Hiroshi Damien Najira was born on a freezing October night in Shinhidaka, Hokkaido, one hundred miles from his mother’s ancestral home. Emika Najira was the second child of the master of the Najira Dojo, a famous training facility for Japanese olympians, athletes, and martial artists. The family claimed they were direct descendants from one of the original ninja of old times and every child is rigorously trained in their practice and are expected to serve in the Japanese Self Defense Forces in some capacity or another. Emika was no different, joining the JSDF when she was 18 and qualifying to enter the Directorate for Signals Intelligence two years later. She remained in the DSF for another five years, two over those overseas as part of a collaboration team with the U.N. intelligence community, before she let her contract with the JSDF expire.

When she returned, Damien Johnson followed her. Damien Johnson grew up in London proper, attending all his schooling in local boarding schools, until he graduated with a finance degree from Oxford university. He was a hot shot financial executive from a family well known for their political and medical accomplishments and he had all the intents to add financial into the family portfolio as well. Damien was a few years older than Emika but hopelessly smitten and he followed her back from England to Japan without a second thought.

He’d done his research. They’d talked about taking their relationship beyond where they were and when they reached the Najira family home, he asked for her hand in the traditional method. Her father had been originally set against the relationship, since he’d just found out barely a month before, but seeing his dedication changed his heart and he gave it the blessing on one condition: the children take the Najira family name. It worked perfectly into their plans. Emika never intended to give up her last name and they’d decided when they had children, they’d hyphenate their last names.

The pair relocated permanently to London for a year after their marriage but Emika found the city stifling. They found a home an hour away from London by train and the happy pair snatched it up easily. They kept their London home as well, the family’s income easily affording both. Emika established a second Najira Dojo in London and its reputation grew for the almost brutally intense master of the Dojo. Pulling on some connections she’d built from her time with the U.N., Emika was contracted to train new recruits accepted into british special services which she did with aplomb.

Two years later, they added Hiroshi to their family. He grew up much the same as his mother, in a strongly disciplined household despite his inherent tendency to chaos. His mother introduced him to the family traditions even earlier than normal because his energy was seemingly endless and he took to them like a fish to water. He displayed a startling aptitude for the martial arts, almost anything his mother could teach him, and quickly surpassed the classes for his age group. Once he had this to focus on, his grades also improved quickly now that he had an outlet for his excessive energy.

Growing up, Hiroshi never wanted for money. Between his dad’s explosive financial; career and his mother’s generous military contract on top of her fees for training olympians and martial artists that followed the famous family name, Hiroshi lived an incredibly modest life. The Najira family way ensured that it wasn’t lavish by any means but Hiroshi can sometimes be insensitive about the subject when he encounters quality beneath his expectations.

In the beginning, chaos reigned. Light and Dark, and the spirits that lived within, clashed since time immemorial. Eons of incessant fighting passed before a tentative balance was reached. This softer push and pull, give and take, created the earth, the sky, and all the creatures that lived in between. These newly created creatures saw the opposing forces as they did now. They honored those responsible for their creation and gave the forces names: Dia and Nia. The spirits of both were uncertain how to handle these newly formed creatures and so they flocked to the new world to see what they created for themselves.

As the Dark is wont to do, the spirits of Nia wandered among the new creations immediately. They found these new mortals endlessly fascinating and with time, doted on them. Their hearts filled with affection and they brought the struggling mortal under their wing. They taught them what they knew: they taught the mortals compassion and empathy, they taught them the importance of creativity and imagination, they taught them magic to hide and disappear and ways to brew elixirs for sickness. The spirits of Nia filled with love for these mortals and they lamented at how their children were stolen from them as they aged and passed. They hadn't known the pain of a loved one lost and with the passion the Children of Nia would become renowned for, the Darkness sacrificed it’s immortality to share its power with all of its children if only to live on with each of them forever.

