Long before legends were written and kingdoms turned to ash, there was a king whose power shook the skies.
Velric, ruler of the mighty Azoroth Empire, was a man whose strength could rival myth. Some whispered he was no mere man, but a god cloaked in flesh—his power unwielded, untested, unmatched.
He conquered continents not for glory, but for unity. Peace under one banner. Yet even the strongest falter not in battle—but in love.
In the heart of his reign, he vanished. Some say he met her in the lands beyond the frozen valleys—a woman in a black robe, eyes like sapphire storms. She was called Amela, the Witch of Darkness.
Velric, who had never known lust nor longing, was drawn to her. She deceived him at first, perhaps for her own purposes—but something changed. Love, or something close to it, bloomed between them.
A child was born of their union. A child they swore to protect.
But fate is cruel.
While Velric journeyed to find a mythical herb to heal Amela's illness, soldiers came—bearing the crest of the royal army. They took the child. Called it liberation. Said it was for the empire.
Amela, frail and dying, could only cry.
She wept until a small vial rolled to her feet—a gift from an ancient elf, long forgotten. It contained black blood: the last essence of the Elder Elf Tree, a power unseen for a thousand years. It was said to awaken a force beyond imagination.
In her rage, Amela drank it.
Her eyes turned green. Her hair became white as ash. In a flash of otherworldly energy, she ascended into the skies above Azoroth and unleashed a curse in a language older than gods.
No one understood the words.
But all felt their weight.
Plague. Madness. War. Azoroth, the world's mightiest empire, began to rot from within.
Velric returned too late. His child gone. His queen dead. His most trusted friend betrayed him—using ancient trap-magic to seal him in a realm outside time.
The betrayer seized the throne… but his rule was short-lived. The curse took him, too.
And so the age of Velric ended. Azoroth shattered.
And somewhere, hidden beneath the weight of time and legend…
A child cried in a temple.
---
He was found swaddled in black cloth, an eerie seal burned into his back. The monks named him Suzuki Koyota. He was born with the 10th Crest—the Crest of the Protector. A cursed mark. A symbol of stillness. Of sterility. No bearer of the 10th Crest had ever risen to greatness.
Some even called it the Crest of Infertility.
But this boy was… different.
The old man who raised him spoke in riddles and ancient songs. He whispered tales of a world where magic was only theory, but will shaped fate. A world not unlike Suzuki's own. A world that no longer existed.
It took Suzuki five years just to stand on his own—but he never stopped trying. Never gave up. As he grew, the seal on his back began to hum faintly. Monks swore it pulsed like a heartbeat. And those who dared stare into it… claimed they heard voices.
The boy did not know his past.
But the world had not forgotten.
Far away, in the ruins of Azoroth, war drums stir once more. And shadows gather in silence.
A weapon, long thought lost—the one that never fell from the warrior who stood smiling, even in death—has begun to call.
And somewhere, deep within Suzuki's soul…
Something begins to awaken.