The world was not always bathed in the Sunstone's unwavering light. Before the First Age, before the forging of kingdoms and the rise of man, there were older, deeper forces. Primordial breaths that shaped mountains, pulses that carved oceans, powers of ice and earth that slept for millennia beneath the world's crust. And there were guardians, echoes of these forces, woven into the very fabric of existence.
In the nascent dawn of Eldoria, when the Sunstone first bestowed its grace, a prophecy was whispered, a counter-balance to the burgeoning light. It spoke of a child born of two worlds: one of ancient, veiled power, and one of human frailty and fierce intellect. A child whose very being would bridge the chasm between the known and the forgotten. This child, it foretold, would bear the mark of the moon, destined to walk a path of unparalleled might and profound isolation.
For years, the whispers remained just that – whispers. The power lay dormant, a cold ember within a fragile vessel, hidden even from its bearer. It was a secret kept under lock and key, a potential darkness feared even by the one destined to wield it. Yet, the old powers never truly died, only slept. And when the balance faltered, when the world cried out for a salvation beyond the Sunstone's reach, the moon-touched heir would be forced to awaken the leviathan within. Not as a weapon of chaos, but as a controlled storm, a shadow cast in light, a desperate answer to a world's encroaching night. His would be the ultimate choice: to succumb to the power, or to harness it, to become the very force they feared, to save a kingdom that might never truly understand the price of its salvation.