It was written in the chronicles of the days preceding the universe's end—specifically in the prophecy heralded by the third and final Prophet, Yuzrein. As the last messenger of the Almighty Ailon before the Era of the Three successors, he foretold that the final king of the planet Yuardun would attain immortality in the afterlife
and rise as one of the greatest rulers in life, becoming the most honorable and just soul to ever walk the earth.
Since that revelation, many have sought to fulfill—or more often, to thwart—this prophecy. In the beginning, the wicked strove by every means to prevent its coming. Yet, as centuries bled into one another, doubt began to erode their resolve, and their attempts grew few. Kingdoms rose and fell like tides. This world is woven from an energy known as the Unified Power, the very foundation of existence for all priestesses—with a few exceptions, such as the Kalantarians, who are born with the essence of Mana, a power that continues to baffle scholars regarding its true origin.
As the years pass, the poor and the oppressed wait for the arrival of the Promised One. But how long must they endure in the shadow of expectation? How long until the rise of Avalon?
In the blessed continent of Yuzrayn, within the Land of the Three Rivers, the year was 2085 of the Genesis Calendar. It was the final day of Taigra, the first month. Those were harsh days, for Al-Jassas bin Taghlib Al-Rabii had committed the ultimate sacrilege: the murder of his mother, Empress Themia. In her place, he crowned his mistress, Lamia bint Yazdan Al-Khair, as Empress by his side. To secure his throne, Al-Jassas slaughtered over four hundred officials—commanders, priests, and strategists alike.
Saturday: The Day of Tuwathi
On the outskirts of the noble province of Tal Afara, a fierce wind howled. Inside the temple dedicated to the Almighty Ailon, the one-eyed Ya'quq, warden of the Sacred Bells, rose from his slumber. As he struck the bells, their holy resonance battered his ears, weakening his hearing further despite years of habit. He had tried stuffing his ears to dull the pain, but to no avail; he was fated to suffer this penance.
Three hours past their rest, the priestesses arose. Clutching their cleaning tools, they began to scrub the temple floors, chanting in rhythmic devotion:
"Oh great god of all… without thy aid we shall fall. Oh great god of all… oh mighty Ailon protect us all. Without thy aid we shall fall.
Oh creator of all… with thy blessings we thrive innumerably… without thy aid we could fall… Protect the sisters and daughters of us all, oh great god of all. Thy mercy thus needed… without thy aid we would fall."
As they prayed with sincere hearts, a biting wind swept through. The priestesses shivered, for they were not like the Kalantarians—the "Walkers from the Radiant Lights." Most were humans or Matrites, the people of the Second Guardian.
Suddenly, the rhythmic click-clack of boots echoed through the hall. The newer priestesses stared in awe and fear at the man who approached. His skin was a celestial azure, and his eyes were mismatched: the right was the color of weathered wood, while the left was white as driven snow. His nose bore a grievous wound that exposed the raw flesh, and he walked with a limp in his right leg. Scars mapped his chest and arms, yet he carried the name of the Third Prophet upon his shoulders like an immovable mountain.
His suspicious gaze fell upon a new human priestess. This girl, fair of face, harbored a dangerous secret. She had told the others she was a foreigner named Catherine from the pious soulblade family, and the elder Zuleikhtia had not yet verified her claim.
Catherine, seventeen years of age, approached the Matrite elder with reverence. "Grand Sister," she whispered, "who is this man? To which of the Six Peoples does he belong?"
Zuleikhtia hesitated, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Come with me," she replied softly. "To a place more suited for such words. Come, my daughter, to the Pure Sanctuary. We shall pray, and after that, every event shall have its tale."
In the freezing air of the sanctuary, they knelt. As Zuleikhtia recited the Grand Psalms revealed to the priest Yuzrein, the silence was shattered by a scream. Catherine had gone into labor.
Panic seized Zuleikhtia. If blood was shed here, the temple's sanctity and the province's reputation would be ruined. A heavy pounding came at the door. "Who is it?" Zuleikhtia cried, her voice trembling. "Give me moments to open!"
She turned to assist Catherine. As the child was brought into the world, Zuleikhtia felt a powerful entity within her straining to break free. She gathered the Unified Power in her soul and suppressed it. Catherine gasped one final time, and the pages of her life were folded shut, just as her own mother's had been. Fate is a cruel ironist; Catherine may have lived as a sinner in religious robes, but the Almighty Ailon had decreed glory for her newborn before his ancestors were even born.
Zuleikhtia opened the door, her heart racing like lightning. Standing there was the lame Kalantarian himself: The Venerable Yuzrein.
He walked toward Catherine's corpse, his eyes clinical. Yuzrein was an expert in medicine; his father had been the imperial physician to Emperor Marcus, father of the murdered Empress Themia. Yuzrein discovered a dark truth behind her death.
"We must dispose of this bastard," Zuleikhtia hissed, consumed by fear. "Before our province's name—or worse, our country's—is tarnished."
Yuzrein laughed bitterly. "The reputation of the Land of the Three Rivers was tarnished the moment Al-Jassas murdered the Empress."
Days passed. Zuleikhtia felt the seal restraining the entity Lillibeth weakening every time she approached the infant to feed him. Yuzrein named the boy Erixos Maximilian, after the ancient emperors of Rainlera. His existence remained a perilous secret until the day the world shifted.
A man in military regalia arrived at the temple. He addressed Sister Irene with the poise of a refined commander. "I am Yan Jiang."
Irene noted his Silk Road features and wondered if he was an agent of Al-Jassas or perhaps a Durmluk shapeshifter. "What are your intentions?" she asked.
Suddenly, time froze. Everything stopped—even Irene ecxpet for Yan Jiang. He touched Irene's forehead with a finger. "You will let me enter," he whispered. As time resumed, he strode through the corridors. "Xuan? Where are you, daughter of the Commander? This is no place for a girl like you."
The Matrite priestesses glared at him with ancient hatred, remembering what the "Mad Emperor" Yan qi had done to their grandmothers during the Incident of the Iron Tears.
Jiang eventually encountered a human priestess who bowed. "The blessings of Ailon be upon you, My Lord. You look for someone?"
"Has a red-haired girl joined you recently?" Jiang asked.
"Six red-haired girls have joined us," she replied. "Can you be more specific?"
Jiang hesitated. Don't forget what that woman did to you here eight years ago, he warned himself. These priestesses are unpredictable. As a headache throbbed in his skull, a voice echoed in his mind: Find me. I am not destined to live here. Find me, and I will find you Xiao Xuan, daughter of Xiao Luo
Far beyond the Temple of Ailon and the "Ocean of Sorrow" lay the three colonies: Western Britania, mostly fallen to Erdenrechia; Vernet the Central colony that's completely conquered under Erdenrechia ; and at the crossroads where Ines de la Cruz stood. She had fled the "Temple of Delusion" in the Pure Erdenrechia Empire, ruled by the GodEmpress Olga.
Ines awaited the missionary Lerior, the "Son of Truth," who had converted her village and turned it into a sanctuary for those who believed in the Three and Three (the Three Prophets and Three successors).
"I have forgotten my old name," Ines whispered. "I am Inés de la Cruz, a believer in Ailon."
A voice called out to her: "believer of Ailon, rise and receive the Son of Truth. Your destiny is tied to Avalon and a throne yet to be made. It awaits you in the Land of the Three Rivers."
When Lerior arrived, he was in a hurry. "Prepare yourself. We go to the Land of the Two Paradises, where freedom awaits."
They sailed from the continent of Liearia to blessed Yuzrayn, unaware of the threads fate was weaving