The night came quietly, cloaked in silver mist. A pale moon hovered above the treetops, watching silently as the village of Ravencroft gathered near the old stone well, where a fire flickered softly and the wind whispered through the leaves.
No one spoke too loudly. Not tonight.
Because tonight… Elder Laruin would speak.
They said he had lived for three centuries, kept alive by magic, secrets, and something even older—something the villagers dared not name. His eyes were clouded, but they had seen the rise and fall of kingdoms. His voice cracked like dry bark, yet carried the weight of truth. And once a year, on a night like this, he shared one story.
Only one.
This time, it was about laviea.
"She was born when the skies still bled fire," Elder Laruin began, his voice deep and slow.
"When gods walked the earth, and peace was a lie.
Her name was laviea, the Witch Queen.
And she was the strongest witch to ever breathe."
The villagers leaned in, even the bravest holding their breath.
laviea had not been born like others. She was shaped by the stars, her first cry echoing through the heavens like thunder. The world was at war—dragons ravaged the skies, beasts howled across shattered cities, and mortals were nothing but prey. Yet amidst it all, she rose—not to conquer, but to protect.
With a voice that could bend storms and magic that flowed like rivers of light, laviea gathered the witches—those cursed, feared, and hunted. She led them through desolate lands, across broken mountains and burning plains. Many fell, but many more followed, drawn to her power, yes—but more to her heart.
At last, they found the Forest.
Dark. Vast. Untamed.
There, laviea created a sanctuary using spells even the gods could not unravel. She poured her soul into the trees, the rivers, and the wind itself. She called forth familiars—creatures of shadow and starlight, each tied to her will—and set them to guard her realm.
She named it Eternal slumber
"But peace, child," Laruin said, turning to Luluca with milky eyes,
"is always envied."
The gods grew afraid.
And so they came—armies of divine flame and steel. laviea stood alone at the edge of border , violet fire burning in her hands, her gaze unwavering. She did not beg. She did not retreat. She fought until her final breath, and in that last breath, her magic exploded—burying everything deep within the forest, lost behind illusions and eternal storms.
She died… but her legacy did not.
The legend says her treasures, powerful enough to end wars or destroy worlds, were hidden deep in the forest. But no one has ever returned from seeking them. The spells guarding them are alive. Her familiars still roam the woods, waiting.
Waiting for one who holds the Great Trait—not raw magic, but unshakable heart. A soul that carries sorrow, bravery, and clarity. That one will unlock the sanctuary. That one will awaken the lost power. And that one will rise when the world faces its final war.
"And she…" Laruin said, now staring into the fire,
"will fight beside elves, dragons, humans, and beasts.
Just as laviea once dreamed."
A hush fell over the crowd.