I'm at peace…
But why is it so dark?
I can't see or feel anything.
Did I finally die—killed by those bastards?
The last thing I remember is being exposed and tortured… for being the illegitimate son of the king.
As I drift in this endless void, memories swirl around me—fragmented, distant, like they belong to someone else. I remember the shame. The betrayal. The moment the truth came out.
The king's bastard. That's what they called me.
But how did I end up here?
I try to move, but my limbs are heavy—unresponsive. Panic rises in my chest. Am I still alive? Is this a trap? A punishment? Did the king and his council finally decide to get rid of me?
A faint glow begins to seep through the darkness, outlining the damp, uneven contours of a stone floor. I try to lift my head, but a sharp pain spikes through my skull. Groaning, I collapse back down.
"Well… I'm still alive. But how? And… why are all my wounds gone?" I mutter.
As the light strengthens, I realize I'm in a small cave. The air is thick with the stench of mold and decay. I force myself up, using the wall for balance. My head spins. My stomach growls.
What happened to me?
How long have I been here?
And why do I feel like I'm being watched?
I stumble outside, blinking into the pale brightness. Moonlight floods the landscape, forcing me to shield my eyes.
Towering trees, with trunks as wide as houses, stretch high into the sky. Gnarled branches twist like ancient fingers. The forest hums with life—leaves rustling, insects buzzing, and somewhere in the distance, the low thunder of a waterfall.
I inhale deeply. The air is rich with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. The beauty of it all is staggering—yet completely unfamiliar.
I follow the sound of water. It grows louder with each step. Mist thickens around me. The forest seems to lean in, pressing closer, until finally I glimpse it:
A waterfall—cascading down a rocky cliff into a pool of crystal-clear water. Mist veils the scene. Cool droplets pepper my skin, sharpening my senses.
I kneel by the edge and touch the water. It's clean. I cup my hands and drink greedily, then dunk my head beneath the surface, letting it revive me.
I rise, more alert now, scanning my surroundings.
Then—voices.
Distant. Unfamiliar. I spot a figure behind a tree. The clouds obscure the moonlight, but I feel a chill as the figure steps closer.
"Who's there?" I call, trying to steady my voice.
He emerges—a tall man, nearly seven feet, his body covered in old scars. Three long claw marks rake across his face.
He speaks:
"###$$#$$$$###**"
I freeze. My heart pounds.
Who is he? What language is that? What does he want?
Before I can move, four others step out from the shadows behind me. They're tall and muscular, wearing leaves around their waists, holding bone-tipped spears.
The scarred man keeps talking.
I try to flee, but my body is still weak. They close in.
Spear tips press against my throat.
The largest steps forward. His breath reeks. His eyes gleam with hunger.
He growls:
"#$$$$$#; You'll make a fine meal."
The others nod, grinning.
They seize me. I thrash, kick, fight back.
One drives his spear shaft into my gut. Another backhands me across the face. I spit blood and lunge again—
—but something heavy slams into the back of my skull.
Darkness again.
But now it's bright.
Am I dead? Is this Valhalla?
I always imagined Valhalla as loud—warriors feasting with the gods, shouting, laughing. But this place is silent. Blinding.
Then I hear it.
Laughter.
A voice:
"Hahaha… No, my son. This is not Valhalla. I don't have much time, so listen carefully. You are no longer in the land of Sparta. Sparta was destroyed—along with the king, your father. You are the last of the S. Sparta bloodline… my son, Demos S. Sparta."
"Who are you? Where am I? What is this place? Why is Sparta destroyed?!" Demos asks, panic creeping in.
The voice answers:
"I am your mother. As for your other questions… I cannot answer them. Not yet. You are too weak."
"My mother died giving birth to me," Demos mutters. "And that man… that king… he gave me nothing. Just a name—to hide the truth until the council discovered it. Is that why I'm here?"
The voice softens:
"Yes, I am your mother, Demos. And no—this is not your homeland."
Panic twists in his gut again.
How did I get here? Why am I in this place?
Is this voice even real?
The voice returns, firmer now:
"As I said, this is not Valhalla. You're in a different world now—and the Spartans, all of them, are in danger here. You must find them. Unite them. When you do, I'll reveal the truth of Sparta's fall."
"My people… in this world?" Demos whispers. "How am I supposed to find them if I don't even know where I am?"
"That's not important right now. I'm giving you something— to help you grow stronger and complete tasks. I'll contact you through it, but you won't be able to contact me. Not yet."
"What I this something?"
"A System. It will guide you. It will help you survive. And when the time comes, you will return—not as a lost son, but as the new King of Sparta. You will build a nation. Strong. United. You will lead them all. Prepare yourself, Demos. And remember… call me Mother."
"Why should I?" he snaps. "I don't even know if this is real. How do I know you're not lying?"
The voice chuckles—warm, amused, almost tender.
"Ah, my stubborn son. In time, you'll understand. But before you go… this is my gift to you."
"Wait—what are you doing?!" Demos shouts.
A radiant figure begins to form. Glowing. Ethereal. A woman—motherly, powerful, kind.
She steps forward and gently presses a kiss to Demos's forehead.
The moment her lips touch him—
His body jolts.
And he wakes.