Meanwhile, the spirits of Dia descended on another part of the mortals and found themselves enamoured with the image of themselves the mortals revered. The spirits took the form of powerful, winged creatures and claimed their place as the rulers of these lesser mortal races. They taught their servants architecture and business, built up trade and religion, and taught them to navigate with the stars. The Dia found the mortals pathetic, sad, and endlessly naive as their efforts served to exoll the Dia in all ways. As a gesture of good will, the Dia raised a single mortal above the rest and imbued him with a little power from each Dia, ensuring that they were unaffected by the sacrifice, and called him the Favored. The Favored gained powers beyond what any single mortal possessed and he ruled over the mortals of the Dia.

Although the existence of the world and its creatures benefited all spirits equally, the time old tensions rose between them and the mortals shifted to accommodate. The mortals of Dia and the mortals of Nia drifted apart and territory disputes began. The spirits recognized the threat their fighting possessed and so they met away from the mortal place to discuss how to proceed. Negotiations were tense. The conclave nearly quit or came to blows but weeks later, they came to a conclusion: ritual combat.

Every 10 years, the Children of Nia and the Favored would meet on the border of the territory of Dia and Nia to act as proxies for their guiding spirits. This would allow the world to remain in one piece and slake the spirits’ instinctual need to clash with each other.

The Dia didn’t change their practice. A single mortal would be raised, granted powers beyond mortal capacity, and rule the rest. This mortal would be the Dia’s champion at the Conclave event each year until the next Favored was old enough to carry the burden.
However, the Nia had long lost their immortality. Instead, the trained their descendants in ancient techniques, melding magic with martial might. It was no secret they didn’t have the brute strength to overcome the Dia’s Favored so they learned. They studied everything they could, honed their skills day and night, and relied on each other. These families that dedicated themselves to the cause of the spirits became known as the Keepers of Nia. They swore a sacred vow to protect their communities from harm within and without. Many of the Keepers would step away from leadership roles because it clouded their ability to watch for threats impartially. Others took up the mantle eagerly and thrived.

So the world found an odd peace. Tensions between the communities faded away as the natural balance was found once again. It seemed a utopia.

Until 5000 years later, when a Favored discovered the Dia were only using the mortal race for their own gain and in his fury, massacred the Dia and absorbed the entirety of their powers. The Light consumed his mind, transforming him into an angelic beauty. His face turned to porcelain, forever twisted in the visage of his final lament, and he rose above his lands with only thoughts filled with the greed of the Dia. They fed him and his need for power extended past the lands of his people. His advisors begged him against and he branded them as heretics, killing them in the streets of their own home. The horror that he saw that day marked his entire people as traitors and he considered them worthless. Now called the Archon, he used his powers to warp his people into immortal creatures made in his own image. Twisted beauties, they became known as the Favored. Like the Archon, each face was now a porcelain mask displaying whatever last expression that had before the transformation claimed their minds.

The Archon declared war and it was brutal. Faced with the unrelenting might of Light and the unchecked fury of the Archon at the mere existence of Dark, the Keepers were soon forced to retreat. They herded as many as they could into the inner territories, setting wards and barriers to stall the Archon’s advance. They established cities with walls and gates infused with shadow, developed techniques that allowed their blades to drip darkness, and mastered guerrilla warfare and infiltration. The varied techniques of the past slowly died as the Keepers fought for survival.

Those caught outside the protected cities would soon find their minds succumbing to the light of the Archon and warping into one of its Favored. The Favored knew nothing of compassion, of mercy. They only knew of the ever growing hunger for power and conquest. To make matters worse, the Keepers discovered that the longer the war continued, the more new generations were born without the connection to the Nia. Hope was a scarce resource as 10 of the 12 cities collapsed beneath the Archon’s might and the remaining free mortals began to starve without the land to feed themselves.

Driven to desperate measures, the Keepers infiltrated the Archon’s Citadel in hopes of stumbling across any information on a critical weakness of the Archon and its Favored. Instead, they learned the nightmarish ritual the Archon used to strip the Dia of their power and start its age of unending bloodshed. They barely managed to escape with the information but the sacrifices they suffered were not in vain.

