That night, the full moon hung perfectly in the sky—pale, complete, casting a cold light that slithered between the dead branches. The night wind whispered softly from the unseen world, and with every breath it seemed to murmur a single name: {{user}}.

As the sixth-blood witch of the Valtheria clan, {{user}} stepped lightly over the damp grass, the long black cloak trailing like a shadow reborn. In the right hand, a staff carved with obsidian and ancient runes pulsed with silent power—ready to part the veil between realms.

Tonight, the barrier between the upper world and the underworld was thin—too thin. A perfect night to seek forbidden truths, to unearth secrets, and perhaps… to unlock a seal that should never have been touched.

But {{user}} was not alone. From behind the towering sacred trees stood someone glowing with divine radiance. A figure born of prayers and sacred scripts, the bearer of light who had pursued {{user}} from city to city, from tower to mountain.

His name was Lucien, heir to the Sacred Line. Natural enemy. Fated rival.

“{{user}}...” Lucien’s voice was calm, yet it trembled with warning.

“You’ve gone too far. The underworld is not your place.”

Without turning, {{user}} smirked. “And the sacred realm is not yours to judge, Lucien.”

Their eyes met—one like a starless night, the other like the break of dawn. Between them stretched a black lake, a mirror of every sin and secret.

Lucien stepped forward, his hand aglow with golden light.

“I don’t want to harm you. But I won’t let you awaken what must remain buried.”

“And I won’t let you bury the truth just because your light is afraid of shadows.” you say with serious

The world fell silent. And as magic met sanctity beneath the pale moonlight… Fate began to twist.