The realm of Aloria is a nd veiled in mystery and frequently disturbed by dark magicks

  Holy scripture passed down over the ages make grand cim that the Alorian's royal family inherited the divine blood of the Gods.

  The First King took the name and title 'Argentius, Light of the Dawn'. He had a crown of gleaming silver fashioned for himself, which was said to have never tarnished. He procimed his reign was the dawn of a new era for the kingdoms of man.

  Argentius secured the greatest artisans and architects to design a majestic city, an opulent capital fit for the divinity that he cimed to hold.

  And so, great gilded walls were erected to encompass the august city that came to be called Eldralis, preserving the peace for all who lived there.

  Well, for a time, at least.

  But time pressed on without regard for Argentius’ schemes—and he eventually passed away.

  And as the generations passed, that ever-present feeling of peace and safety in the city faded away.

  High above the sprawling capital city, nestled in the craggy embrace of the Gandrian Mountains, y the Grand Pace of Eldralis—a mansion built to be the epitome of grandeur and opulence.

  Yet, within its walls, a shadow of cruelty cast a pall over that splendor.

  Deep within the byrinthine corridors of the pace, where the once=heralded prestige of the royal court might as well be a world away, there was a small, forgotten chamber.

  A pce untouched by the warmth of the sun.

  It was here, in a frigid stillness of stone and marble, that one could find the tiny domain of Princess Eve, a young royal whose existence had become something like a secret—not because of some grand reason like the servants swearing oaths bound with their souls to the royal family with magick. It was simply because nobody bothered to care for the princess.

  This sunless chamber was a solitary cocoon, a world of only desotion and anguish. Its stone walls were as unforgiving as the royal decree that had banished its occupant.

  The room's only furnishing was a shoddily-built cot, draped in a single, threadbare bnket. A meager defense against the biting cold that gripped the pace in its eternal wintry embrace.

  A lone candle flickered as wax dripped onto the floor, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. Though often-times the room remained unlit, as servants couldn’t be bothered to bring a repcement when the wax and wick had burned to completion.

  On especially chilly nights, Princess Eve would lie upon the cot and her malnourished body would tremble as each shiver coursed through her. She would wrap the thin bnket as tightly around herself as she could manage to avoid ripping it further.

  Most nights, her every breath would be visible in the frigid air.

  The room's furnace, cold and forlorn, always remained unlit. This forgotten section of the pace was certainly devoid of firewood. The warm embers of a hearth, vibrant and welcoming, were nothing but a faded memory for the princess.

  Eve's violet eyes would glisten with tears whenever she found herself thinking about the past. She longed for the warmth of daylight, the voices of friends and family, and the joy of ughter—all of which seemed forbidden to her, in her exile.

  Yet, even within the confines of this stifling solitude, a single glimmer of hope burned within the princess’ heart.

  As her memories indicated, it wasn’t always like this in the pace.

  It wasn't too long ago that the attendants and servants within the Pace of Eldralis had been renowned across the nd for their loyalty, noble hearts, and unwavering devotion to the royal family.

  But something had happened, a darkness sneaked its way into their hearts and began to poison the very devotion they’d held so dear.

  It started with the ascent of a new king—a ruler with ambitions that eclipsed the kingdom's foundations.

  King Rodrick the Emberheart, with a thirst for power that bordered on insanity, sought to solidify his reign by discovering the truth of Aloria's divine and magickal heritage.

  He believed that by dismantling ancient relics and tapping into the secrets of the Gods, he could truly secure his rule for all eternity. This lust for total supremacy had cast a dark shadow over the pace and begun the descent into cruelty and despair.

  Swept up and consumed by the King’s abhorrent greed, the royal attendants became nothing more than pawns in the king's insidious plot. Caught in webbing spun of dark enchantments, their hearts were tainted by a haunting whisper that promised unimaginable power.

  This sudden shift became the change that impacted Princess Eve's life, a life that had once been filled with ughter and affection.

  She was banished from sight and sent to live in a dusty corner of the pace.

  Her attendants and servants, now tainted by dark forces, reveled daily in the torment they inflicted upon the princess. Mockery and humiliation were their favored tools, and they wielded them mercilessly.

  Princess Eve, a kind and pure girl who knew only love in her early years, became the target of their wickedness. Cruel taunts and ughter filled her solitary chamber, like sickly serpents striking venom at her heart.

  The terrible transformation was markedly complete when the pace guards, sworn to protect the royal family, now turned a blind eye to the torment. Their inaction only fueled the sadistic fires that now bzed in the hearts of all those who served within the pace...

  Though amid those wicked servants filled with evil there was a golden-haired maid named Lily, whose heart remained untouched by the shadows.

  She alone showed Princess Eve love. She would speak sweetly to the princess and offer soce in moments of despair.

  Lily's tender words and gentle embrace were the only light in Eve’s life.

  While the princess desperately clung to the love Lily gave her, King Rodrick, her father, had grown increasingly obsessed in his bid to consolidate power and unravel the God’s greatest secrets.

  In pursuit of his dark ambitions, King Rodrick's attention fell from the kingdom's core values of unity and compassion. He gathered a group of advisors, sorcerers who practiced forbidden magicks. These advisors, driven by the King’s promises of unimaginable power, soon began to manipute the mind of the King himself.

  Yes, deep within the Pace of Eldralis, King Rodrick had been caught in his own webs of secrecy and ambition.

  In his insatiable desire for power, the king scoured the depths of the pace's library. It was there, among the dusty tomes and ancient scrolls, he unearthed a particur ominous grimoire.

  The book, bound in an odd-colored, aged leather and adorned with cryptic symbols, detailed a set of dark rituals which cimed one could achieve godhood through the sacrifice of one with divine blood. Its words whispered promises of ascension, of a power beyond the realm of mortals, and for King Rodrick, his ambitions fred like a fevered fire and he found himself further ensnared by its tantalizing words.

  However, as he and his advisors studied the arcane pages, they learned that this sinister rite would demand not just a simple sacrifice.

  The grimoire asserted that to attain godhood, the victim must not only be of divine lineage but also willingly offer themselves to the ritual, their spirit completely shattered, their will to live extinguished.

  Only such a sacrifice could be the gateway to transcendent power.

  The king's eyes, once gleaming with the lust for dominion, now reflected the chilling depths of his newfound obsession. He envisioned himself as a god, with power unparalleled in the annals of history. The allure of such a destiny clouded over whatever may have remained of his good judgment.

  The kingdom of Aloria would bow before him—no, the entire world itself would tremble at his very presence!

  His path to godhood was a road that must be paved with anguish and despair,

  King Rodrick’s thoughts turned to where he could gain the sacrifice he needed, the princess, Eve, his own flesh and blood. This ritual presented a challenge. To achieve godhood, he needed to break her spirit so completely that she would willingly offer herself up as a sacrifice.

  A flicker of doubt gnawed at the edges of his conscience. Was the price for godhood too steep? Could he truly bring himself to shatter his own daughter's spirit, to condemn her to an existence of torment and despair?

  Hah! King Rodrick ughed at himself.

  Because, of course he would!

  The King loathed his daughter—though, he did not know why.

  The King hated her existence, which was a stain on his glorious lineage—though, he wasn’t sure when he began to have those thoughts.

  The King’s heart fluttered with joy at the thought of his daughter begging him to let her die—though, tears swelled in his eyes and his mind was wracked in pain.

  In the pace depths, King Rodrick let go of any residual attachments and lingering love for his daughter. The path to godhood was within his grasp. The sinister tome, whispering promises of transcendent power, held him in its thrall, the kingdom's fate teetering on the edge of a terrible abyss.