The Purple Eyed, Aria.

PROLOGUE Long before I was born, the world wasn’t quiet. It was fire and storm and sea and stone. It was called Eryndor, a land of endless magic where four kingdoms rose from the elements themselves. The Zephyros soared in the skies, rulers of the wind and masters of air. The Aqualith dwelled beneath oceans and rivers, guardians of water’s grace and fury. The Terravorn shaped the mountains and valleys, the eternal keepers of earth. And the Pyrrhion forged flames into both creation and destruction, the children of fire. From each land, one supreme wielder was chosen—four gods, four protectors, bound by destiny to shield Eryndor. But peace is always a fragile thing. Beyond the horizon, across the burning wastelands of Noxthorn, the Umbriths were born. They were shadows given flesh, a race cursed by their own greed for power. Their king, Veylak the Eternal, feared only one thing: a prophecy. A child born of the elements, destined to wield not one, but all four. A girl who would one day undo his darkness. So Veylak did what all cowards do. He struck first. On the eve of a crimson eclipse, the Umbriths descended upon Eryndor. Legions of shadow-beasts tore through the skies, the seas boiled black, mountains cracked under their march. And at the heart of the storm, Veylak himself commanded destruction. But the Four did not run. The Goddess of Air, the God of Water, the God of Earth, the Goddess of Fire—they stood together. Wind roared, seas rose, the ground trembled, and flames raged. Four hearts, four powers, one vow: to protect Eryndor, even at the cost of their lives. The battle shook the heavens. Cities crumbled, rivers bled, skies burned. And when the dust cleared, the Four had won—Veylak’s armies shattered, his body broken. The Umbrith King fled into the abyss, swearing vengeance. Eryndor wept. For though the war was over, the Four had fallen. Or so the people believed. But there was one truth that even history could not bury. On the night before the war, the Goddess of Fire gave birth to a daughter. Her name was Aria. The prophecy whispered that she would be unlike any before her. Not the heir to one element, but to all four. She would command the skies, seas, stone, and flame—the living embodiment of balance, the power Veylak feared most. To protect her, her mother carried her beyond the veil of Eryndor into the mortal world. There, she placed her in the care of a trusted friend—a woman with no magic, but with a heart strong enough to raise Aria as her own. The goddess said nothing of the prophecy. She left no clue of the girl’s true bloodline, only the promise that, on her eighteenth year, the truth would awaken. And so, Eryndor believed its protectors gone. The people built their lives in fragile peace, blind to the shadows stirring again in Noxthorn. Blind to the fact that the last heir of the Four lived among mortals… Waiting.