[: 3rd POV :]
The Human Continent was in turmoil, but not of fear.
For the first time in centuries, the whispers that spread across cities, villages, and kingdoms carried hope.
It began quietly, like the first flake of snow before a blizzard.
A handful of survivors appeared at the edges of cities, trembling, yet alive.
They spoke of a savior, a boy not older than twenty, cloaked in darkness, whose very presence seemed divine.
At first, people dismissed it as delusion.
Trauma, perhaps.
A desperate illusion conjured by those who had suffered too long.
But then it kept happening.
Day after day, more groups began appearing, hundreds, then thousands, each with the same story.
"A boy... he came from nowhere," one woman wept before the city guards, her voice hoarse with disbelief.
"The sky tore apart, and then… nothing. The monsters vanished. The men in black masks...gone. He said nothing, but I could feel it… that he wasn't human"
Rumors became wildfire.
