A long time ago, before time even had a name, there was a burst of light. And with it, the gods were born.
Nine emerged from the primordial chaos, each carrying the essence of a celestial body. At the center of it all was she: the Goddess of the Sun, sovereign of light and the origin of all life. Around her revolved her brothers and sisters - Mercury, the messenger between worlds; Venus, mistress of hidden desires; Earth, the mother of mortals; Mars, shaped by war; Jupiter, the king of the heavens; Saturn, the lord of cycles; Uranus, god of unfathomable mysteries; Neptune, the one who rules the depths, and finally, the Moon Goddess, silent, distant, but eternally vigilant.
When the Earth molded humans with clay and hope, the gods bowed before their creation. So fragile... and yet so full of potential. On a whim, or perhaps out of pity, the stars moved. And some among the humans were touched by them.
Magic was born from that touch. A gift - or a trial - impossible to understand.
But the world isn't fair.
Only a few received the gift. The rest... watched in silence. At first, there was reverence. Then envy. And finally, hatred.
A war began. Not between kingdoms, but between natures. The magicians, guided by the stars. And the commoners, seized by the darkness of resentment.
The bloodshed reached the gods. And they mercilessly tore the world apart. From a single continent, six great islands emerged, separated by an immense and vague ocean. Each held a fragment of the Jewel of Creation - the essence that prevented the world from collapsing.
One of these islands was called Naplam.
It wasn't an exile of witches, as the story told by priests would have it. It was the exile of the envious. Of humans who dared to rebel against heavenly gifts. But hatred has deep roots. And over time, the truth was forgotten. In Naplam, magic became a sin. Witches and warlocks were aberrations. To be touched by the stars was a sentence of fear, persecution... and sometimes death.
And yet magic survived.
Hidden under enchanted veils and forgotten woods, there is a school. Not a castle with tall towers, but a living structure, made of stone and ivy, hidden like a scar on skin that pretends to be healed.
There, witches study, learn and prepare to make a difference.
Their uniforms are black as night. But the details - bright colors on their golden brooches, each with three dyed tips - reveal their specializations. There are the healers, who restore life with whispered touches. The herbologists, who understand the whispers of plants. The conjurers, who mold raw energy like clay. And the teachers, wise, respected, those who walk closest to the gods.
But above them all, there are the hunters.
They roam distant islands. They contain disasters. They collect forgotten artifacts. They deal with what the world fears to name. They are judged as legends, but they bleed like anyone else. And yet they carry on - because they are the only ones who face what no one else dares.
This morning, something different hangs in the air.
It's Creation Day.
Inthe town of Grimshire - steeped in Catholic rituals and moralistic routine - no one celebrates. But inside the school, there is a contained buzz, as if time were about to split in two.
It is said that on this day, a star always comes down from the heavens.
And among all the souls, it will choose one.
TheChosen One.
The one who will be able to gather the Jewels of Creation and save the world before it breaks for good.
---
In a hall full of shadows and books, two young women stand out.
One of them has hair the color of a ripe peach - pink. Her eyes shine with sparks of anxiety.
The other, silent, hides behind long blue locks and a worn leather-bound book.
"Are you ready?" asks the first, her voice carrying a vibration that not even spells could contain.
"Ready for what?" murmurs the other, without taking her eyes off her reading.
"For the hunt, silly!"
"I don't think I'm going this year."
The pink-haired girl turns around in disbelief.
"What? You're kidding..."
"Nothing ever happens, Aurora, literally nothing, it's just an old story that's repeated every year. I've had enough of this, we're not freshmen anymore."
"It's not just a story," retorts Aurora, her eyes shining with a childish sparkle. "What if it's you? Or even me?"
"The chance of that happening is almost nil."
"But it's still a chance."
"Your hope sometimes borders on foolishness."
"And your apathy... borders on sadness."
Before the conversation can continue, a sharp sound cuts through the air. The school loudspeaker blares, and the principal's voice echoes with ceremonial firmness:
- Today, as you all know, we celebrate Creation Day. The day that the gods of our world emerged from a great bright explosion, and it was also the day that a prophecy was delivered to us, where the Sun Goddess would choose a witch - or a wizard - to change the world, one that no longer needs to be stained with blood, but with life and goodness. As everyone must be waiting for this... Let the hunt begin!
The microphone goes off.
And without hesitation, the rosy-cheeked girl grabs her friend's wrist and drags her out of the room.
"Hey! Where are you taking me?!"
"To the beginning of our story!"
---
Outside, high up in the sky, something wakes up.
It's no ordinary star. It's a winged spirit, made of pure ancient light. It doesn't speak, it doesn't think like mortals. It only feels.
It has made this journey before. And failed. But the stars move... and now, perhaps, it's different.
She flies past forgotten islands, past mountains and forests that still whisper in dead languages.
Until... she sees something.
A girl. Pink hair. Running through the crowd. Her heart beating as if she carried a sun inside her chest, a magical core as bright as the sun itself.
There she is, the spirit thinks.
And it dives in, certain of its choice.
But in her haste, she doesn't notice another presence.
Something - or someone - crosses the girl's path at the very moment of contact.
And when the star notices her mistake...
... it's too late.