Year 205 A.F.W. (After the First War)
On the Empty Fields, which to this day remain a no man's land, stood an army of humans, looking into the eyes of the demons which readied their sharp nails, grew their twisted horns and screamed in a fit of anger.
Such were the last moments of the Second Errarion War. When all hope was seemingly lost, and yet another, seemingly pointless battle ensued, people pushed forth, and the demons only grew more relentless.
Paladians of Osmania, harans from Harabara, erans from all around the Mainland, and the tributals from Exeter attacked. The Demonears, who specialised in killing those devils, ran in the front, while others dived headfirst into the action, without a strategy in mind.
The sky turned red, and after a few hours, it seemed as if humanity was bound to lose again. There were too many; they were too strong.
The Duke of Osmania, Norbert Kris, fell to the ground, gripping his sword. A demon stood before him, with rocky fists and eyes that shone yellow. He ground his teeth, finding the courage to stand up once more, putting his other hand in the front and running towards the demon, slicing through its abdomen, with a painful wail following suit.
Norbert closed one eye, and the creature turned, smashing at the ground and sending a shockwave that tripped him, launching him onto the rocky terrain of the nearby Mount Aria.
He fearfully yelled out, pressing his stomach, as it bled profusely. His eyes widened as the demon picked up speed, regenerating its new wound and sprinting towards the Duke. Norbert turned, grinding his teeth, then closing his eyes.
Out of the blue, however, something flew from behind a burning hill and gnawed at the creature's stomach. A boomerang soared back into their hand, and eyes now met Norbert.
"O-Oliver," Norbert muttered, with one leg heavier than the other.
An almost deathly landscape was revealed before the Duke. Staring up, he found the sea of dark clouds, weighing heavily against the crimson backdrop. Rocks collided with each other, and fortifications crashed against the massive fists of those fiery demons, meeting in the middle, where swords and spears were stuck into the ground, rising above the nearby Asno Hill.
Most importantly, though, the only light that shone was on the demon's side. The strongest seemed to cast such illuminations as if directing newer attacks to an obeying army. A green, turtle-like creature ran somewhere back and forth, while a bigger one sliced through other paladians with its sword.
...and at the end of the line, there he was, in all his misfortune and glory. The strongest demon. That's what caused Norbert to run away, before eventually focusing on the tributal before him.
The other man, Oliver, coughed out before dropping onto the ground. A quick huff turned into a hopeful gaze as the two sat against a dark rock.
"You know you can't kill a demon, Duke," Oliver smiled. "Leave that stuff to people like us."
"I'm just trying to..." Norbert's entire body twitched. "...fight." he glanced down, his black locks falling onto pieces of his broken armour. "To help everyone."
"You can't win this battle, Norbert," they put their hand on Norbert's stomach. "You'll win the war."
Streaks of light appeared, lingering from Oliver's fingertips. A wound across the Duke's stomach slowly evaporated, as blood returned to gather enough courage.
"W-What are you doing, Oliver? Heal yourself!" Norbert tried reaching for his ginger hair. "Don't waste Tributal magic on someone like me!"
"Waste? What are you talking about, Norbert?"
Fires spread, and people let out vigorous yells, which hushed the terrifying screams of the demons. The once-green grass turned to nothingness. It wasn't the same colour that would remind paladians of their refuge.
"There's a reason you're called Duke." He turned their blue eyes to the Duke's face.
"It's heritage, nothing else. All the Kris' were weak cowards, and I'm only alike," he uttered. "But Demonears like you are our only hope for the future."
"Your blood is hope, Norbert." Oliver continued. "Hope for a better tomorrow without those f-filthy creatures. Hope for a time when Errarion can become a peaceful land once more," He huffed. "To win, you need to stay alive. Paladians will stay in a desperate shadow without a leader to follow."
The Duke covered his face, breathing out. "What am I supposed to do then? I can't kill them."
"Run," Oliver said, closing both of his eyes.
"Run...?"
"Through the passages of the Whiteburn and Orange Mountains, and into the caves of Cirim. If you find your way through the quiet darkness, you'll see it." Oliver smiled. "A purple land of hope, where you could stare at the vivid night sky for hours. The land where snow feels like warmth. Not one you'd find near a fireplace, but something that would remind one of home."
"You're from Shimori?"
"In me runs Morian blood. It's not fighting against the other will, more like... dancing in harmony, edging to return. I can't see home anymore, but maybe you will." Oliver squeezed Norbert's palm tightly. "So, don't let that hope die, Norbert. Humanity will stand ground and defeat Shi Hon. Lead them to it, but for now, run."
Norbert gulped.
"As far as your legs can carry you," he breathed out, with a reassuring smile, and Norbert soon stood up. "For me."
A wind picked up from behind, flying through the Duke's hair, before their eyes froze, eventually sealing tight.
Norbert turned to the Whiteburn Mountains, and just as Oliver said...
...he started running.
He didn't have time to worry about demons. It seemed as if something was forcing him to move. Despite his wounds and the woes of the past, he kept running.
He spotted the people of Hakh-Nivena, defending their houses etched into the Orange Mountains extending before his eyes. He stepped on dark green grass and bounced off the watery puddles that formed around the watery region of Malikan, seeing the snowy tops of the mountains, reaching into the sky.
He breathed out, putting his hand on the rocky entrance of the passage, and to the distant peaks of Exeter, now engulfed in a purple flame.
It was so far away, but could be seen so clearly in the depths of the night.
