below, the back of the statue's hand is clearly visible. There, etched into the stone, is a circular emblem bearing the symbol of the sun.
Liam's gaze holds no surprise—he has known for a long time.
"He, Y'tzyar, is the one who sent the message through light from the future."
He remembers the hand that wrote every message about what's to come. It bore the same sun-shaped symbol.
"The message he sent revealed the destruction of the continent of Arkha by the rise of Demanthes, and also… Chryssa's death…"
Every time the dark visions from that message come to mind, unease lingers on Liam's face.
"What a terrifying future."
Then, that unease shifts into a growing determination.
"I won't let it happen!"