In a land once believed to be unshakable, where the banners of four great empires soared above mountain peaks and desert sands, peace was not just a dream—it was law.
Among these mighty realms Ophyria stood , the kingdom of steel discipline and silent power. Here, magic and supernatural abilities were forbidden among the common folk. Only the royal bloodlines, their elite knights, and a select few granted official permits were allowed to wield such power. The rest? They were to live quietly, obediently… or not at all.
For decades, this system held strong. The streets were safe. The skies calm. The people—obedient.
Until the day crows began to circle over rooftops… and blood darkened the morning sun.
It began with whispers: small thefts in the noble quarters, strange sightings in back alleys, candles flickering for no reason. But within weeks, theft turned to murder. Witnesses vanished.
And with every crime came something darker—something no ordinary criminal could have done.
Then came the fear.
Noblemen locked their gates. Merchants closed their shops before dusk. And those who had once laughed at old ghost stories now avoided the shadows altogether.
Within the royal citadel, outrage brewed. And finally, they came—to him.
⸻
[Royal Palace – Throne Hall]
The heavy doors creaked open, and a procession of nobles swept inside, silk robes trailing, voices already rising in complaint.
"Your Majesty!" barked Lord Varnes, a man with silver rings on every finger. "This chaos cannot continue. Another merchant was slaughtered in the west quarter—burned alive!"
"And no suspects, no arrests!" snapped Lady Trellia, her fan snapping shut. "Our own knights are being hunted like animals!"
The Emperor did not move. His face, as always, was hidden behind that dark, featureless mask. Only the long, golden cloak marked him as ruler of Ophyria.
"This began with the commoners," said Lord Eldrin, stepping forward. "You give them permits, and they take it as permission to rebel. Magic should never have been allowed beyond the palace gates!"
"We tried to investigate," added a knight standing near the back. "But every squad we sent after the attackers… came back empty-handed. Those who returned, that is."
A silence fell. One noble whispered, "And the ones who lived… don't remember what happened. As if their memories were wiped."
A pause.
The Emperor slowly raised one hand. Not to speak—but to point.
All eyes followed the gesture… to the man standing at the edge of the throne: Aqua.
He stepped forward, calm, precise, and unsettling. His eyes shimmered like mirrors, unreadable.
The Emperor spoke at last—his voice deep and hollow, like wind through an empty hall.
"The time for observation is over. Aqua… begin.".