Year 205 A.F.W. (After the First War)

On the Empty Fields, which to this day remain a no man's land, stood an army of humans, looking deep into the eyes of the demons which readied their sharp nails, grew their twisted horns and screamed in a fit of anger and bravery.

Such were the last moments of the Second Errarion War. When all hope was seemingly lost, and yet another, seemingly pointless battle ensued, people still pushed forth and the demons only grew more and more relentless.

Paladians of Osmania, Harans from Harabara, Erans from all around the Mainland as well as the Tributals from Exeter, attacked. The Demonears, people who specialized in killing those devils ran in the front, killing the deadliest of enemies with a few slices of their sharp weapons, while the other brave men willingly dived headfirst into the action, even without a strategy in mind.

The sky turned red that night, and after a few hours, it seemed as if humanity was losing again. There were too many, they were too strong.

The Duke of Osmania, Norbert Kris, fell to the ground, tightly gripping his sword. A demon stood before him, with massive shoulders, rocky fists and eyes which shone yellow. He ground his teeth, finding the courage to stand up once more.

He put his other hand in the front and ran towards the demon, slicing through its abdomen, and sliding down, with a painful wail following suit.

Norbert closed one eye, and the creature turned around, smashing the ground and sending a shockwave that tripped him, launching him onto the rocky terrain of the nearby Mount Aria.

He fearfully yelled out, pressuring his stomach, as it bled profusely. His eyes widened with fear, as the devil picked up speed, regenerating its new wound, and sprinting towards the Duke. Norbert turned, grinding his teeth, then closing his eyes.

Suddenly, something flew from behind a burning hill and sliced through the creature's stomach. A boomerang soared back to their hand, as eyes now met Norbert.

"O-Oliver," Norbert muttered before he walked forward, with one leg heavier than the other.

Oliver coughed out, before dropping onto the ground.

An almost deathly landscape was revealed before the Duke. Staring up, he found the sea of dark clouds, weighing heavily against the crimson backdrop. Rocks collided with each other, and fortifications crashed against the massive fists of those similar fiery demons, meeting in the middle, where swords and spears were stuck into the ground, bigger and smaller, rising above the nearby Asno Hill.

Most importantly, though, the only light that shone was on the demon's side. The strongest seemed to cast such illuminations as if directing newer attacks to an obeying army. A green, turtle-like creature ran somewhere back and forth, while a bigger one sliced through other Paladians with its sword.

The Duke breathed heavily, before eventually focusing on the Tributal before him. A new gleam

Oliver huffed, as they sat against a dark rock. "You know you can't kill a demon, Duke." they smiled. "Leave that stuff to people like us."

"I'm just trying to..." Norbert's entire body twitched. "...fight." he glanced down, his black hair locks falling onto pieces of his broken armour. "To help everyone."

"You can't win this battle, Norbert." they put their hand on Norbert's stomach. "You'll win the war." The blood that stained a wound across his stomach slowly evaporated, returning to the Duke's body.

"W-What are you doing, Oliver? Heal yourself!" Norbert tried reaching for their ginger hair. "Don't waste Tributal magic on someone like me!" he raised his voice.

"Waste? What are you talking about, Norbert?" Oliver coughed, as their body slid down the sharp rock.

Fires spread, and people let out vigorous yells, which hushed out the terrifying screams of the demons. The once-green and even yellow grass turned to nothingness or a bleak red. It wasn't the same colour that would remind Paladians of their refuge. Leaves turned into the same tint and flew away as they picked on the fruits blooming from the trees. Now, that was nothing but a sad reminder of how things once used to be.

"There's a reason you're called Duke." they turned their blue eyes to the Duke's face. Norbert gulped.

"It's just heritage, nothing else. All the Kris' were weak cowards, and I'm only alike." he uttered. "But Demonears like you are our only hope for the future."

"Your blood is hope, Norbert." Oliver continued. "Hope for a better tomorrow without those f-filthy creatures. Hope for a time when Errarion can become a peaceful land once more." they breathed in through their teeth. "To win, you need to stay alive. Paladians will stay in a desperate shadow without a leader to follow."

