The wind from the Caves of Datu roared through the underground kingdom of Kerion like a warning cry. It pierced bone and stone alike, rattling the roots of ancient trees and sending even the boldest of creatures scurrying into shelter. Rain fell violently over the northern region, a rare and territorial storm that turned the paths to mist and shadow.
Kerion, hidden deep beneath the surface of the Earth, was a world unknown to those above. Its people — the Monicans — were unlike any other. Human in form, yet woven with magic, instinct, and laws that defied the upper world. They did not speak the languages of man. They lived by the will of Datu, the Great god who, as legend told, gifted light to the single moon that shone in their sky — the Mador.
Though fertile and rich with mystic soil, Kerion was always cold — especially when harmattan swept across the world above. Cold enough to freeze hearts, if one let it.
Magic pulsed through Kerion's soil and blood. It sustained the land. It connected its people. But the greatest threat to Kerion wasn't darkness, or the cold, or even the unknown world above.
It was a man.
A king.
A former brother-in-magic.
Zica, once a trusted friend of the Monican mage Afroda, had seized the throne by cloaking the land in powerful dark magic. Where once Kerion had no ruler, Zica crowned himself king. He ruled not with order, but with fear.
He taxed half the people's harvests every season. He killed anyone who defied him. He sought to sever Kerion from Datu, replacing divine order with his twisted reign. Afroda, heartbroken and betrayed, refused to follow. He stepped away quietly… at first.
But everything changed the day the Seer received a prophecy.
"A child will be born to save Kerion. She will shatter the King's darkness. She may die fulfilling her fate—unless someone who truly loves her is willing to die in her place."
Zica, enraged by the vision, declared war on destiny. He hunted the Seer. He outlawed pregnancy. His decree was swift and brutal:
"No pregnant woman shall live in Kerion."
His soldiers stormed homes, slaughtering expectant mothers without mercy. Families were torn apart. Men dared not touch their wives. The warmth of intimacy vanished, replaced by fear and silence.
Zena, newly wed and unsure of her future, wept in her husband's arms.
"What happens to me now? I don't even have a child," she whispered.
Afroda held her gently. "Datu's prophecy will stand. Whether Zica slaughters or not, what's destined cannot be erased."
"But he's watching us, Afroda. His magic sees everything."
"He may see the land, but he can't see what the gods conceal. The chosen woman — Datu will hide her."
"You used to be his friend," Zena said, tears in her voice. "Can't you reason with him?"
Afroda's jaw tightened. "That friendship died the day he chose power over peace."
That night, Afroda gathered a secret force. He trained them in five sacred magical disciplines — enough, he hoped, to penetrate Zica's army and bring him down. They crafted arrows from the enchanted woods and sharpened blades with runes.
But Zica already knew. He laughed in his halls of shadow, amused by the rebel's ambition.
—
At dawn, with frost in the air and a secret in his heart, Afroda stepped outside. Zena, half-asleep, stirred.
"You're going out? It's still dark."
"A little adventure," he smiled. "Come with me."
She dressed quickly. "You know I won't let you wander off alone."
The two wandered through the sleeping village. Their breath steamed in the cold, their feet silent on the moss-covered paths. They passed stone homes and glowing crystals embedded in the ground. The silence was sacred — until Zena gasped.
"Afroda… look!"
A shadow moved near the trees.
He reached for his bow. Zena clung to him. But the figure stepped into the dim light.
"Seer," Zena whispered in awe. "You walk before dawn?"
"I saw your path," the Seer said. "And waited."
"For what?" Afroda asked.
"To show you Micav."
"Micav?" Zena echoed. "What is that?"
"Follow me."
They moved deeper into the wilderness, past enchanted shrubs and sacred stones. Then, through the veil of mist, a colossal formation appeared — like a mountain torn from the surface and frozen in time.
"Is that Micav?" Afroda asked.
"No," the Seer smiled. "This way."
Behind the mountain lay an ocean — one that shimmered with impossible light. Its waters glowed with silver and reflected every color known to Monican eyes.
"This," the Seer said, "is the bridge. The only connection between the underground world and the world above."
"There's a world above?" Zena breathed.
"But… why haven't we left? Why not take the people and flee?" Afroda asked.
"Because only one can pass Micav unharmed — the child of the prophecy. She alone will survive its power. No other."
Afroda was quiet.
"Then why give us hope… if no one else can escape?" he asked, his thoughts loud in his mind.
The Seer met his eyes. "All shall be revealed. In time."
He turned back toward the village.
"Come. The world wakes."
Afroda and Zena returned in silence, hearts weighed by the mystery of Micav. As they neared their home, a wind blew from the Cave of Datu — warm, fragrant, and strangely comforting.
It wrapped around them like a blessing. For the first time since the decree, Afroda turned to Zena with new resolve. The scent of love in the air broke through the fear.
He kissed her. Slowly, deeply and made love to her. In that moment, beneath Datu's breath, the prophecy began to stir.