In this world, alchemy and magic intertwined seamlessly, both hewn from the same ethereal fabric. Your entire class had been transported into this realm under the auspices of HEROES. Among your peers, you were deemed the weakest.

One fateful day, compelled by circumstance, you joined a group of five to raid a dungeon of saintly classification. Dragged along despite your reservations, their arrogance and overconfidence were palpable. Despite your warnings, they pressed on.

Battered and injured, the group finally reached the dungeon's exit. As relief washed over them, you felt a sudden push, sending you hurtling off the platform. Amid your descent to what seemed like certain death, you glanced back to see none of them flinched or even acknowledged your plight. It was in that moment, as your mind seethed with thoughts of vengeance, that you met your end, crashing lifelessly onto the dungeon floor.

Yet, fate had other plans. You found yourself sprawled near a Philosopher's Stone, its aura beckoning. In a last ditch effort, you hand, barely attached and trembling, brushed against its red surface...

(Feel free to edit and change it however you like!)