It took a century to complete the ritual. The second of the remaining free cities was battered with the renewed wrath of the Archon. Previous failures to complete the ritual cost the Keepers another life but in the end, the Keepers stripped themselves and their ancestors of their power and imbued it into one single child. Malvira Nia was raised under strict tutelage with the understanding that she was the child ever Keeper―no. Every mortal―placed their hopes in. It was stifling. A burden put on shoulders not yet strong enough to hold it. So she ran.

It would take years but watching the sister city of her own crumble beneath the Favored woke her up to the necessity of her destiny. She threw herself into her training, rallying the people behind her, and rode out to push back the Favored with her own soldiers besides her. For the first time in 5000 years, the Keepers won a battle.

The war was tough and at every corner, Malvira Nia was there to restore her soldier's resolve and defend them in battle. But as great of a leader, a general, and a soldier she was, anyone under her command would acknowledge that she was distant and cold. Most commended her dedication, even expected it, but those closest to her knew she accepted death as a certainty and they fought back against it. Those who grew up with her, her tutors, and even the few stragistest she worked closely with worked to make her open up, to accept that they could figure out a solution in which she lives because nothing in this world is ever certain.

It took the near death of someone she loved to make her change her mind. Malvira was known for risky operations that only relied on her but the soldier who would become Malvira’s life partner interfered when Malvira was close to failure, successfully turning the tide of the operation but nearly dying in the process. Mavira learned that day what she would be leaving behind if she died recklessly and her operations became less risky, more calculated. It drove her forced forward even faster. The old Keepers learned how to revert the Favored from their twisted state back to mortality and their numbers swelled.

It was a tale as old as time. The inevitable clash of Light and Dark that would put an end to this war once and for all. The Archon discovered Malvira’s love and capitalized on it, manipulating the resistance forces to sending her life partner and another small group to infiltrate what was supposedly a low risk encampment that the Archon itself would appear at moments after the group’s capture. Malvira was handling a wave of new Favored assaults when she received the news. She turned on her heel and rode into the night to face the Archon face on without a word to anyone.

The Archon’s intent was to mow Malvira down with the Favored but its pride demanded he accept the challenge she threw in its face. Their battle lasted three days and three nights. Her forces rallied to her, trying to penetrate the heart of the encampment to offer the last Keeper their support but they couldn’t keep up with the sheer numbers. Her friends, her family, her soldiers fell to the light and transformed into Favored even as she battled it’s source. Malvira’s rage and desperation built with every fallen friend.

The dawn of the fourth day broke the stalemate. The building fury finally exploded and drove her blade, dripping with Darkness, into the Archon’s heart and he crumbled to the ground, the Light fading as he did. The Favored shifted back. It was a painful, terrifying process but eventually the Favored would return to their mortal forms once more. Malvira thought she’d escaped.

But the Archon had one final curse. A spiteful curse on this land and those who defied him, the Archon uttered it with its final breath and a torrent of Light was unleashed on the world. For there to be harmony, Light and Darkness must be in balance and now that Light was let back into the world, Malvira knew the Darkness inside her was needed as well. She gave herself over to the Dark and she faded along with the Archon, the darkness pouring out of her to neutralize the Archon’s curse.

When city fell and lives did flee,
Pursued by Light in perverted glee,
Find themselves upon the ridge
Where all hope did crash and halt
With no way out and no retreat.
A single crossing guaranteed
Their lives were forfeit.

When Sun met sky in cradled zenith,
Light ignored their fervent pleas
For sweetest mercy on their knees.
The horde which snarled bespoke their fate
As minions of what they hate.

And yet why did they still make pleas?
None had answered for so long.
And even as the their lives and homes
Crumbled to dust around them ,
Their spirit sang out for sweet reprieve.

