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At the centre of a planet, strong by billions, on a continent surrounded by water, strong by millions, within a vast city, strong by thousands, exists a village, strong by tens,stands a man with the strength of one.

Once upon a time, on a hill long ago, somewhere between reality and dreams, lives Solomon.

Solomon lives alone in a small, humble house of stone and mortar, worn by age.

This lone structure overlooks a vibrant village bustling with life below.

From his solitary perch, Solomon often gazes down at the village and its lively residents—their cheerful voices and laughter echo upward—as they go about their daily routines. The warmth of their fellowship stands in stark contrast to his own solitude.

He cannot remember why he is here, why they are there, how he came to be here, or why he has not left. Yet, he knows he has been here a very long time.

It cannot be said that Solomon and his modest home on top of the hill have gone unnoticed by the people in the village below—least of all, in the dreamy eyes of one curious girl named Mary.

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She is the Queen of the Damned. Her vile and twisted soul shadows her beauty and grace. No man can resist her charms, and no person can resist what she offers. Let her voice be heard and her name be said only in whispers. She is the evil that crawls across the land in search of lost souls and broken men. She brings death, destruction, famine, and pestilence to all who come near her.

Yet, when she peers into her mirror, all she sees is a reflection of her glorious self.

Not the malevolent goddess of the world, nor the demon spawn of destiny. She is neither a plague nor a bane to life itself—she is simply The Queen.

For all that she is, for all that she possesses, for all the names bestowed upon her throughout her ruthless iron reign… She. Still. Feels. Empty.

Something is missing that she cannot discern, yet she feels it—somewhere in her heart, deep, hiding in the black void of her soul. A place that she cannot reach and cannot fill, no matter how many lands she conquers or how many people she slays. She remains incomplete.

Till one day, this Queen—this being of evil—was staring into her pool of fate. A magical pool that allowed her to see the past, the present, and the future. In this pool, she watched the world as it was, as it is, and as it will be. And in the far-flung future, she saw herself: still Queen, still powerful, still feared… and still utterly alone.

Angry and frustrated, the Queen lashed out at the pool, splashing the sacred liquid and disturbing the future vision.

The pool rippled and distorted and, when it came back into focus, revealed the now.

The pool focused on a man sitting in a field of green, eating a piece of sweet bread, basking in the sun’s glow. He seemed gentle and relaxed—a good man, a kind man.

And suddenly, the empty void, deep inside her heart in the blackness of her soul, felt something warm. And not the warmth of the hellfire that she was used to, but a different type of warmth. Something good, something that she could not put her feelings to.

Mesmerized by the face of the man in the pool of destiny, she vowed to uncover its meaning. She would learn of this man, of herself, and of the emptiness festering within her perfect being—even if it meant destroying the world itself.

The voices, the voices. What secrets did they whisper in my ears? What truths did they share with me while I was awake, and what lies did they hiss at me when I slept?

The voices, the voices—when would they stop? What did they reveal? How long would it be before they drove me mad? Or would I be driven mad before all was revealed?

West of somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, was a cozy little town hidden away from those out there.

Of all the men, women, and children that lived here, not one dreamed or yearned to explore and leave for elsewhere.

But fear they held for those who had come from here and there, for none should have found this refuge veiled from everywhere.

And lo their despair, with cries of mercy echoing unanswered through the air, from those who came from anywhere.

Dragon Moon, warrior of the Hundred-Moon Empire, stood motionless amid a field of lush green. His gaze fixed upon the clear blue sky, bathing in the gentle rays of the sun as it shone down on his burnished armour.

He relished the tranquillity of the moment, closing his eyes and savouring the sun’s warm, invigorating touch on his skin.

He opened his eyes and lowered himself to the ground, his hands caressing the verdant grass, its blades soft under his fingers, undisturbed and untrampled. Dragon Moon took a deep breath. He inhaled the rich, earthy scent of the grass mingled with the morning dew, reminiscent of fresh rain.

