Veilmaj— a land that has exhaled hatred since its birth and has known nothing but oblivion.
The sky was as gray as the eyelids of the dead, and the clouds gathered like corpses yet to be buried. On the northern fringes of the Darval continent, where the remnants of kingdoms lie scattered like shattered bones, the only sound was the roaring wind, moving through ruined towers and whispering the names of those who fell centuries ago.
Here, night does not simply fall as elsewhere—it crawls… gnawing at the edges of day until it completely devours it. In the heart of that night, between two rocky mountains simmering above a volatile volcano, stood Craven Fortress—the stronghold of the Nameless.
Inside, the ritual had already begun.
Black candles, crafted from the wax of skulls, were arranged in a circle around a stone platform. The walls were inscribed with symbols carved by human nails, and the ceiling dripped blood slowly, as if crying in blind agony.
At the center, a one-eyed monk sat in tattered robes, his voice a muffled murmur:
> "Ancient Covenant… you who have been banished to the mirror… return your voice to us, send us our cursed progeny."
Then silence. A faint sound arose from beneath the earth… as if bones were breathing. It was followed by a whisper—not a voice, but a sensation… as if all the world's shadows were converging on one point.
Then… he appeared.
Not through the door, but from the wall emerged Argus.
A man in his late twenties, tall yet gaunt, as if his body carried nothing but the muscles for battle. His hair, black with a hint of silver, seemed as if its very color had been drained. His eyes, the hue of ancient blood, did not merely see… they commanded.
He walked slowly, each step creaking as if the earth groaned under his weight. On his back, a sword draped in dark cloth revealed only a metallic hilt studded with a glassy eye that flickered intermittently.
He spoke not a word.
He stood before the monk, who then asked in a voice blending dread with devotion:
> "Is it you? The Copier… Son of the Mirror?"
Argus did not reply; instead, he calmly raised his hand and opened his palm. There, a small shard of mirror emerged, embedded in his skin and pulsating like a beating heart. In an instant, incomprehensible visions were reflected upon its surface… swords, flames, screams.
Then, at last, he spoke—his voice hoarse, as if his throat were forged from ash:
> "He who seeks power without knowing its cost… must pay it upfront."
Before he could finish, a harsh scraping sound split the air. A side corridor swung open, and from it charged a man clad in armor made of charred bones, wielding a spear whose tip was twisted like a demon's fang.
The monk cried out:
> "No! It's the Shadow Hunter! We have found him!"
Argus remained unmoving. He observed the oncoming attacker, his eyes reflecting the glow of the burning spear. In the moment the assailant drew near, Argus fully opened his eyes…and fixed his gaze directly upon his foe's.
A moment of silence exploded.
Then… everything changed.
Argus blinked once, and a gray aura burst around him, swirling like smoke coalescing into a sword. He raised his hand, and a near-perfect duplicate of his enemy's spear materialized in his grasp—yet it was no ordinary weapon… it was "Dark," more twisted, screaming with every movement.
One thrust, and the silence shattered.
The hunter fell to the ground, gasping for breath, staring at Argus in astonishment… yet Argus writhed in pain.
He knelt, pressing his hand against his chest where a new shard had embedded itself in his skin. He pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not cry out as blood trickled from his ear.
> "A replicated skill, yet its price… a curse that grinds the heart," he muttered to himself.
The trembling monk stepped closer:
> "Lord of Shadows… what shall we do? The shadows stir… and the light readies its army…"
Argus looked at him, then lifted his gaze toward the sky, where the moon began to vanish behind a black cloud like a dead eye.
He said quietly:
> "We will burn them all. The light, the shadows, and even their creators."
The
n he walked away… leaving behind a trail of blood, ashes, and a shattered mirror.