The world of Balandros is unique in its kind: the gods, both good and evil, died centuries ago. Humanity survived for a long time on its own strength, struggling to rebuild a world without divinities.
Then came the Demon King.
Contrary to what one might expect, he did not seek total destruction, but absolute control over the life of every living being. A perfect, implacable tyranny where freedom would cease to exist.
To resist this threat, three great powers rose up:
The Holy Kingdom: faithful to the hope of divine return, it relied on the lingering divine magic and on the Saints — those rare chosen ones capable of invoking the remnants of celestial power.
The Northern Empire: pragmatic and desperate, it made a pact with the Four Primordial Spirits to avoid extinction. These ancient entities granted their power in exchange for an eternal oath.
The Alliance: a coalition of small nations which, faced with the danger, merged into a single powerful state. United by necessity, they forged a heterogeneous but formidable army.
Together, these three forces confronted the demonic legions.
But everything changed with the appearance of a family of mercenaries: the Davens.
The Davens were a nomadic people, wanderers for generations. Each clan possessed a phenomenal innate capacity for mana, a gift that defied the ordinary laws of magic. During the first great war against the Demon King, their patriarch — a man of legendary strength — led his clans to victory and drove back the demonic army. The Davens were then proclaimed Heroes by the surviving nations.
Thus was born the Kingdom of Daven, the Kingdom of Heroes. Forging the future generations of heroes, it became the heart of resistance and hope. The Davenguard Academy, founded by that same patriarch, became the sanctuary where the most powerful warriors in the world were trained.
That war took place fifty years ago.
But ten years ago, the Demon King… he returned, stronger, darker, more merciless than before. The first king of Daven had long been dead; despair gnawed at the hearts of every people.
Then, four years ago, a young prodigy fresh out of Davenguard Academy rekindled hope: Lux Eternhal. Barely of age, he became the new Legendary Hero. His power crushed demonic armies as though they were mere shadows. Around him gathered six exceptional companions. They were called the Seven Blades: Hero Lux, master of all paths; the mage Aria, whose spells made the heavens tremble; the archer Mui, whose arrows never missed their mark; the swordsman David, blade faster than the wind; the fist Gram, whose blows could shatter mountains; the lancer Zestir, who danced with death itself; and finally, the sorceress Vespia.
Vespia was different. Unlike the others, she had not been chosen by the Academy: it was Lux himself who had chosen her. She almost never spoke, and when she did, it was only to him. No one knew her face; a shroud of dark mana permanently enveloped her, concealing her features. Yet because Lux placed absolute trust in her, everyone eventually accepted her. They told themselves that he saw something in her that others could not perceive.
Until the final battle.
That day, facing the weakened but still terrifying Demon King, Lux was at his limit. He had given everything to protect his companions and all of humanity. And it was at that precise moment that Vespia drove her dagger into the Hero's back. She killed him in cold blood, while he was exhausted, vulnerable, trusting.
Then, before the horrified eyes of the survivors, she tore out the still-beating heart of the Demon King and devoured it. Her power exploded. The mist surrounding her became blacker than night. She vanished into the darkness, leaving behind a broken world and a new cursed name: the Traitor of Humanity.
For three years we have mourned our Hero, the greatest among us, the purest, the most beloved.
And for three years, the new generation has trained for a single reason: to hunt that woman down, to find her, to make her pay.
The storyteller paused, her gaze slowly sweeping over each child.
Today, new heroes will cross the gates of Davenguard Academy. They will be trained right here, in the sanctuary founded by the first king of Heroes. They will learn magic, the sword, strategy… but above all, they will learn to hate. To hate fiercely enough to kill the sorceress who betrayed the hope of the entire world.
A sudden wind rose, carrying the crisp autumn chill that made the adolescents' cloaks shiver as they stood in perfect rows in the grand courtyard of Davenguard Academy. Sixteen-year-olds, boys and girls alike, raised intense gazes toward the platform where the professors stood. At the center, dominating the scene despite the weight of years, towered Maellus Greathun, the director. His impeccably trimmed gray beard and piercing yellow eyes seemed to probe every soul present.
He let the wind carry the silence a moment longer, then his deep, battle-scarred voice rang out:
"You are here to become heroes. You are the new generation. Will you be the Miracle Generation? Will you surpass the great Lux? The great Daven?
I hope that is your goal, because the trials awaiting you will be even greater.
The Traitor of Humanity is the greatest threat this world has ever known… greater even than the Demon King himself.
The Thirteen Devourers… those monstrous beings… She Who Devours Darkness, She Who Devours Children, She Who Devours Light, and so many others…
These creatures must be eradicated.
Those of you who pass our trials will step into this cruel world where death stalks every step. Leave now if you are afraid. I will understand."
A leaden silence fell over the courtyard.
Only the wind continued to whisper between the white stone colonnades.
No one moved.
Not a single step backward. Not a single averted gaze. Fists clenched. Jaws tightened. Some eyes shone with restrained tears, others with pure rage.
All remained rooted in place, upright, motionless, as if nailed to the ground by a determination stronger than fear.
The director watched them for a long moment, a bitter, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Good…" he murmured, more to himself than to them.
Then, in a louder voice, he continued:
"In that case… let the trials begin. And may the dead gods forgive us for what we are about to create here."
A low, rumbling growl rose from the ranks of adolescents — not shouts, not cheers, but a collective murmur, deep and grave, like the first rolling of an approaching storm.
Among the professors lined up behind Maellus, one figure stood perfectly still, arms crossed, watching the scene with a soft, almost tender smile.
Lamia Grandcester.
Her eyes sparkled with wicked delight.
"Magnificent," she breathed, so quietly that no one heard her. "The more they hate… the stronger they will grow."
And in the silence that followed, as the first gates of the trials opened in the depths of the Academy, the wind carried to her the familiar scent of blood yet to be spilled.
End of Chapter