Sceadu Gestréon Ungemynd was once called Ledin, but that was not his name, such a name had never existed.
At that time, there were five continents, and the One was merely a child sold by parents he never knew.
There were cities, but life was restless, so numerous were the robberies, and of so many races, many now extinct, that the safest course was to organize travel parties and migrate from land to land, season to season.
Many were the children bought from poor families, and Ledin, upon seeing new parents selling their offspring, despised them.
Slavery was accepted as natural, and the slave slept with his masters.
Violence knew no limits, and cruelty toward one's neighbor was so everyday that in those early years of life, Ledin buried six others like him, or even younger.
The monstrosities that roamed the forests had no names, and wars were so many, in languages forgotten after massacres, that fields of carnage were common.
Ledin hated everyone, those of his race and others. Slaves like him and the free.
Above all, he hated the burials.
He dug until his hands bled, and buried without any feeling.
Ledin never wept once in his entire life. He did not believe it was possible to feel anything beyond hatred and murderous instinct.
When he saw the Demon King dead, and Æthelflæd fell to her knees beside the body, in such true weeping that even he felt her sorrow, killing her was his only option.
How can anyone love another?
It is not fair that some feel this while others are abandoned to death, buried in shallow graves.
These memories were millennia old, and they returned to the One's mind as he rose into the clouds, watching the eruptions unify the continents.
Five became two, and now two became one.
In the chaos, armies and monstrosities fought. The Level 20 beings clashed over territory.
Fear guided the hearts of mortals, just as when Sceadu Gestréon Ungemynd was Ledin, and there was no hope for anyone.
This was his perfect world, the reason for his struggle, his vengeance against all who had remained silent.
And he, who had the power of a God, decided to rest, only noticing Vulcana's presence when she reached him and failed to strike him with the fire sword, for Leofwynn no longer had any Aura left.
Fury drove her there. Godwyna and Cwenburg were far away, and failed to keep her safe.
And Leofwynn would have died, had it not been for the beginning of what would become known as the Last Fall of Arms.
The Vulcan army created thousands of overlapping fire dimensions directly above Sceadu Gestréon Ungemynd, but it was not enough.
The lives around him served for the One to regenerate his body, drawn by the gravity of the flames, and with a single punch he united the realities, causing, for miles, magma and lava to rain down upon the planet.
The dimensions collapsed.
And the Vulcans were killed one by one, and though they fought bravely, none of them was Level 20, and all were cut down.
From all races came heroes and heroines, and all fell.
The armies were useless, and when the One saw that no enemy remained even remotely close to the vastness of his Aura, he moved, no one knew where, or why.
And peace ceased to exist, for the survivors of the Continent of Monsters were quick to seek the command positions of the world.
Godwyna, Leofwynn, and Cwenburg could do nothing but watch that being drift away toward the skies.
— What do we do now? — the Serpentarium called the attention of the two above him.
He flew, but did not know where to go, he wove between the trees, hidden, until he stopped before a leafless cherry tree.
Snow was slowly returning, along with the ashes of the plundered kingdoms.
— We have to bury her. We can't leave Æthelflæd lying there like that. — Cwenburg reflected, not looking at the Vulcana.
Even without eye contact, fiery tears dripped onto Godwyna, who stepped back and threw the two to the ground.
— Listen. The best thing is to hide. After we understand the situation, we return to Cwenburg's land, or we go to the Vulcans.
— We have to find Edas. — Cwenburg pleaded, even though she knew Godwyna's plan was the ideal one.
— Let's go at once, and no crying on me!
Leofwynn laughed at Godwyna's words, who changed her mind only upon seeing the sadness on Cwenburg's face.
They shared the same soul, after all.
And they returned to the Demon King's Castle before nightfall, careful to avoid nomads and suspicious Auras.
The sight of the partially destroyed Black Castle prompted the two lolis to embrace, and they entered through the front door and found Edas.
— Cwenburg, my love! — she hugged him, and Hærdas and Cynethryth appeared with tools.
They had spent the last hours digging, in the entrance hall, the graves of the Demon King and Æthelflæd, and both lay buried.
The somber mood weighed heavily.
They intended to make plans, but something caught their attention, two Auras again. One was quickly understood and calmed them, it was Ǣg-berend. However, there was something strange about the other, familial and distant, nostalgic.
They all went out, and the trotting Centaura came face to face with the Maid, the Cook, Godwyna, Cwenburg, Edas, and Leofwynn. She wished the Human would leave the ruined castle, and she slowed her body.
Above her, casting a colossal shadow, the Golden Dragon, Yenno, flew with a hundred meters from tail to tongue, landing gloriously with wings spread before the Black Castle.
Yenno noticed before Ǣg-berend.
The Centaura could not control herself, dropping to her knees on her four hind legs. Something in her still sought hope:
— Æthelflæd?
— No. — Leofwynn swallowed hard, unable to speak, and the others' funereal silence was the Centaura's answer.