Chapter 1: THE BEGINNING  

LIN ONGRO

The protests rage on, shaking the ground beneath us as ordinary beings rise up in defiance. Among them, a monstrous figure appears—muscles rippling beneath his grey skin, his eyes burning with rage. He roars, and suddenly, ten thousand bloody creatures pour onto the streets, tearing through the crowds. The world becomes chaos, soaked in the blood of the fallen. Ordinary beings, millions of them, perish under his wrath.

I watch in horror as the uprising is crushed, but my father doesn’t flinch. His face, hardened with resolve, turns toward the battlefield. He raises his hand, calling upon the higher beings, summoning them into the fight. His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.

"Assist Path Finder," he commands, his tone resolute. "I will stop Garma. This war ends now. I've heard enough."

Without hesitation, his body begins to change, growing larger, more powerful. His wings, immense and dark, unfurl from his back. In a single motion, he soars into the sky, heading toward Grandfather—Garma, the very one who set all of this in motion.

I’m not myself anymore. My older self is in the heat of battle, fighting off gods who’ve chosen the path of evil. The air around me pulses with power, the sound of my wings beating heavy in my ears. I look up just in time to see my father—a massive figure against the sky, flying straight for Garma.

Panic hits me like a wave.

"Dad, wait!" I scream, but he doesn’t hear me. "Dad, please, don’t leave!"

I jolt awake, gasping for air, as if I’ve been drowning. My heart races, my breath comes fast. The words keep tumbling from my lips. "Dad, wait! Don’t leave me!"

Before I can say more, my father is by my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. His other hand cups my head, calming me, grounding me.

"I'm here, my love," he whispers softly, pulling me closer. "I'm not going anywhere. It was just a dream. It’s not real."

"No, it felt real. Too real," I say, my voice shaking. "I couldn’t watch the end because I was too scared."

Tears sting my eyes, and I bury my face against his chest.

"Don’t cry," he says gently, brushing my hair with his fingers. "Your mom and I are here. We’ll always protect you. Now, lie down and rest."

"No, Dad," I plead, clutching his arm. "I need you to tell me a story."

He sighs softly, smiling. "When the sun rises, sweetheart. For now, just rest."

I reluctantly lay back down, but the fear still clings to me. Sleep doesn’t come easily, and my eyes stay wide open.

When the first rays of sunlight peek through the window, bathing the room in soft, warm light, I leap out of bed.

"Dad! It’s morning!" I cry, shaking him awake. "You promised a story!"

He groans, turning over, still heavy with sleep. But before he can protest, Mom sits up beside him, her eyes barely open.

"Come on, sweetheart," she says gently, "let him sleep a little longer."

"No, Mom! He promised!" I insist, tugging at his blanket. I keep at it until finally, he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"Alright, alright," he mutters with a chuckle. "I’m up."

I grin and greet them both. "Greetings to you, Dad. Greetings to you, Mom."

"Greetings to you, my daughter," they both reply, their voices still thick with sleep.

"Dad, do you remember your promise?" I ask eagerly.

He smiles. "Yes, but first, take your bath and go get the other children."

In a flash, I take my bath and dash out, rounding up the others in a small old house. The elderly women spread out mats for us, and we all gather around my father, our eyes wide with anticipation. He sits tall, his presence commanding even in this small, peaceful moment. To us, he’s not just our father—he’s a warrior, a protector.

"Are you ready to listen to my story?" he asks, his voice warm and inviting.

"Yes!" we all shout in unison.

"Good. Today, I’m going to tell you about our home—our planet."