"When the curse mingles with blood, the world is never the same... and humans"
At the edges of the world, in a place known as Nevalia, stands the throne of the Cursed Empire.
Castle Valheimir, a fortress that from afar resembles a sleeping beast, was forged through ancient magic from grey stones drawn from the depths of a dead volcano...Its cracks glow a deep crimson whenever war is declared or blood is spilled.Its walls are guarded by the Nebroth—creatures of shadow and fang, a fusion of wolves and darkness that appear to any who dare venture too close.
At its base flows the Valinar River, a cursed stream from which no one dares drink. It is said to carry the memories of the Fifth King, and every drop whispers a different curse.
But within its borders… no ordinary human dwells.Only those known as the Nehalim live there—they are, quite simply… death walking on two legs.
Information currently allowed for release:
The Nehalim — once human, now monstrous beings with tainted blood and hollow minds.They know nothing but loyalty to the Fifth King.Slaves to emptiness and blood…They do not sleep—having lost the right to dream.They do not remember.They do not betray.
They took part in the fall of eleven kingdoms over the past two centuries,and their mere appearance at a kingdom's border is enough to spark terror across the land.
In the Commander's Council — Strategy Chamber — the "First Fall" Hall
It was a vast, rectangular hall… its towering ceiling hung with symbolic chains, and its walls were draped with torn grey banners—each representing a fallen city.At the center stood the mighty warlord:Varos Zarhald, the Curseweaver.His crimson eyes flickered with a dim spark of malice, and his golden hair flowed down to his lower back.He never removed his black armor with its violet gleam—crafted from the blood of the Ancients—as if it were part of his very flesh.
He slowly lifted his gaze, then tapped his fingers rhythmically on the wooden table—each tap like a note in the symphony of ruin.Around him, the generals stood silent, awaiting the next whisper that could shift the fate of an entire city.
Zarhald, the master of psychological warfare, always saw chaos as part of human nature…and he loved nothing more than to be its composer.
In that silence, the generals breathed in fear.
He spoke in a low voice, like one whispering to the ghosts of war, after gesturing for a guard to bring a map:"Strike the heart, not the limbs… set fire to their final spark of hope, and let them crumble."
The guard arrived with a long scroll and rolled it out across the table.The generals' eyes roamed over it—until Zarhald suddenly placed his hand upon the Kingdom of Azarayth…specifically over Grana.
One of the generals asked:"Grana, sir? Do you mean it is our next target?"
A devilish gleam flashed in his eyes.
"No… we have two targets."
Then, with a tone low enough to crack the silence of the room, he added:"Falthir… has stepped out of his shadow."
One of the generals stepped forward with confidence:"Then we must move immediately."
Zarhald turned to him with a calm look and that ever-present smile:"War is no improvised dance… those who step without rhythm fall at the first beat. And we are here… to compose the melody that will end the one who dares to call himself free."
"And the plan…?"
And before he began outlining his cursed plan,he smiled—a wide, wicked smile—then unleashed the Black Curse Incantation…on one of the guards.
The wall behind him was instantly scorched—the guard's armor charred into ashes—and the man himself…vanished like a long, twisted shadow dissolving into the air.
A savage grin carved itself across Zarhald's face."Don't forget to tell him I'm coming..."
The generals and servants exchanged nervous glances,swallowing hard—shaken by the sudden, merciless display.
Zarhald returned his gaze to the map,and slowly sat down on his lavish throne,elevated atop a platform eleven steps above the ground.
"Seems it's time… to choose the right melody."
And in that moment—if I could—I would've screamed at them all:"Watch your hearts, you fools...for dancing with death is never forgiven."
But I wasn't there…Not yet.
✧✧✧
On the other side, in Grana... where the fire of resistance blazes.
Someone moved through the alleyways—silent footsteps, no trace left behind.It was Valys Nox — the Shadow of Shadows, the resistance's spy.
He dropped into a vast tunnel network,dimly lit by scattered torches.The walls were etched with the symbols of the Aetherborn.
Amid the smoke and the clanging of hammers,where swords and bows were being reforged—there sat Valdern,the resistance's blacksmith…though from the beginning, he never looked like an ordinary one.
"You've brought something, as usual?"His voice was rough,each word punctuated by the strike of metal.
Valys replied in his usual calm tone,"Not this time…but I've brought intel:They're hunting someone called Valthier.That arrogant bastard won't rest until he catches him."
Valdern raised an eyebrow,his gaze sharpening as it landed on Valys.
"Oh… So the shadow wars begin anew, don't they?"But…what Valys didn't catch,was how Valdern's hand trembled—just for a second—as he struck the iron.
In the blink of an eye,Valys moved toward the briefing chamber.
There, under the banner of the Aetherborn,the four faction leaders had gathered.Presiding over them stood Elder Cain—a man who carried no sword,rode no horse,his limbs paralyzed since the age of twelve.
Yet his eyes...burned with an unquenchable fire.Sentenced to death by the Royal Council,his head promised to the Emperor.
But…!
How do you execute one who's never caught? How do you judge one who's never seen?
The door burst open.
Valys entered with chilling calm.Eyes void of tension—not pretending…he truly felt nothing. Ever.
"Damn it…The Shadow was exposed.I couldn't gather everything…but! I heard one name over and over—Valthier.The Commander wants his head,and he won't wait long."
Valthier…a name once whispered in myth—a man who survived the blood of the Cursedand returned stronger than ever…as a mere human.Unbelievable…no, impossible.
Silence fell.Their eyes met—a storm of doubt and hope colliding.
Elder Cain raised his hand slowly,his voice firm despite the tremble in his bones:"Were you able to learn when they'll strike?"