The Duke covered his face, breathing out. "What am I supposed to do then? I can't pick up your Guardian Demon. I can't kill them."

"Run," Oliver said, closing both of his eyes.

"Run..?"

"Far from here. Through the passages of the Whiteburn and Orange Mountains, and into the caves of Cirim. If you find your way through the quiet darkness, you'll see it." Oliver smiled a bit. "A purple land of hope, where the night sky turns into beautiful colours you could stare at for hours if they didn't hurt you in the eyes. The land where snow feels like warmth. Not one you'd find near a fireplace, but something that would remind one of home."

"Shimori...?" the Duke asked. "You're from Shimori?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. In me, runs Morian blood. It's not fighting against my Tributal will, more like... dancing in harmony, edging to return. I can't see home anymore, but maybe you will." Oliver squeezed Norbert's palm tightly. "So, don't let that hope die, Norbert. You'll stand your ground, and defeat that damned Shi Hon. Even if Osmania comes crumbling down, humanity shall stand. For now, though, run."

Norbert gulped.

"As far as your legs can carry you. Keep running till you're out of breath." he breathed his last breath, with a reassuring smile and Norbert stood up. "For me."

The Duke glanced at the dying Tributal once more. A wind picked up from behind flying through their hair, before their eyes froze, eventually sealing tight.

Norbert turned to the Whiteburn Mountains, and just as Oliver said...

...he started running.

He didn't have time to worry about demons or the people yelling out for help. It seemed as if something was forcing him to move his legs. He didn't need a horse to ride on either. Despite his wounds and the woes of the past, he kept running.

For moments, he spotted the people of Hakh-Nivena, defending their houses etched into the Orange Mountains extending before his eyes. He stepped on dark green grass and bounced off the watery puddles that naturally formed around the watery region of Malikan. He looked up, seeing the snowy tops of the mountains, reaching into the sky.

The Duke breathed out, putting his hand on the rocky entrance of the passage, and looked down the erected river, extending towards Exeter, which was now engulfed in a purple fire.

It was so far away but could be seen so clearly in the depths of the night.

Norbert ground his teeth and ventured into the dim caves, which were occasionally lit up with either dark blue crystals or ores that shone brighter than the sun. He moved past a puddle of water, clearly reflecting his scarred face, and made it down into the depths of Cirim, running through its tight corridors, squeezing through the narrow entrances and seldom falling onto the beige ground below.

The rocks started changing colour over time. From a deep, dark grey, to a more subtle brown, maybe even red at times. The heat from Lignoria and Malikan turned into this subtle coldness, eventually into an almost freezing wind. The Duke climbed towards the surface, seeing the light shining through the gaps in the adjacent walls.

With a few more steps, his eyes met a blinding white.

Norbert extended his arm, and the falling snow graced his hairy, thick fingers. He breathed in, feeling the cold air surrounding his body. He gazed at the many coniferous trees, covered in the silvers, standing against a rather hilly backdrop.

In his blurry vision, he saw a yellow light shining in the distance. His body, however, lacked the energy to keep him standing. He lost balance and fell onto the fluff.

***

The Duke woke up in a cotton bed, under silky-smooth and thick sheets, wearing clothes he didn't recognize: a subtly white button-up and long brown pants tied with a delicate rope. He put his bare feet onto the wooden patterns on the floor and walked towards the red door. As he turned the long doorknob, it opened, revealing things he hadn't seen beforehand.

People strolled around what resembled a small village, but one would correctly guess that a word encompassing something so small and seemingly insignificant couldn't house as many people. Mentioning such, its houses were either made out of a dark brown wood of the massive junipers that stood all around the place or were parts of the trees, all with the same colourful doors, in different shapes. Chimneys pumped some smoke, and Norbert stepped onto the snow, once again, reminding himself of the frost.