Norbert ground his teeth. He had to keep running, and eventually ventured into the dim caves, occasionally lit up with blue crystals or ores. He moved past a water, reflecting his scarred face, and made it down into the depths of Cirim, running through its tight corridors, squeezing through the narrow entrances and seldom falling onto the beige ground below.
The rocks shifted in hue. From a deep, dark grey to a subtle brown, maybe even red at times. The heat from Lignoria and Malikan turned into this subtle coldness, eventually into an almost freezing wind. The Duke climbed towards the surface, seeing the light shining through the gaps in the adjacent walls.
His eyes met a blinding white.
Norbert extended his arm, and the falling snow graced his hairy, thick fingers. He breathed in, feeling the cold air surrounding his body. He gazed at the many coniferous trees, covered in the silvers, standing against a hilly backdrop.
In his blurry vision, he saw a golden light shining in the distance.
His body, however, lacked the energy to stand.
***
The Duke woke up in a cotton bed, under silky-smooth and thick sheets, wearing clothes he didn't recognise: a white button-up and long brown pants tied with a delicate rope. He put his bare feet onto the wooden patterns on the floor, feeling the warmth that spread across his body.
His hand landed on his aching arm, before his eyes darted towards the red door. Getting up, he turned the long doorknob, which revealed things he had only heard thousands of stories of.
People strolled around what resembled a small village, but one would correctly guess that a word encompassing something so small couldn't house as many people. Mentioning such, its houses were either made out of a dark brown wood of the massive junipers or were parts of the trees, all with the same colourful doors, in different shapes.
Chimneys pumped some smoke, and Norbert stepped onto the snow, once again, reminding himself of the frost.
Some stared at him, while others minded their business. The others drank from wooden cups, prayed, brushed through the hair of the animals in nearby pens, enjoyed a meal, chatted, and some played in the snow or tended to the trees.
A man with short white hair and a white cloak picked something up from the ground and turned to Norbert, with a small smile.
"It looks like you finally woke up, Duke," he spoke, in a rather strange accent, but still in the common tongue of Manjuno. "Metho seed? It's quite salty, though, nutritious."
"W-Where am I?" Norbert asked, holding the seed that the man put in his palm.
"A town called Mistwick, in the country of Shimori. I was to join the battle myself, but it turned out the tides shifted ever since." he shook his head. "A bird flew by, surprisingly, singing songs of everything that happened. Great losses and the disappearance of Lignoria's Duke. Then, there you were."
"I-Is the war over?" Norbert continued, gulping, and the man shook his head. "How much time has passed?"
"It's only been a few days," he replied. "...and no, it's not."
Norbert ground his teeth before swiftly moving back.
He landed on the bed again, taking a heavy breath, putting his hands on his head, and shuffling through his hair. The old man kept careful watch.
"You should've gone back there, then!" The Duke raised his voice. "Fought for the others, when all I did was run." his eyes shrank as he was about to signal something with his hands, but quickly gave up, hiding them in his pockets. "For what, then, Oliver...?"
"I'm not a person who leaves others in need. Nor do morians, if you're so curious," the man spoke, walking inside. "Seems you're prone to quick judgment."
The Duke slowly raised his head. "What's going on out there?"
"The demons have retreated for now, though, I can assure you, that couldn't have been their last strike. Moreso, we've lost thousands of lives. The last thing any human would want is to lose another."
The man perched himself next to Norbert, sighing. He turned to face his eyes, though Norbert wasn't as strong to stare.
The words reminded him of none other than Oliver.
"All of this," The Duke gulped, "How long has it been here?"
"Ever since the end of the first war. That's when Shimori came to be."
Another bed found itself nestled between a few ladders, with its mattress almost pressing against the ceiling. Other morians stared through the window, curiously. When Norbert's gaze met theirs, they quickly ran away.
"Have you ever seen a morian?"
"Only a few." Norbert shook his head. "With a great one in mind."
"What was his name?
"I can't recall..." Norbert lied through his teeth. "H-He turned all of our bravest warriors into Demonears."
The older morian laughed. "It's strange that we never met on the battlefields."
People of Osmania, especially royalty, considered the snowy country a strange topic of discussion. After the first war, erans and tributals fled from Asmaroth and passed through Mount Aria, finding themselves in the barren, purple land, never marked on the few maps of back then, drawn by the paladian allies of the royalty, Niko and Camilia Baron.
Over the next two hundred years, civilisations were built, and the offspring of the people joined in with the common, small creatures, now becoming a race known as morians.
They were rarely involved with Errarion's problems, needs or wants. They rejected trade routes and lived calm, unregistered lives in the snowy mountains, forests and lakes, which bloomed violet in Herbes.
Paladians were primarily interested in the country of Asno, which at the time, presented great opportunities. It was there that one sprang among the rest, though the country itself remained properly quiet, until there was need for its existence.
...and as the Duke's wounds healed, he left the town of Mistwick with the right support and men to wage the war. Within the next season, it ended. Despite the Duke being incredibly busy, he prioritised something else. With his vow, Shimori became a part of Mainland Errarion, and its towns were roughly sketched onto the maps, next to a question mark, looming above the east.
On the 22nd of Dear, 206 A.F.W., seven days after the Second War had been declared as finished, Shimori became open to the world. When the light disappeared from other places, it shone elsewhere and soon became one of the four main legions of power, humanity, and, once again, hope.
The end of the Second War wasn't the only time when morians proved themselves as heroes, however.
There will come a time when the smallest, most insignificant of things, at first glance, foretold by tales, will prove to change the course of this entire world.