Twenty-five years ago, the sky above the capital did not reflect hope; it mirrored a shimmering, crystalline death. Amidst the soaring stone spires, a dragon manifested from the void a colossal entity with obsidian-purple scales that reflected the sunlight in an eerie, distorted fashion.
Each beat of its wings unleashed gales that leveled grand pavilions, and its roar vibrated through the foundations of the Great Cathedral until the holy glass shattered. Beneath that titan's shadow, the populace were mere ants scurrying in desperation, trampling the charred remnants of their civilization.
The royal army was deployed, but they were nothing more than sacrificial tinder for the dragon's breath. Then, a youth emerged.
He was an anomaly from the military academy a cadet whose name had not yet been etched into the halls of heroes. Many tried to hold him back, dismissing his intent as a fool's suicide. Yet, fate always has a way of dragging the worthy onto the stage of the world's theater. With a single strike that cleaved through legend itself, the boy brought the dragon down. That day, purple blood soaked the capital's soil, and a new name was consecrated in history: Andreas the Savior.
Twenty-Five Years Later
"Lord Andreas, are you truly certain you do not require an escort to enter the Vermin district?"
Inside a lavish dressing room, a manservant asked with stifled anxiety. He was carefully wrapping a silk handkerchief around his master's wrist, ensuring every detail of the hero's attire was flawless.
Andreas, now a man grown with an intimidating charisma, merely glanced from behind the mirror. His golden-blonde hair and eyes as blue as the deep ocean stared intently at his servant.
"Tell me," Andreas's voice was heavy, resonating with an undeniable authority, "do you believe the man who can pierce the heart of an ancient dragon could be killed by the gutter rats of that district?"
The servant winced, immediately bowing his head until it nearly touched his chest. "A-ah, forgive my insolence, My Lord. My words were incredibly reckless. I have never doubted your strength, not even for a second."
Andreas remained silent for a heartbeat before a light chuckle escaped his chest. He patted his servant's shoulder a gesture that showed that behind his immense power, he remained a man who valued loyalty.
Meanwhile, in a shack on the verge of collapse at the edge of the city, the atmosphere was far from luxurious. Alen and Anna sat around a weathered wooden table, eating a few scraps of bread they had managed to buy with the scrap-metal money they earned yesterday.
"Alen, eat up. There's still some bread left, so don't hesitate, okay?" Anna said softly.
Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the broken windows, illuminating Anna's long white hair until it shimmered with a beautiful silver glow. Alen merely nodded slowly as he chewed. In his mind, the former King Cyrus d'Asgard observed his elder sister. In Cyrus's eyes, Anna was a pure soul someone worthy of respect even from a conqueror of worlds.
"Alen, could you go down to the lower market? Please buy some medicine for Mother," Anna continued, holding out a handful of tarnished copper coins.
"Of course, Sister. I'll be back soon," Alen replied curtly. He took the money and stepped out, leaving the hollow warmth of the house behind.
Not long after the door creaked shut, a weak groan echoed from the adjacent room. Their mother had woken from her fitful sleep.
"Anna... where is your brother?"
Anna immediately turned, approaching her mother with a face full of affection. "Alen is out, Mother. I sent him to get medicine so you can recover quickly."
"I see... that boy is always so reliable," the mother whispered, closing her eyes again as she tried to endure the pain gnawing at her body.
Alen walked through the narrow, damp alleys of the Slums. The view here was a silent tragedy: people in tattered rags leaned against moist walls, their eyes vacant, holding empty bowls in hopes of a miracle.
"This place is sickening," Alen thought coldly. "Do the rulers above truly allow this rot to fester right under their noses?"
He tried to push the thought aside and focus on his task. However, his steps faltered when he saw a crowd gathered at a crossroad. They were cheering, worshipping a man mounted on a magnificent white horse. The man wore armor and luxurious clothing whose value could probably feed this entire district for a year.
"Hmm... who is he? A Baron? No, his aura is more like that of a soldier," Alen hissed internally.
As Alen walked past the crowd without the slightest hint of interest, Andreas from atop his horse turned his head. His sharp eyes caught the figure of a small boy walking away, seemingly indifferent amidst the storm of public adoration.
"That brat... does he really not know who I am?" Andreas wondered, slightly piqued. Though known as a kind and responsible hero, Andreas possessed a narcissistic streak that craved recognition. Seeing someone ignore him felt like a total anomaly.
Alen eventually reached a small apothecary tucked into a corner. The wooden door let out a long creak as he entered.
"Excuse me... is anyone here?"
Alen's calm voice broke the silence of the shop, which smelled of dried herbs and dust. From behind a high counter, an elderly man with a severely hunched back appeared. He adjusted his thick glasses, squinting at Alen with the remnants of his fading vision.
"Ah, child... what is a young thing like you looking for in a quiet place like this?" the old man asked in a raspy but warm voice.
Alen stepped closer, his eyes scanning the rows of old bottles on the shelves. "Do you have medicine for internal ailments? Something that can soothe pain and repair organ damage?"