They say the world was once full of wonder.
Magic hummed in the roots of ancient trees, danced in the air like fireflies and bent to the will of the gifted. Beasts of legend roamed unchained and the stars whispered secrets to those brave enough to listen.
It was a time of beauty.
Of heroes.
Of hope.
But tell me, child have you ever known a story that did not bleed?
Do you believe magic brings light?
That myths are merciful?
That those born with power are cherished?
You are wrong.
This world is not built on wonder.
It is built on fear.
On the broken backs of the innocent and the silence of those crushed beneath the weight of fate.
The strong are not saviors.
They are executioners.
The gifted are not praised.
They are hunted.
And those who shine too brightly?
They burn.
So if you hear a tale of two brothers
Born beneath a silver moon, marked by destiny, once hailed as prodigies
Do not ask where they are now.
One vanished.
The other became a monster.
There is no peace here.
No love.
No light.
Only pain.
Everlasting, unrelenting pain.