Guardians of Immortal Keys

"Get out!" a person shouted from the distance, signaling others to evacuate, as a huge missile from the enemy's party was now locked on to their location—to their hideout. People start running from all directions to the exit—mothers grabbing their children who cry out of fear and fathers trying their hardest protecting and consoling their families. But God seemed to be nowhere that day. Before anyone managed to react, the missile hit the ground, erasing everything in an instant, leaving no survivors. That day, silence from the dead was the only music filling the air, and death, himself, was the only one who was gladly listening to it. Until, unexpectedly, a small bit of hope appeared... Jump to Year 2036 In a world almost destroyed by endless wars, where the skies were perpetually veiled in the grey of ashes from unending conflicts, and the lands bore the scars of relentless warfare, hope flickered like a flame in the midst of a tempest. This fragile hope didn't spring from the ashes of diplomacy or the fleeting victories on the battlefield but emerged from an ancient prophecy that cut through the discord of war with a sharp promise of redemption. It foretold the rise of twelve extraordinary children, each bearing the weight of an age-old legacy, destined to steer the world back from the edge of its self-inflicted ruin. These chosen ones, marked by the fates, were to inherit the Immortal Keys-artifacts of unimaginable power-and claim their rightful places upon the Thrones, toppling the current despots whose reigns had been characterized by oppression and avarice. The very air seemed to quiver with the whisper of this prophecy, sending ripples of unease through the halls of power, causing the war to halt - giving a temporary peace for everyone - peace that can be broken anytime. The reigning tyrants - the Obsidian, the government, whose authority had been absolute and unchallenged, felt the very foundations of their empires tremble at the prospect of relinquishing control over the Immortal Keys to mere children. This was a blasphemy they could not tolerate. Fueled by fear and desperation, they unleashed their wrath upon the land, embarking on a sinister quest to unearth the source of the prophecy, a quest that bore no fruit, for the prophecy was as intangible as the mist. Amidst this turmoil, the rulers clung to a shred of hope found within the prophecy-a description of unique marks, symbols representing the elemental forces of nature, etched upon the chosen children. This became their obsession, the key to extinguishing the threat before it could ignite. With a cruelty that had cemented their dominions, they launched a covert crusade against the innocent. Darkness fell not as a blanket of rest but as a veil for atrocity, as their minions scoured the realm, hunting for any newborn bearing the fateful marks of the elements. Villages plunged into mourning, the night air was thick with the cries of bereaved families, and the land was desecrated with the blood of the young, all sacrificed at the altar of power. However, the ruler's understanding was fatally flawed. The prophecy had cloaked its true meaning in layers of mystery, revealing that the elemental marks would not manifest at birth but at the moment the children's powers began to awaken. This critical misunderstanding rendered their brutal campaign pointless, unknowingly sowing the seeds of their own demise. --- Prophecy takes its first breath On a particularly somber night, obscured by a pall of grief, a single cry cut through the silence-a declaration of life, untouched by the darkness that engulfed the world. Within a modest dwelling, shielded from the malevolent gaze of the tyrants and their minions, a mother embraced her newborn, tears of mixed joy and terror streaming down her face. The infant, cocooned in love's embrace, was oblivious to the chaos that raged outside. Yet, as the mother beheld her child, a soft luminescence caught her eye, emanating from beneath the swaddle. Heart pounding, she unveiled her child, and her breath hitched at the sight. There, upon the infant's chest, a mark unfurled, its intricate design mirroring the elemental forces it signified. The mark of the prophecy had emerged, not at birth but in this pivotal moment of awakening. With this realization, the mother understood the magnitude of what lay before her child-not just a personal destiny, but a beacon of hope for all. But their moment of revelation was shadowed by an encroaching darkness. Unbeknownst to them, the eyes of the rulers' agents were ever vigilant, their intentions malevolent, their blades sharp and ready. The night, once a guardian of secrets, had transformed into a realm of peril for those marked by destiny. As the narrative draws to a close, the sound of the infant's laughter, pure and untainted, rises above the silent anticipation of the storm on the horizon. The prophecy had finally drawn its first breath, igniting the spark that would challenge the darkness. The rulers, entrenched in their arrogance, would soon confront the truth of their error, and the world would watch, with bated breath, as the destiny of the twelve unfolded.