On a rocky battlefield where time itself felt lonely yet accompanied with living beings. The landscape showed a long-lasting war with a chaotic view. The golden sky, once a symbol of perseverance faded into a gloomy dusk, signaling the end of a great era. A short man with a great physique and an embracing long brown hair stood there, with scars that glowed like molten gold. Jace Goldscar. A name recognized across several nations. Known to be a warrior, a hero, a legend and a caring father. His natural strength carried entire armies, but today he stood alone. His daggers bathed in gold; were the weapons he carried since the beginning. These daggers held his legacy, being gripped by Jace who kept still despite exhaustion took control over his body, his mind refused. His sore muscles trembled in agony; He surpassed his body’s limit. He had nothing left to give, no reinforcements or any cheap trick, only acceptation. Seven figures surrounded him. Known to be the strongest soldiers of different nations, they had come with a purpose, knowing they faced a man who defied fate itself. But even as Jace stood on the verge of collapse, they didn’t move, scanning the man deeply. The commander enemy stepped forward; his gaze expressed nothing else but recognition.

  “Jace Goldscar…” The name of a being who helped ally nations get through the adversities.

  Jace exhaled slowly, his chest rise and fall, signaling his final breath. He looks at the sky as he remembers what he has gone through to finally meet his last moment. The golden sky slowly changed to a gloomy dusk. He thought of the Gods which granted him that power, the ones who accompanied him since the day they meet.

  Jace: (Whispering.) “I’m glad, I’m glad. I’m glad I could raise a nation thanks to you guys… If this is how my life will end, that’s okay with me. I accept it. I have done a lot of journeys throughout the years.”

  And now, he stood at the end of that era. The era he embraced despite its harsh reality, changing it for good. His jégosgalia awakened by its own. One last time. Molten gold lines coil, wrapping Jace in its embrace while a thick giant rock is summoned by his jégosgalia.. His golden scars shone as bright it could, almost blinding the enemies nearby. His daggers slowly moved towards the ground as he loses slowly his grip. With a weakened voice, he expresses his final words.

  Jace: “Let my soul carry the willpower of a person worthy of my daggers.”

  … Complete silence.

  Jace did not fall. The giant rock helped him stand. His daggers plunged into the ground to Jace’s side. The hilts glimmered for some brief seconds… Nothing else occurred.

  One of the enemies walked to one of the daggers with curiosity, and the moment his fingers approached the blade, a thin invisible force cut across his skin. He gasped, stepping backwards. None dared to touch anything or get close to him. The breeze felt stronger than ever, an unknown presence watched. It witnessed Jace’s death, acknowledging his final act. And so, his daggers remained untouched, sealed intime.

  Decades would pass. Nations would rise and fall. It was a complete loop of success, death, mourn. Humanity continued to destroy themselves for controversial, egotistical, pointless or partially good reasons. And so, the daggers would remain. Waiting…

  August 15th.

  A child was born in Croatia, his mother exhausted yet smiling, held him close. His father, proudly laughed, letting the newborn touch his finger with his tiny hands. And his sister, felt amazed, joyfully tracing her hands to his forehead. His name was chosen.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Donovan.

  August 23rd.

  Across the enormous ocean, in the United States, another cry echoed. A second child had entered the world, yet his presence carried a distinctive sensation. His birth was not met with a warmth salutation, but rather a silence filled in the hospital room. His mother, though loving, felt a strange sensation. As if this child had been born with something beyond human comprehension. While his father, a man hardened by life, stood beside her, sensing that his son’s path would have a turning point. A name was chosen.

  Hjalmer.

  The Strings Begin to Move.

  At the age of 7, the Ethermythica Gods had already connected their paths. Born on separate continents, raised in different cultures. Donovan was playing near the Adriatic coast, running along the shore as the summer breeze had a salty scent. Suddenly, he paused, feeling something pull at his chest. A weird sensation… His heart pounded of anticipation. Though, in a city thousands of miles away, Hjalmer felt the same pull, the same sensation. He felt confused, looking around for something. His parents noticed his sudden stillness but said nothing. He felt that something was gradually changing. It was fate. Hjalmer’s parents made a decision.

  Hjalmer’s dad: “We’re moving to Croatia.”

  It wasn’t a reason or a explanation, it was a feeling. What they did not know was their decision was not their own. Xyros, the Ethermythica God of Time and fate, had ensured this encounter.

  The ambient radiated a sunny day. Hjalmer and his parents arrived in Croatia for the first time. Somehow, there was something welcoming them… He could not give an explanation, nor understand why, but his chest felt lighter as if he’s reaching the missing piece. In a small, open field near the town’s edge, a boy was kicking a soccer ball against a tree. His golden eyes shimmered under the sunlight, having a concentrated expression with narrowed eyes. Hjalmer watched him for a moment. The boy kicked the ball once more, but it bounced off the tree and rolled towards Hjalmer.

  He stopped it with his foot instinctively. They exchanged a look. Their chest felt way lighter than before. Neither spoke at first, but then Donovan grinned, asking him if he would like to play. Hjalmer exchanged with the same expression, nodding.

  And just like that, the two began to run. The soccer ball moved between them, like if they were playing for their entire lives.

  Their friendship started with soccer first, then races, baseball… It was a daily activity, a new challenge, a new game, a new reason to prove who was faster, stronger, smarter. This was a rivalry formed instantly. Easily bonding. In fact, they were inseparable when school started. Sitting next to each other in class, training together in the evenings and defended each other whenever trouble appeared. They protected each other, just like how a good friendship does.

  Three years later, Donovan and Hjalmer were no longer two kids playing, they were constantly trying to surpass each other. And then, turning ten years old, their lives changed forever. During those three years, they began to practice martial arts.

  It happened during a sparring match. They found an abandoned lot where no one could disturb them. The fight had been intense for their ages, neither willing to give up despite panting heavily. Then, Donovan froze, his hands trembled with golden glows emitting from his skin. At the same time, a darkened aura covered Hjalmer. Both paused their sparring, having their own moment of surprise. They didn’t understand it then. They were unaware of what had just awakened. But their fates had been chained. Their jégosgalia had been born.

  An Oath. The Gods watched in silence, witnessing their growth as the new saviours. The bond that was meant to be unity and peace… would one day be broken. The two who were meant to save the world together… would one day stand on opposite sides and clash each other.

  Neither of them knew what was coming, but their story had already begun.