The peace did not shatter all at once.
It cracked.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like ice breaking under invisible pressure.
At first, it was only whispers.
Old priests muttering that the Seer's words must be a test from the gods.
Merchants exchanging nervous rumors behind locked doors.
Scholars digging into forbidden texts they had once laughed at.
Then the dreams began.
Children woke screaming of black wings blotting out the sky.
Farmers claimed to see rivers run dark at midnight.
Fishermen spoke of shadows moving beneath the still waters.
The world did not fall into chaos immediately.
It fell into fear.
And fear, old and bitter,
grew faster than any weed.
The House of Veyla — descendants of Arin — tried to calm the people.
Queen Lyra spoke from the golden balconies:
"There is no darkness rising.
There is no abyss returning.
We are safe.
We are strong.
We will endure."
The crowds cheered.
The songs returned.
The festivals resumed.
But the cheering was thin.
The songs were hollow.
The festivals were shadows of their former glory.
Because the words of the Seer echoed in every heart:
"The Abyss still breathes.
The Prince will rise.
The world will bleed again."
Fear turned neighbor against neighbor.
Parents stared at their children with suspicion.
Old wounds, once buried under centuries of peace, festered and reopened.
The cracks widened.
Militias formed in distant villages.
Secret councils whispered in the woods.
Spies were sent across kingdoms.
Old war machines were reforged under moonless skies.
And worse…
Children born with unusual powers — strange magic, unfamiliar strength —
were eyed with dread.
"What if the Prince is among them?"
"What if one of them is the Abyss reborn?"
In the grand cities, whispers began:
"We must be ready.
We must prepare.
We must find the darkness before it finds us."
And in the hidden corners of the world…
plans were made.
Blueprints drawn.
A grand idea was born.
A place.
A fortress.
A school.
An Academy.
A place where the strongest could be trained to hunt the darkness.
To protect the world.
To fight the inevitable war.
They called it:
The Academy of Heroes.
A shining beacon, they said.
A shield against the returning night.
A way to ensure that what happened 500 years ago would never happen again.
But what they did not know…
what they refused to remember…
was that sometimes the greatest monsters
are born not in darkness —
but in fear.
And as the first stone of the Academy was laid…
the earth trembled.
Far beneath.
Far below.
In places where no light had touched for centuries.
Because when you build a cage for monsters…
sometimes you create the very thing you fear.
The cracks were no longer invisible.
They were spreading.
They were yawning.
They were swallowing the dream Arin died to build.
And the world…
was too blind to see it.