Valys shook his head."I heard nothing about that…but their eagerness betrayed their impatience."
Cain closed his eyes,and muttered softly—almost to himself:"So…there were once legends…who could defy the blood."
Everyone gathered around the wooden table, eyes sparking with the fire of battle, minds torn between the reality and myth of the one who survived the cursed blood.
Silva, leader of the Dawn Blades faction, said coldly,"Are we just watching??"
Elder smiled faintly,"We watch… but stay ready.I still have enough tricks up my sleeve for moments like this."
The tension thickened.Most were uneasy — a battle waged over a man who refuses to show himself,and the plan being woven now could decide life or death.
He continued, his voice sharp as a sword:"The Ironbound faction will hold the frontline at the border.They will obstruct the movement and advance of the Nephalem.The Dawn Blades stand in the second line — while the Ironbound block the Nephalem's path,you will seize the opportunity and strike their weak points.
Both factions split into two groups —one executes, and one protects the city in case of military assault, counterattack, or chaos requiring intervention.
As for the Echo and the Veilkeepers —you are our eyes.Spread across Grana and beyond, even near the enemy.We need to monitor their movements…and be careful — leave no shadow or trace behind."
His eyes gleamed with strange intelligence,as if reading everyone around him,and that smile… was either a promise of victory or an unspoken threat.
The Echo faction leader stepped forward, about to ask,"Commander, what about—"
But Cain cut him off before the question finished,"Don't worry.If the legend is alive, he will show himself.Greatness does not tolerate watching others pay the price in their stead."
Meanwhile...
Serious gazes met, breaths were held tight — the moment before battle was already knocking on their door.
A nod from the newcomers showed they didn't just understand the plan — they were fired up to put it into action. Everyone dispersed; it was time for preparation and surveillance...
✧✧✧
And so… as roles are assigned, and humans share their fate like leaves caught in the wind, there are always those unaware they are part of the game.They don't count the battles, carry no swords, make no plans… but their hearts, oh their hearts… carry all the chaos that precedes the storm.
After everyone scattered and voices faded inside the tunnels...Only one set of footsteps echoed between the stone walls — Valdren's steps.
He carried no sword that night. It seemed he wanted a break from the clanging sounds, trying to retrieve memories linked to Hilda.He climbed the stairs to the world above — half his face lit, the other swallowed by darkness.
When he reached his wooden door, it was already late. He knocked quietly. Hilda, waiting anxiously, heard the knock and hope lit her eyes. She rose quickly, awaiting Valdren's appearance with a mixture of hope and worry etched on her face.Valdren opened the door and stepped in. She rushed to him:"Valdren, where have you been? You're late."He held her shoulders, trying to calm her:"Sorry, I was at work… I'm sorry.""Valdren… are you still sure about your work with the resistance? Think about Raigen.""I swear I will protect Grana with every drop of my blood… Hilda."Hilda, searching for a bit of humor, said:"What about me?"Valdren laughed:"Don't worry, I'll leave you half of my blood too."They both laughed, then as if remembering, Valdren said:"Oh, I remember where Raigen is.""I took him to his room — sleep overcame him while he was waiting for you in anger.""Well, I can't really blame him in the end."
Valdren approached Raigen's room, opened the door quietly...There, under a gray blanket, Raigen lay curled like a small cat, half his face covered, brows furrowed even in sleep.Valdren smiled softly and gently placed his hand on his son's head.He closed the door behind him, and as usual, the night was quiet.
The next day…
With the first threads of morning sneaking through the window… Raigen began to stir slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep.He frowned while tossing and turning, then opened his eyes with a sleepy scowl. He sat up in bed, scratched his head messily, and mumbled, heavy with drowsiness:"Ah, I forgot what I dreamed today too…"
He got out of bed and stepped out of his room. As usual, he found his mother preparing breakfast, while Valdren flipped through a newspaper, sipping a cup of coffee and exchanging small talk with his only wife… Hilda — whose meeting with him was never in vain.
Raigen entered like a little intruder, his hair messy and eyes still sleepy. He exchanged looks with his parents, then Hilda laughed, saying:"Come here, Raigen. Let me wash your face — it looks like you're still half asleep even while awake."
He seemed upset for some reason. Hilda washed his face and then ordered him to sit at the table so she could serve him breakfast. He still looked at his father with that suspicious gaze, and Valdren had already noticed it.
"Looks like you woke up in a bad mood today."
Raigen felt his heart tighten, then burst out:"Dad, why do you always refuse to tell me about your work that keeps you late from coming home?"
Hilda looked uneasy while Valdren still kept his calm."Everything, when it comes in its time, becomes beautiful… Raigen. So be patient and don't judge things by their surface."
He paused while Raigen was still angry, then continued:"Alright, I'll get ahead of you a bit."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small necklace, holding a shiny black stone inside."Take it."
Raigen lifted his head in surprise, hesitated, then reached out."W-what is this?"
"I told you, don't jump to conclusions, hero. Just take it, and everything will be fine after that."
Raigen took it and placed it around his neck. Hilda came closer to see how it looked on him."Oh Raigen, it's very beautiful on you. Looks like you made it even prettier."
"Don't you think it's what made me shine brighter?"
"Never — everything you wear becomes more beautiful, not the other way around, my little one."
A spark of joy lit up his eyes, then he raised his head curiously, asking his parents:"Mom, Dad… when will we be free?"
Valdren said, while Hilda froze:"When fear stops drawing our boundaries, little one… when we break the chains inside us, not the ones on our hands."
In those moments...Outside, a shadow darted swiftly over the rooftops... Valis Nox. Quick as lightning."Damn... they're getting closer..."Above, the cawing of crows rose sharply... their cries warning that something was drawing near...