If you ask when the story began, it began at the beginning—the root of all things, where every grudge knots and the curtain finally rises.

First, from nothing to something. From zero to one, a lone spark in a lightless sea.

Year 1 of the Golden Calendar: the Creator split light from dark like a blade through dawn, and weighed heavy against light like scales in the sky.

He etched the tracks and laws of all things like constellations on stone, smelted matter, and shaped life—the Primordial Nine Races.

From then on the races bloomed like forests after rain, and civilization rose like a sun.

The Golden Era began, also called the Tearless Era.

Year xxxxx of the Golden Calendar: the Sorcerer Emperor vanished, and the lamps of civilization guttered in the wind.

The Creator died, and from His corpse the gods sprouted like seeds from ash, taking up His authority to shield the living.

That history is dust on a sealed scroll; no one knows the scene, only that the Golden Era ended.

The Silver Era began, also called the Age of Gods.

Through the Silver Calendar, the races revived Golden Era arts like rediscovered spring water, made magic the main road, and rekindled brilliance.

Year xxxxx of the Silver Calendar: the Endless Demon King dragged the entire Demon Realm behind him like a stormfront, and clawed up from the Arctic Tundra into the human world.

He struck down the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom like stars raining from a broken dome, and fought the gods to the death.

The Eternal God fell with him into the world's end like twin meteors, and the first generation of Divine Beings perished.

Civilization shattered in an instant like glass under a hammer.

The Silver Era ended; the Bronze Era began, also called the Age of Demons.

Year xxxx of the Bronze Calendar: Huangdi forged the Xuanyuan Sword by the hands of the next generation of Divine Beings, hammering thunder into steel.

He cut off the demon chieftain Chiyou's head like a falling comet.

The Bronze Era ended; the Black Iron Era began, also called the Age of Mortals.

Year 2012 of the Black Iron Calendar: an unnamed hero vanished with a devil at the far shore of time, like footprints erased by the tide.

No one remembers his name, but he saved a world whose hourglass had run dry.

The Black Iron Era ended; next should be the Era of Soil—the Era of Stars.

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This is true history, not a sliver of it false.

I swear it like stone; I’ve watched the human world since the Silver Era.

But I also know another history, a different vein in the bedrock.

The real history.

It says: in Year xxxxx of the Silver Calendar, the Eternal God and the Endless Demon King ripped and tore, a death grapple that shook the seas.

The aftershocks withered all things like frost on grass and drove all back to silence.

In the end, the world died.

I don’t want the world to die—fear rises first like smoke in my chest—but I don’t want this either.

Being used as the breeding stone and feed for humanity, nailed to the world’s heart.

I think that even if this story won’t please everyone, we can learn and carve out a better ending.

At least a better one by measure, like turning a river instead of breaking a dam.

Don’t you agree, Ferrel (forever)?

Even though this is an era fated for no redemption, like winter that never thaws.