Guardians of silver magic
In the world of Aethermoor, calamity arrives like clockwork—every thousand years, the sky tears open and hell descends.
They are called the **Ten Primordial Demons**, ancient entities of pure destruction that have plagued humanity since the dawn of recorded history. Each commands legions of twisted creatures—Void Spawn, Titan Behemoths, and horrors without names. But above them all reigns **Surtr'khaaz, the Three-Headed Inferno**—a colossal dragon whose golden flames burn hot enough to incinerate gods themselves. Legends say its middle head breathes fire that melts stone, its left head exhales flames that consume souls, and its right head spews golden hellfire that erases entire cities from existence.
For millennia, humanity could only endure. Kingdoms fell. Civilizations burned. Even the gods of old were reduced to ash and forgotten prayers. Magic—ordinary magic—proved useless against Surtr'khaaz and its kindred. Fire couldn't burn them. Ice couldn't freeze them. Lightning only made them stronger.
Until the **Last Calamity**, one thousand years ago.
When the sky split and Surtr'khaaz descended once more, leading its nine demonic siblings and their armies of nightmares, something impossible happened. Humanity fought back—and won.
They were called the **Silver Casters**, warriors who wielded a form of magic the world had never seen before. **Lunar Frost**—a silver-white energy that looked like moonlight given form, cold as winter's deepest night yet burning with impossible power. Where normal magic failed, Lunar Frost succeeded. It could cut through demonic hide, shatter Void Spawn armor, and freeze even Surtr'khaaz's golden flames.
The war lasted seven years. Continents burned. Oceans boiled. Mountains were leveled. But in the end, the Silver Casters drove the demons back through the rift and sealed it with ancient wards powered by their own life force.
The cost was total. Every Silver Caster died in the sealing. Their magic, their techniques, their very bloodlines—lost to time. Within a generation, Lunar Frost became myth. Within a century, even the myths faded.
Now, one thousand years later, the cycle turns again.
The seals are weakening. Strange rifts open across Aethermoor, spilling out lesser demons. Dungeon anomalies multiply. Those who study the old texts see the signs—the **Calamity** is coming, and humanity has forgotten how to fight it.
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**Astrid Vermillion** is twelve years old and magic-less in a world where magic defines worth. She can't sense Aether, can't cast even the simplest spell, can't do anything except fight with steel and stubbornness. The village pities her. Her own doubts haunt her. But she refuses to be weak—refuses to be nothing.
What Astrid doesn't know is that the Vermillion bloodline descends from the ancient demon hunters who fought alongside the Silver Casters. Magic sleeps in her blood, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken.
**Kaelen Ashford** is thirteen and burdened by a legacy he never asked for. His family carries the last pure bloodline of the Silver Casters, though this secret has been hidden for centuries. They know the Calamity approaches. They know someone must relearn the lost art of Lunar Frost. And they've chosen Kaelen to bear that impossible weight.
When Kaelen's dormant Silver Caster abilities suddenly manifest, he becomes the first person in a millennium to wield Lunar Frost. The power is raw, unstable, and marks him as either humanity's salvation or its greatest liability. Every major power in Aethermoor will soon want to control him, study him, or eliminate him.
