Chapter1 : The Last Summoning

  The Grand Magis stood alone in the twilight of a dying world, where the sun had long forgotten how to shine and the winds carried only echoes of sorrow. Once revered across countless realms, he now lingered as a memory, a dying ember in a world consumed by shadows.

  His sanctuary-once a crystalline citadel surrounded by celestial rivers-was now a crumbling monument buried beneath ash and silence. With his strength nearly extinguished, the Grand Magis enacted one final rite: a summoning of old, forgotten magic. He called upon a being not of this world but of ancient calamity, a force erased from every scripture except his own.

  A wolf appeared. Not of flesh, but of soul. It had no memory, no name, and no past. As it emerged into this broken world, even the stars above dimmed in reverence.

  With his final breath, the Grand Magis whispered a name to the wind:

  "Shadow."

  The divine wolf's form shimmered and collapsed into a humanoid vessel-mortal in appearance but brimming with fractured divinity. Reborn in human form, Shadow carried the power of a god and the curse of forgetfulness. He opened his eyes to a world that knew him only as a myth, where war, death, and something darker waited.

  Chapter 1: Awakening in the Land of Death and the Cave of Illusions

  Shadow awakened beneath a sky streaked with crimson clouds. The air was stale and thick with ash. Around him lay a wasteland of shattered homes, desecrated temples, and bones bleached by time. The earth itself seemed to mourn.

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  He staggered to his feet, disoriented. His hands-human hands-trembled with unfamiliarity. The instincts of a beast still surged within him, but they were dulled, wrapped in the fragile casing of humanity.

  He wandered through this graveyard of a world. All around him were signs of devastation: claw marks etched into stone, corpses drained of life, and strange sigils glowing faintly in the dirt. It was not just a battlefield. It was a mass grave.

  Shadow did not know his name. He did not know why he was there. But deep within his chest, he felt a pull-an invisible thread guiding him.

  The first creatures he met were not human. They were the Life Drainers-gaunt, insectoid figures that hovered over the dead and drank the last wisps of soul. One turned its head toward him, its eyeless face twitching with recognition.

  He fought. Clumsily at first, but each strike awakened something deeper. Not muscle memory-something older. He was not just fighting. He was reclaiming.

  By the time the final Life Drainer fell, he was gasping for air, his fists bloodied, but his soul alight.

  Then came the Night Wanderers.

  They emerged without warning, robed figures moving with unnatural grace. He raised his fists again, but they did not strike. One leaned close and whispered:

  "This is not the time, and you are not ready yet. Become strong enough and come for me."

  Then, they vanished like mist in the moonlight.

  The words echoed. Not because they were threatening, but because they were familiar. A voice from his past-forgotten but not lost-had spoken those same words.

  And so, his journey began.

  Days passed-or maybe weeks. Shadow didn't track time. He followed instinct, walking from ruin to ruin, guided by visions he could not explain. Eventually, he found a cave, its entrance shrouded in violet flame.

  Inside, he encountered not rock and shadow, but illusion.

  The Grand Magis appeared-not in flesh, but as a vision encoded in memory. The Magis stood atop a cliff, watching over a battlefield where eight generals encircled a royal figure, their weapons drawn toward an unseen enemy.

  One general turned. Shadow gasped. He knew that face, though it was blurred by the mists of memory.

  The illusion spoke:

  Travel this world. In time, you will find me again-or what remains of me.

  The cave collapsed behind him. He didn't look back.