Prologue
This was once the underground chamber of a nation long forgotten — the country once called Almania.
Now, it is a land with no people, erased even from maps — a small, nameless kingdom.
Neither the town above nor this man-made chamber below retain any trace of what once was.
Clear crystals that once gleamed, and stained-glass windows painted with beautiful goddesses, have all been crushed into dust, indistinguishable from the sand.
Some stone carvings barely retain their shape, but after countless years they too crumble little by little.
Large holes gape in the walls, where thick roots have grown through, their tangled mass letting in faint threads of light that dimly illuminate the underground chamber.
From the condition of the walls and the growth of the roots, it was clear that no human hand had tended to this place for a very long time.
As morning came and birds began to sing above, a man opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight that touched his face.
Even filtered through leaves and roots, the weak light was still dazzling when it hit directly.
In the center of the wide underground room, the man sat alone, his knees and shins resting on the ground — as if he had simply collapsed where he stood.
He had black hair that brushed his shoulders, sharp crimson eyes, and a face so beautiful anyone might call him strikingly handsome.
Yet there was hardly anyone who would dare approach or speak to him.
For on his back grew a pair of large wings.
Like those of a great raven, the black feathers stirred faintly with each breath he took.
That alone was proof enough that the wings were real — that he was not human, but one of the beings known as demons.
The man tilted his head sharply to the side, as though to escape the sunlight.
He did not seem intent on moving.
No — more precisely, he could not move.
From his back protruded a massive sword — one so large that even a mighty warrior would need both hands to lift it.
The blade had pierced through his chest, driven deep into the ground like a stake.
From that gaping wound, glowing red chains of magic extended outward, wrapping tightly around his entire body.
They were likely forged from his own blood’s magical power.
Though everything around him had been worn down by centuries, he alone remained untouched — as if time itself had stopped for him.
He was the great immortal demon who had been sealed away long ago.
“Good morning.”
The man spoke into the empty air.
Though his whole body was bound in chains, he could still move his wrists just a little.
With his restrained right hand, he gently stroked the blade that pierced his chest — the sword that had sealed him — smiling faintly, almost tenderly.
And just as he had done every day for countless years, he spoke once more to the sword.
“It’s a fine day again today… my master.”