His nostrils flared as he caught another familiar scent being carried on the wind—fire, sweat, blood, malice, and fear. The sharp, unmistakable tang of war was approaching.

For a fleeting moment, he imagined staying in this serene place forever, becoming one with nature itself. Yet, the reality of where he was pushed to the forefront of his mind, compelling him to open his eyes again.

Dragon Moon rose to his feet and faced the approaching army on the far side of the valley. The ground trembled beneath the rhythmic thunder of their footfalls, trampling the once-pristine grass and flowers underfoot.

Thousands of troops gathered under their banners, weapons held high, poised for battle. Dragon Moon turned to look at his own line of compatriots, allies, and friends, all standing ready and awaiting the order to charge. He could sense their fear—some more so than others—as he heard the rapid, drum-like beating of their hearts beneath their crimson-hued breastplates.

Dragon Moon did not hear his own heartbeat. His heart was still, for he was unafraid.

He knew his duty. As the strongest warrior of the Hundred-Moon Empire, he had pledged his life to his mighty emperor, who had now asked him to lay it down. Dragon Moon was prepared to die. In truth, he felt nothing regarding his own life or death—only his duty mattered.

Time is meaningless; only that which occurs within that time matters.

Somewhere—some when—the tale begins with a woman, a man, and a friend.

The woman, striking with ethereal beauty, approaches the man slowly and seductively. Her hazel eyes sparkle with intelligent machinations as she locks her intense gaze on him.

The man, handsome, captivated but nervous, shifts in place. His kind emerald eyes dart around the room, anxiously avoiding the intensity of her gaze.

But he can resist her allure no longer. Her pull is strong, his will is weak. He meets her unflinching gaze.

The woman smiles as she slips in close. The man breathes deeply of her sweet scent, his skin trembling under her hot breath. She leans in, her head beside his, teasing as her face hovers near his.

“I see right through you. There is no point in denying it. You cannot resist me, can you, handsome?” she whispers into his ear; her voice is sultry, her soft lips so close they tickle his skin.

He reacts with a heavy sigh. “I would not try,” the man says. “Who am I to resist your power? You are my beginning and ending, my Alpha and Omega. Queen of my world.”

The woman smiles. The man returns it. They kiss—deep and passionate.

A man and a woman fall in love.

The man is happy, the woman grateful, and the friend—overwhelmed.

The sky turns black, the oceans boil, and everything becomes fire and ash. Then, for the three—darkness.

The world is finally dying, and I have found my spot to see it off.

It is a hill, a place familiar to me. Long ago I sat here and watched sunsets and sunrises, so it is only fitting that I return here to witness its final moments—to be here for the ending, in this place where it all began.

The heat from the sun is no more. I have watched as its brilliance waned, its fire dimming with each passing moment. Now, I can feel its end drawing near. And I revel in it. My existence can finally end with the death of the planet, as she and I are bound together for eternity.

There is no life left in this world. Save myself. People perished long ago. The lush greenery burned away, the oceans evaporated millennia after that. All that remains is dust, dirt, and me.

The ground shakes once more, tearing itself apart. I watch as another piece of land turns over, rippling like waves on water.

It breaks, cracks, and crumbles into the pits below, falling forever into the void.

I sit and watch as it all unravels around me, and I smile.

This existence was never my choosing, but one forced upon me. It was a gift of love that had become nothing more than a curse—a bane that has kept me here, eternally alone.

The long tale of my miraculous and tragic life began here, at the foot of this cliff overlooking a river. I cannot recall the exact day or year, another memory lost to time. But I remember, with vivid clarity, everything that transpired from the moment I set eyes on her. Funny how that is.

Once, there was a beautiful girl with hair that shimmered like golden sand, skin as soft as silk, and eyes that sparkled like emeralds.

She lived in a city of light and perfection. She was bright, kind, loved, and admired by all who met her. Her beauty was unquestionable, her suitors many, and her life filled with joy.

Then, one day came fire and pain—unbearable, horrible pain. Her happy, bright world burned up before her eyes, turned to ash and replaced by darkness and sorrow.