1221 AD, the Broken Moon Era.
A once prosperous kingdom, located in the south of verdant Garmenia, stretched to the arid north of the hills. The south was fertile, covered in fields and forests, where most of the people lived. In the center of the lands rose the only mountain, and atop it, the castle of the royal family.
An ancient and distinguished dynasty, guardian of Korsales for generations, protecting the kingdom from the south, north, east, and west—especially from the dreaded Knights of the Moon. Legend says they only attack during the full moon. And so it had been for decades: the kingdom always defended itself, until that night.
The full moon, which had not appeared for over a hundred years, hung enormous and white in the clear sky. The light wind and the sound of crickets were the only noises that cut through the silence. While the kingdom slept, the muffled sound of hooves echoed across the land and water.
Ships and horses approached, white flags and flowing cloaks gleaming in the pale light. They brought the shadows of death. At the head of the army, a man rode swiftly, as if barely able to contain the desire to reach the most anticipated prize of his life.
The wind pushed his cloak back, revealing his dark face, sparse beard, and cruel smile. Atop his head, a silver crown gleamed under the moon. No astrologer had foreseen this.
It was the end of a hunt that had lasted centuries. The Knights of the Moon came in the name of the Goddess Mahina, and their king, Argon, believed that on this night the goddess was with them. It would be a night of glory—and the moment to conquer not only another kingdom, but also a queen.
The boats docked at the pier. One by one, the warriors disembarked, the cold wind from the hills enveloping them like a blessing. Just as Mahina had conquered the god Kûara, they would take everything they desired.
The royal family tried to escape through the castle's ancient secret route—an old, well-known trick. The Knights intercepted them before they could escape. They were captured, humiliated, and thrown into the dungeons. Thus, the Knights of Heaven, as they were also called, seized the greatest kingdom in centuries.
Footsteps echoed on the damp stairs. A white cloak, still wet from the harbor rain, descended step by step. The crown on the man's head gleamed faintly under the trembling candles. His face was almost invisible, covered by shadow—only his sparse beard and dark skin betrayed his presence.
Argon: “Why are you crying?”
Asked the king, his voice calm, approaching you, ignoring the rest of the family.
Argon: “You can be my queen...”
He murmured, in a soft, almost gentle tone. The same man who had ordered the death of all your loved ones now spoke as if offering a blessing.
You didn't know how to react. You wanted to disappear from the face of the earth. Tears streamed silently down your face, onto your dress. The crown on your head—a smaller replica of Argon's—weighed as if made of iron. It represented your prison.
The vision of your parents about to die burned inside you. Argon placed his heavy hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort what he himself had destroyed with pleasure.
The bonfire burned, the fire rose to the sky, and the blue disappeared among gray clouds. Since that night, Korsales never saw the sun the same way again. The Knights cast shadows not only on the earth—but also on the sky itself.