Before history learned to count time, before legends were given names, the world existed in a fragile balance.
It was called Elyndor—a vast fantasy realm where humans built cities of stone and hope, elves guarded ancient forests older than memory, and monsters of countless forms roamed the wilds, feared yet necessary, for even chaos had a role in creation.
Above the skies lay Heaven, a kingdom of radiant towers and endless light, where angels lived bound by law, order, and divine pride.
Below the depths burned Hell, a realm of fire and shadow, ruled by demons born from desire, wrath, and rebellion.
For centuries, the realms remained separate.
Until the day the skies broke.
The Fall of Balance
The first blade was not swung in hatred—it was swung in fear.
Angels, believing demons would one day rise to claim Heaven, descended upon Hell in the name of "divine protection."
Demons, seeing this as an invasion of their existence, retaliated not just with fire—but with fury.
The war spread like a disease.
Heaven burned.
Hell shattered.
And Elyndor, the world of mortals, became the battlefield neither side cared to protect.
Angels rained light that split mountains.
Demons answered with flames that swallowed oceans.
Cities fell. Forests turned to ash.
Humans, elves, and monsters alike were crushed beneath a war that was never theirs.
The Child Left Behind
On a night when the sky glowed red and gold, in the ruins of a nameless village, a child was born.
His cries were drowned by thunder and screams.
His parents—simple humans—ran through collapsing streets, clutching him tightly, praying to gods that were too busy fighting each other to listen.
Then came the light.
A clash between an angel's spear and a demon lord's blade tore the ground apart.
The earth split.
Fire rose.
And in a moment of chaos, blood, and blinding power—
the child slipped from their arms.
When the battle ended, there were no bodies left to bury.
No names to remember.
Only a boy, lying among ashes, untouched by flame.
Someone—or something—had chosen to spare him.
His Name Was Ansh
No one knows who named him.
Some say his mother whispered it with her last breath.
Others believe the world itself gave him that name.
Ansh.
Meaning the last remaining fragment.
He was found days later by wandering nomads, silent and staring at the sky, eyes reflecting something far older than a child should carry.
He did not cry.
He did not speak.
But wherever he was taken, strange things followed.
Fires died when he passed.
Monsters bowed their heads.
Angels avoided the ground he stood on.
Demons watched him from the shadows… waiting.
The Boy Who Survived the Gods
Years passed.
The war ended not with victory, but with exhaustion.
Angels retreated to Heaven.
Demons returned to Hell.
And the world of Elyndor was left to heal alone.
Ansh grew up without a home.
Villages rejected him.
Cities feared him.
Elves whispered that fate clung to his soul like a curse.
He learned to survive by himself.
Cold nights taught him endurance.
Hunger taught him silence.
Loneliness taught him strength.
He slept under broken statues of forgotten gods, wondering why none of them had saved his family.
The Present
Now, at the edge of sixteen winters, Ansh walks alone through a broken world.
He has no kingdom.
No race that claims him.
No god he believes in.
Only scars—on his body and deeper within his soul.
Yet unknown to him, the war that once abandoned him has not truly ended.
Heaven watches.
Hell remembers.
And the boy once left to die…
has become the key to a war that will decide the fate of all realms.