666 years after the fall of Vael'Tharon
The world did not find peace after the death of Vael'Tharon. On the contrary—chaos spread even faster in his absence.
Though the people rejoiced when the dark lord was defeated, that joy was short-lived. The victory had come at too high a cost. Four of the five legendary heroes perished on the battlefield. The sole survivor vanished without a trace, as if swallowed by the world itself. This mysterious disappearance left the people uneasy. There was no one left to protect the balance.
Without a unifying enemy, the kingdoms began to see each other as rivals once more. The fragile alliance between nations, built on fear and necessity, collapsed. Rulers began whispering of borders, gold, and power. The world, now rid of its greatest evil, turned upon itself like a pack of starving wolves.
And Vael'Tharon's army? The great Black Legion that had once darkened the horizon?
It splintered.
His generals either died in the final battle or were hunted down by bounty-seekers. Those who survived scattered into forests, deserts, ruins—wherever shadows could still offer shelter. The infamous black banners were burned in public squares. Statues were toppled. Entire libraries of dark lore were set to flame.
But Vael'Tharon's memory lived on. Mothers still warned their children to behave, lest the Shadow Lord return. Secret cults gathered in whispers, praying for a sign. And in the dreams of seers… a name returned again and again.
Not spoken. But felt.
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"On the 3rd day of the 12th moon, in the 7th hour of the Darkening Time… a cry pierced the veil."
Few noticed.
An old farmer in the north heard thunder on a clear sky. A caravan lost all their horses to panic at that exact moment. A blind woman, praying to the stars, suddenly wept without knowing why.
In the capital city of Tharion, seven bells rang at once—though no one had touched the ropes.
And in a small, quiet home… a child was born.
A boy.
His eyes were like clouds before a storm. His heartbeat echoed in a strange rhythm, pulsing as though it remembered another time. His family thought he was just special.
They did not know...
…that this boy had once commanded an army of darkness.
…that this soul had burned cities, torn apart kings, defied gods.
…that he had spoken a forbidden spell in his final breath, binding his essence to the cycle of time.
And now he had returned.
Not with power. Not with memory.
But with something far more dangerous:
A second chance.