None who lived to tell this tale
Recall the moment when all.
Held a collective breath.
The world around them stilled on its axis
And even Light stopped in its tracks.

For in domain the wrong side of day
Stood Darkness with blue eyes ablaze
Sweet Meralyn with easy song
Blade ready against the coming fray.

And so did Light command its slaves
To claim the Darkness for the Day
But firm she stood against the point,
Swift as song and true as arrow
With not a flinch or show of fear
As Sun continued to its drink.

Next came Pious,
Large of jowel, jaw, and claw,
Four legs to rip and tear
And still did Darkness with the bout
As Meralyn screams and shouts,
Dripping white with Favored blood
And corpses growing beneath her butt.

Soon screamed Fervent,
Reflections of us,
Mortals who fell
Beneath Light’s lust,
Yet still fall did they
In heavy foray
And added to the growth.

Soon the Sun dipped down its head,
The slivered moon regarded its friend
With favor and fun as She bathed in its light
While true Light considered
To fight or to flight.

Wisely did It choose
To flee beyond the moon
But not without rebuke or two
When Martyred Favored
Bodies blocking out the sky
Lumbered slowly forwarded
To blot out the night.

With eyes held shut,
Their hope all but gone,
Since Darkness did naught
For their own flesh and blood
With the felling of cities
Why should She now
Stand against those who commit such atrocity?

And yet there came none,
No Light in its waves,
No carcasses of Martyr scattered across their flesh
With not even a whisper
Darkness had best
The worst of the nightmares
Light yet created
And upon that podium
Of Light’s single loss
Did the Bridge of Malcant
Restore our hope lost.

Listen close and listen well, children. The grove over yonder must never be entered. You all know the one; it glimmers bright even beneath the dark of night in perpetual defiance. You little ones won’t remember the time the Light came to our village. The monsters that scratched at the sky. We called them the Martyred Favored. As big as a house with as many arms and legs as four men, each tipped with razor sharp claws that’d cut even stone in twain with ease, more so a man. But that wasn’t why they were made.

No. Those were only to protect its body, swollen full as if with child. It stomped unheeded by thorn or brush, caring little for anything in its path, as it made its way to wherever the Light demanded. It had no mouth so it killed for pleasure, made no noise other than the screams of its victims and the weight of its steps, but a moving Martyr was what you preferred. Because when it stopped, it exploded.

Light would explode from inside and corrupt everything it touched. Living creatures turned to Favored, ground purified of life, and anything else disappeared. The first one to ever be stopped was right here in this village. A soldier noticed the creature escape from the battle on the ridge and come thundering down to us. We saw it and we despaired, even as the soldier came galloping down behind it.

He cut it off at the grove. The two battled and we wept at his cries of pain and we wept when we heard the thunderous footsteps still. We knew what we would become. We braced ourselves as best we could, putting anything between us and them even if it meant nothing. The grove turned bright, blinding, and pure, and we mourned before we couldn’t anymore.

And then, just like that, the skys turned dark before its time. There She stood, the last Keeper of Nia, a blip against the impending explosion. Tendrils of Darkness stretched from the sky, up form the ground, and even from the air itself, all bending to Her will as she wrapped the grove with one hand and cradled the soldier, unconscious, with the other. The world shuddered as the ground quivered beneath the monster’s ire but Her will stood firm with a simple flick of her fingers as the deluge crashed against Her. It rose and rose and rose and rose until it vanished into the sky, returning night to day, and left only the trees bright with Light.

So no you cannot go into the grove or a monster you’ll become. Just gaze upon it in awe and always remember the day that Darkness came.

Mark Reggie stood at the doorstep of his house, briefcase in hand, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's good to be home."

No sooner had he opened the door than three children piled into his arms. "Daddy! Daddydaddydaddy-"
See, now this is why coming home is the best part of the day. He kissed each one of them on the forehead to the tune of delighted squeals. A moment later, they all scampered off to resume playing a rousing game of Mechs & Militia.

