In a world where power was earned through blood and thrones forged by steel, there once ruled a High King named Uther Falconheart. His ascent to power was drenched in blood—his own brothers fell by his hand, as the ancient law demanded. "Only the strongest one is fit to rule." Such was the custom. Such was history.
But Uther was not like the others. When his queen bore him twins—Romulus and Remus—he felt something beyond ambition. He felt love. Weakness. Hope. Both sons were born to be kings:
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Romulus, proud, tactical, a soldier.
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Remus, wise, just, beloved by the people.
Instead of obeying the cruel tradition and forcing them to fight to the death, Uther chose a dangerous path: He divided his kingdom. Two thrones, two crowns, two realms—founded in the hope that peace could triumph over blood.
Yet peace rarely endures where bloodlines form the roots.
The Shadow in the Crown
Decades passed in uneasy peace. The sons of the brothers grew into men:
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Remulus II, son of Romulus.
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Remus II, son of Remus.
Remulus II was an ambitious boy—clever, but restless and often alone. From an early age, the Shadow Dragon Vaerax, an ancient being sealed by magic, began to poison his dreams. At first, only whispers. Then visions. Finally, a voice that never left him.
Vaerax fed his doubt, flamed his pride, and whispered truths too tempting to resist: "You are the rightful king. Your cousin hides the artifact that proves it. Claim it—and your true power will awaken."
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Remulus II grew up with that poison inside him. He devoted himself entirely to training in martial combat, neglecting academic pursuits. By the time he came of age, he had reached the status of a 7-core warrior—a rare level of strength. In contrast, Remus II, though diligent and politically wise, was only a 6-core warrior, having spent much of his life in study and diplomacy.
Romulus I, Remulus’s father, had died years earlier and had been laid to rest in the Grave of Kings, a sacred site within the Rift of Brotherblood. Now, Remus I was to be buried beside him. The site, once a symbol of unity, now stood on the precipice of bloodshed.
The Burial of a King
At the funeral of Remus I, nobles gathered from across both realms to mourn. For three days, the people wept, and praises of the fallen king echoed among the stone walls of the Rift.
Remulus II arrived with solemn words and guarded eyes, standing over the grave that now held both his uncle and his father.
Once the mourning nobles and common folk had left, Remulus II entered the private tent of his cousin.
The Ultimatum
“Remus,” began Remulus II, calm and almost sincere. “It’s time to bring the truth into the light. I know about the artifact. I know it has been in your family for generations. Give it to me. Step down. Let me unite what our grandfather once dreamed of.”
Remus II froze. His eyes, dark and grief-worn, filled with sorrow and fury.
“You come with this demand… now? After my father’s death? After his last wish was fulfilled?”
The two men—once like brothers—stood as strangers now. Vaerax whispered louder. Shouted. Burned within Remulus’ mind.
"Now. Show strength. He is weak. The throne is yours."
Remulus II drew his sword.
Remus II followed, but the outcome was never in doubt.
Though noble and brave, Remus II was no match for his cousin. Remulus II, a hardened 7-core warrior forged through relentless combat, overpowered him swiftly. The duel was short, brutal, and one-sided.
When the blood stained the floor, Remus II collapsed. Remulus II stood over him, trembling.
Remus II gasped, his light fading.
“How… could you…?”
His voice was barely a breath.
“How did you know… about the artifact?”
Remulus did not hesitate. He tore the chain from his cousin’s neck, revealing a relic of ancient silver and obsidian.
“You don’t understand…” Remus whispered.
“That artifact… it seals something terrible… it must never… see the light…”
Guards burst into the tent. They froze.
Remus II was dead.
Romulus II lifted the artifact high.
The sky blackened. A rift tore through reality like a claw through silk. From it burst Vaerax—the Shadow Dragon. The Curse. The Darkness incarnate.
He was free.
And the war that never should have been… had begun.