Some people stared at him, while others minded their business. The others drank from big wooden cups, prayed, brushed through the hair of the various animals in nearby pens, enjoyed a meal, stood near the well, chatted and some were playing in the snow or tending to the trees.

A man with short white hair and a white cloak picked something up from the ground and turned to Norbert, with a small smile. "It looks like you finally woke up, Duke," he spoke, in a rather strange accent, but still in the common tongue of Manjuno. He beamed. "Metho seed? It's quite salty and nutritious as well."

"W-Where am I?" Norbert asked, holding the seed that the man put in his palm.

"A town called Mistwick, in the country of Shimori. I was about to join the battle myself, but it turned out the tides shifted ever since." he shook his head. "A bird flew by, singing songs of everything that happened there. Great losses, and the disappearance of Lignoria's Duke. Then, there you were."

"I-Is the war over?" Norbert continued, gulping, and the man shook his head. "How much time has passed?"

"It's only been a few days," he replied. "...and no, it's not."

Norbert ground his teeth, and moved back, sitting on the bed. "You should've gone back there, then!" he raised his voice, while the man fixed his cloak, sneaking a curious expression. "Fought for the others, when... all I did was run." his eyes shrunk, as he was about to signal something with his hands, but quickly gave up, hiding them in his pockets. "For what, then, Oliver...?" he whispered.

"I'm not a person who leaves others in need. Nor do Morians, if you're so curious. Even if the world may see us as strange." the man spoke, sitting next to Norbert, who closed his eyes.

"This. All of this," he gulped, "How long has it existed?" Norbert moved his hands around.

"Ever since the end of the first war. That's when Shimori came to be."

Norbert moved back, looking around again. Another bed found itself nestled in between a few ladders, with its mattress almost pressing against the ceiling. A few other Morians stared through the window, curiously, and when Norbert's gaze met theirs, they quickly ran away.

"It's nothing new to us. Yet, I'm sure it's surprising. Have you ever seen a Morian?"

"Only one." Norbert shook his head.

"What was his name?

"I can't recall now, but..." Norbert ground his teeth. "H-He turned all of our bravest warriors into Demonears."

The older Morian laughed. "It's strange that we never met on the battlefields."

People of Osmania, especially royalty always considered the snowy country as otherworldly. After the first war, Erans and Tributals fled from Asmaroth and passed through Mount Aria, finding themselves in the barren, purple land, untouched by most humans and never marked on the few maps which existed back then, drawn by the Paladian allies of the royalty, specifically Niko and Camilia Baron.

With time passing, news spread, and over the next two hundred years, civilizations were built, and the offspring of the people joined in with the common, small, orc-like creatures, now becoming a race known as Morians.

They never were involved with Errarion's problems, needs or wants. They rejected trade routes and lived calm, unregistered lives in the snowy mountains, forests and lakes, which bloomed violet in Herbes.

Paladians were primarily interested in the country of Asno, which at the time, presented great opportunities.

As the Duke's wounds healed, he left the town of Mistwick with a good impression of the people once ignored and skipped over. He rode on a white horse and returned to the country of Lignoria.

Within the next season, the war ended. Despite the Duke being incredibly busy, he prioritized something else. With his vow, Shimori became a part of Mainland Errarion, and its towns were roughly sketched onto the maps, right next to a question mark, looming above Asno.

Morians, which once used to be nothing but rumours and speculations, became a key part of restoring this world's hope. The Duke even called them the northern race of kindness and spoke only great things about their peaceful existence.

On the 22nd of Dear, 206 A.F.W., seven days after the Second War had been declared as finished, Shimori became open to the world and, with passed knowledge from man to man, race to another, swiftly became well-known and respected.

Open, as in, Shimori wasn't compared to the Outer Errarion isles but treated as a part of the Mainland. When the light disappeared from other places, it shone elsewhere and soon became one of the four main legions of power, humanity, and, once again, hope.

The end of the Second War wasn't the only time when Morians proved themselves the heroes, however. There will come a time, when the smallest, most insignificant of things at first glance, foretold by tales and further sparked up by fate itself, will prove to change the course of this entire world.