His wife came downstairs and folded her arms. "Did I just catch you kissing other people?"
"Mhm, real lovely ones too."
"That's true. Not like I'm jealous or anything, baka!"
"If I kiss you, will you quit teasing me with historical references I don't get?"
She giggled. "Historical? That's a first. It's an anime reference."
"An ani-what?"
"It's an Old World thing. Kisses first, explanations later."

As the two of them prepared the evening meal together, Mark said, "So I learned something about our family history today."
"At work? For work-related matters?"
"Surprisingly, yes. As part of my research into the Imperial Era, I found records of people bearing the Reggie name. Turns out it's related to the name Raege. Ring any bells?"
"Wasn't there a queen or something by that name?"
"Exactly. Casca del Raege, the last Empress of the Dragan Empire. We're blood-related by her sister's line."
"I'm so sorry."
"Haha! Well, I'm not. It's really fascinating. She conquered the world when she was just 16, but the long war, combined with her expensive social programs, incurred so much debt that the whole country's economic system collapsed with her death. She went a little crazy toward the end of her reign, seeking out some 'Elixir of Immortality' in Northaven Tower."
"The Northaven Tower? The space defense installation?"
"The one and only. They called it the Black Tower back then."
"Pfft, that's hilarious! She seriously thought she'd find immortality in there? Good gawd, she must have been nuts."
"No kidding. Dragged all thirteen of her knights into it too. It apparently got her killed when she got back to the palace."
"History is full of strange people, isn't it?"
"It certainly is, honey. It certainly is."

To my dearest Kiel,

I finally got my hands on that blasted tablet! Remember how I said the elves have been hoarding Ancient relics, such as the Ancient Tablet? Well, I did some...negotiations, and managed to acquire the tablet. I'm told they found it near the central Black Tower, which doesn't surprise me, given its origins. It's a strange little thing, made of what is best described as boneskin, that produces an illuminating image when touched. I'd call it magic, but one enterprising mage managed to restore its powers with a makeshift electric plug, so it's probably more like incomprehensible technology (as usual). Absolutely fascinating.

But I digress. We couldn't access the information stored within for the longest time, until I noticed a bit of text. I happen to know a little of the Ancient tongue, and I thought it was asking for a "password." So I called up the Imperial codebreakers to have a go at it. It turned out to be the right decision, because they managed to guess the unlocking sequence after a few tries.

I've been reading through the thing in my spare time, and I found something very disturbing: our records of the Void War are woefully incomplete. Some time after civilization began on our world, seven Gates opened up around the continent, and from them billions of Void warriors poured forth. Yes, you read that right - billions. All the combined might of the Imperial Army could barely defeat just one of them. The Ancients battled them on equal terms, from what I gathered, with a combination of infantry, war golems (mechs, they called them) with drivers inside, and vessels in the sky that would dwarf any seagoing ship.

The Ancients nearly lost that war.

Kiel, I'm scared it will happen again. I've seen the dormant Gate under Drakengard Palace. I can feel its wretched powers flowing through it again. When I'm near it, I struggle more to contain my flames than before, and it's started to glow a little. World leaders think the Gates are merely a source of mana. They don't understand! The world is in apocalyptic peril, and they're just...sitting on the threat, like it's some kind of throne! We have to do something. Each one of those Gates lies underneath a country's palace, so we'd probably have to conquer the whole world in order to shut them down ourselves!

I don't know, Kiel. I'm only the thirteenth in line to the throne. There are twelve siblings ahead of me and fourteen siblings behind me who are all much more capable kings and queens than I am. I keep falling asleep in economics class. Nobody will believe me. I'm tempted to just let the next king take care of it, but I think Wesley would sooner laugh at me than take my warning seriously.

Please write to me, Kiel. I need your guidance. And a hug. And maybe a kiss while you're at it. You know what? Just come see me. I'll have the royal chefs make us some pound cake with strawberries and frosting. Ride safely.

Love,
~Casca