The world remembered the war.
But it did not remember the truth.
In the great academies,
teachers spoke of the ancient times with reverence and certainty.
"Long ago, the world was nearly devoured by darkness.
A Demon King rose from the Abyss —
seeking to erase all light, all hope, all life.
His name was Asura.
The Prince of Ruin.
The King of Shadows."
Children sat wide-eyed,
listening to the stories.
Tales of villages burned by black fire.
Tales of rivers running with ash.
Tales of skies ripped apart by his monstrous wings.
"But then…
A hero rose.
A girl crowned in light.
Arin Veyla.
The First Savior.
The Slayer of Darkness."
The teachers would speak with fire in their voices.
The paintings would show Arin glowing,
standing triumphant over a crumbling, monstrous Asura.
In marketplaces, performers acted out the legend:
Arin, brave and pure, leading armies of light.
Asura, twisted and hateful, unleashing storms of shadow.
The final battle — light versus darkness — ending with Asura's death and Arin's coronation.
Children cheered.
Merchants sold wooden swords and tiny white cloaks.
Minstrels sang songs of the "Glorious Victory."
And the truth?
The truth was lost.
Buried.
Forgotten.
Twisted into something easier to swallow.
No one remembered the boy who gave up everything.
No one remembered the king who sacrificed himself for a world that hated him.
No one remembered that the hero and the villain were not enemies.
They were once two broken souls trying to save the same world —
in different ways.
Except for a few.
Old historians, hidden in dusty corners of forgotten libraries,
whispered to each other late at night:
"The Abyss King…
Was he truly evil?
Or was he a broken boy abandoned by the very world he tried to save?"
But those voices were few.
And fading.
The world had chosen its story.
Heroes of light.
Demons of abyss.
Simple.
Clean.
Comfortable.
And under the grand spires of Solaria,
a golden plaque read:
"In eternal honor of Arin Veyla, Savior of the World.
May the Abyss never rise again."
People bowed before it.
Offered flowers.
Whispered prayers.
But far beneath the stone and gold…
a heartbeat pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Faint.
Patient.
Because lies may build empires.
But truth?
Truth never stays buried forever.
And something in the dark was beginning to wake.