The village of Darnell lay beyond the reach of the three empires — a quiet place where even magic refused to stay.
There were no glowing towers or mana crystals, just cracked rooftops, wind-worn soil, and the steady hum of the evening breeze.
On the highest hill stood two boys.
One gripped a wooden sword, its surface worn smooth by years of play. The other held a faintly glowing stone, so dim it could barely be called magical.
"One day," said the boy with the sword, eyes burning with determination, "we'll become Emperor Kings."
The other snorted. "You mean I will. You'll still be chasing chickens, Apex."
"Sure, Alex. Keep talking."
They laughed, their voices cutting through the cool air — two sons of farmers with nothing but dust on their hands and dreams in their hearts.
Their parents worked the fields. Their lives were small, quiet, unimportant — at least to the world beyond the mountains.
But to them, the world was still wide open.
Alex looked at the fading stars and raised his hand.
"No matter what happens, we rise together."
Apex grinned and clasped it firmly.
"Until the world remembers our names."
The wind carried their promise into the dawn — across the empty plains, over distant empires, and toward a future neither could imagine.
Two boys beneath a broken sky, dreaming of crowns they were never meant to wear.
To rise from nothing.
To challenge the Emperors.
To carve their names into the heart of Aetherion.
Neither of them knew that only one promise would survive.