Chapter 1 — The Ashes of Hollow Saints
Rigorus Draeven was born into a family of warriors.
His bloodline, the House of Draeven, was feared across empires—steeped in martial legacy, forged in sacred combat. His father, Gavric Draeven, bore the nickname "The Undying Fang." His mother, Celestia, was a former Blade Priestess turned matron of steel and silence. His older brother, Kairos, was a prodigy said to have awakened his inner gates at the age of seven. His younger sister, Liora, even in childhood, was sharper with a dagger than most grown men with a sword.
But Rigorus?He wept.
Each time his father ordered him to the training grounds, his small frame would shake. His voice trembled as he pleaded with his mother, tears tracing soft rivers down his cheeks.
"I don't want to fight…""Why must I fight?""Why must I hurt them?"
And though Celestia's heart cracked at his pain, her silence was a blade just the same.
Rigorus was the weakest of them all.Not because he lacked talent.But because he lacked the will to hurt.
One day, after refusing training yet again, Gavric—cold and merciless—unleashed his martial aura in frustration. It was suffocating, divine in pressure. The very air screamed.
Rigorus collapsed, unconscious.
His father looked upon him like a blemish on the Draeven name.
"You are not my son," he declared. "You are a curse."
And so, with a single command, Rigorus was cast out—banished from the House of Draeven and declared dead to the clan.
He was just ten.
He wandered for days, starved, broken, and unloved—until a small chapel at the edge of a humble village took him in. Saint's Hollow, it was called. And there, the old priest Father Elric gave him more than food or shelter.
He gave him peace.
For nine years, Rigorus lived under Father Elric's care. The church was poor, and the children were many, but to Rigorus it was heaven—a place where he belonged.
Then, Father Elric met his end—peacefully, from old age.
At just nineteen, the smartest and oldest among the orphans, Rigorus stepped forward to lead.
He became the head of the church and caretaker of the children.
They lived simply but happily.
Until, one year later...
Then came the battle.
Two Martial Masters, feared beyond kingdoms—Vaelus the Heavenpiercer and Daimon of the Withered Fist—descended into a conflict that would make even gods avert their eyes.
Vaelus: a warrior wrapped in white robes etched with golden scripture. His blade gleamed like a shard of the sun itself. He moved like light, spoke like thunder, and bled righteousness.
Daimon: shirtless, his skin scorched and tattooed with ancient curses. Chains wrapped around his fists like dead serpents. His eyes were void. His hair danced like smoke. He fought like the damned.
For five days and five nights, their war raged.
They tore through cities, plains, and forests—until their storm reached Saint's Hollow.
They didn't speak. They didn't see.They didn't care.
With every clash of their weapons, the sky shattered. Shockwaves of blade aura slashed through buildings. Stone splintered like dry wood. Children under twelve were flung into walls—lifeless before they could cry.
Fires spread. Screams filled the streets.
On the fourth day, the village became a grave.
And on the fifth…
Vaelus ascended into the air, bloodied, radiating divine fury.Daimon, kneeling near death, crawled toward the chapel—the only standing sanctuary left.
But beside Daimon were Father Elric, the orphans, and Rigorus, hiding near the altar of the church.
Vaelus didn't notice.He simply raised his glowing blade, and pointed it down.
The sky answered.
A celestial slash fell from above like divine judgment.
There was no time to scream.
The church exploded.
Ash swallowed the air. Flames licked the sky. Limbs flew. Blood rained.Stone, flesh, prayer — all became one in the annihilation.
Over one hundred thousand innocent lives were lost.Not because of hatred.But because the gods of war do not look down when they swing.
When the dust settled… there was only Rigorus.
Standing in the ashes.Covered in blood and rubble.Alone.
In his ears, the echo of children's screams.And in his soul…
The birth of something… unholy.