Long ago, in the mystical realm of Albion…
Two sorcerers stood above all—Merlin, the boy with boundless wonder, and Malakar, the dark elf with a haunted past.
At just twelve winters old, Merlin ventured into the enchanted forest, eager to unlock the secrets of magic. The woods twisted unnaturally, the air thick with ancient power. There, he encountered a shadowy figure: a dark elf whose presence turned the air sickly. His eyes glowed with eerie green light.
"I am Malakar," the figure said. "Master of necromancy."
Merlin, cautious but curious, engaged him. To his surprise, Malakar wasn't driven by destruction, but by a need to understand life—and death. He sought purpose. Intrigued, Merlin proposed a pact: they would journey together across Albion, seeking forgotten knowledge and power.
Thus, their unlikely friendship was forged.
Merlin honed elemental magic, while Malakar delved deeper into necromancy. They faced beasts, scaled mountains, and unraveled the mysteries of old. Through these adventures, Merlin learned that true strength lay not just in power—but compassion. Malakar, too, changed. He realized his darkness could be a shield, not just a weapon.
One day, deep in a Druidic library, they uncovered a tome glowing with chronal energy. It contained the secrets of time magic. Obsessed, Merlin struggled with the volatile art, aging years in hours as time warped around him.
Meanwhile, Malakar was summoned to Erebo, the underworld city. There, his father Xandro's revealed a chilling truth: he had sacrificed their family's souls to a being beyond the veil, in exchange for power.
"But you, my son," Xandro's said, "you are compatible. Join me, and we'll rule this world."
Horrified and enraged, Malakar attacked.
As Xandro's choked the life from his son, Merlin, having finally mastered time magic, appeared—ripping through space with a temporal shield. Together, they defeated Xandro's, barely escaping with their lives.
Centuries passed.
On his deathbed, Merlin called Malakar. "My brother," he whispered, "spread our magic. Share what we learned. Let the world remember us."
Tears welled in Malakar's eyes.
"Take our legacy," Merlin said, placing a hand on his friend's forehead, "to every corner of the world."
And then, he was gone.
Malakar kept that promise. He taught magic to humankind, traversing continents, igniting hope. But he could never teach necromancy—only strange fragments of it emerged through his disciples.
As the centuries caught up with him, Malakar discovered reincarnation. He bound both their souls to a future where darkness would once again rise.
Merlin was reborn first— maybe a year or two earlier.
Malakar was reborn into a sixteen-year-old boy with no memory of his past.
That boy's name… was Akira.
Akira floated in a dark, endless void. He blinked once. Twice.
"...Just a dream," he murmured.
The silence comforted him—until he felt it. Something was missing. Something important.
A voice called out—his mother's.
Suddenly, he shot upright in bed. "School!" he panicked, fumbling for his uniform.
"Breakfast?" his mother asked as he dashed out the door.
"No time!" he yelled.
Watching him go, she sighed. "Who's going to eat all this?"
"I will," his dad muttered, flipping the newspaper.
Akira raced down the street and nearly collided with his friend Yuta.
"Late again?" Yuta teased.
"Speak for yourself!"
They grinned, then bolted, shouting, "LATE!"
Taking a shortcut, they jumped a fence—only to stumble into three rival gangs mid-standoff.
Guns raised. A gunshot rang out.
Time slowed.
The bullet aimed for Yuta.
Akira's eyes darkened, shadow flickering within them. Without thinking, he shoved Yuta away—and the bullet hit him square in the chest.
The gangs panicked and fled.
Akira collapsed.
Yuta screamed, trying to stop the bleeding. Akira looked up, smile fading. "I feel… cold."
And then, everything went black.
Akira drifted in the same dark void.
"So... I'm dead," he whispered. "What a waste."
He thought of his family. Tears welled up.
"I miss them already."
A voice echoed:
"So… you want to live?"
"Yes..." he whispered.
"Good."
A violent gasp. Akira's eyes shot open. Doctors stared in shock.
He was alive.
News spread like wildfire.
In a shadowy room elsewhere, two figures watched.
"If he refuses," said one, "I'll drag him here myself."
Akira wandered the hospital halls. Everything was eerily empty.
"Where's everyone?"
Suddenly—red eyes flashed in a window.
He blinked. Gone.
Then, it appeared.
A monstrous, grotesque creature stood at the end of the hall, rasping: "Capture... capture…"
Akira ran.
The creature chased.
Just as it lunged—a flaming arrow struck it.
A man in a tuxedo stood beside Akira.
"You hurt?" he asked.
Akira couldn't speak.
The monster began to rise again—but the man's skin cracked, magma glowing beneath. He grabbed the beast's claw.
"Why won't you die?" he muttered—and incinerated it.
Turning to Akira, he extended a hand.
"You're coming with us."
Akira whispered, "Who's us?"
The world faded to black.