Ira

Hundreds of years ago, long before the poisonous fog ravaged the lands of Vathilia, there existed a hidden race known as the Sylvarein.

The Sylvarein—or Sylvas, as some called them—were no ordinary beings. Merely by singing, their voices could resonate with the very soul of a listener, cleansing the body of any corruption or darkness that had taken root. Their songs were not of this world, sung in a language no one alive could decipher.

The man who once ruled all four lands of Vathilia coveted their power. For years, he waged war in an attempt to force the Sylvarein into submission. But none could find their home—hidden deep within the land and protected by a barrier that shielded it from the eyes of the world.

It was said that to enter Sylvarein territory, one must wear a blindfold as protection. For in battle, the Sylvas carried no weapons. Their form of attack was dance. Each step, each movement, each sway of their masked bodies summoned creatures from realms far beyond mortal comprehension. These summoned beings came with a single purpose: to claim the soul.

And they always listened to their victims’ final pleas—as they tore their bodies to shreds.

In the year 4000, long after the fog had swept through Vathilia, the ruler of the Sylvarein gave birth to a baby girl—Ira, born with eyes as red as molten lava and hair as black as the night sky. The moment she opened her mouth, the barrier that had protected their land for centuries tore open.

Throughout the land of Vathilia, it was a phenomenal moment. Many claimed the air was filled with snow-white droplets that cleansed the land. Carnivorous Creatures—twisted beings of what once were people—regained their sanity, and their bodies began to change back to what they had been… in other words, into that of higher-ranking Phasrons.

The Emperor of Aflistan, whose rule had yet to stabilize—especially with both Nasmar and Ustrus having joined forces to wage war against his land—felt that power ripple through the air and wanted it for himself. In other words, he wanted to stabilize his country and his people, no matter the cost.

But knowing the consequences of what would happen if he dared to force his way into the terrain of the Sylvarein, the Emperor held back—and began to plan.

Over the years, Ira spent her days immersed in the history of her people, honing her abilities. And when night fell, she’d slip beyond the barrier to meet her lover—someone she could only see in the dead of night.

One night, after sneaking away to their usual meeting spot, she was suddenly ambushed. Before she could even open her mouth to unleash her voice, a syringe pierced her neck—its contents a strange, yellowish liquid. Within moments, she was unconscious. Her body was tossed into a box and sealed inside.

When Ira woke, she was chained to a bed.

And staring down at her…

was a man with strawberry-blonde hair and stormy gray eyes.