Centuries ago, Zaldra’s destiny took root in the quiet rhythm of an ordinary life, nestled within the vast, fertile expanse of lands that shimmered like a golden tapestry under the sun. Each dawn greeted him with the soft chorus of birdsong and the sigh of a gentle breeze rustling through the fields. Stepping barefoot onto the cool, dew-kissed earth, he inhaled the rich, loamy scent of the soil—a fragrance that spoke of life and labor. His hands, roughened by years of toil, moved with a tender precision as he coaxed the crops from the ground, his brow glistening with sweat that mingled with the morning mist. Beyond the fields, the hills rolled gently, cradling the distant laughter of his family—a sound as warm and constant as the sunlight spilling over the horizon. In those moments, gratitude swelled within him, a quiet pride for the simple existence he shared with those he loved, their unity a fortress against life’s trials.


    Yet, beyond the serenity of his world, the cruel machinery of civilization churned, its shadow lengthening with every passing day. The wind, once a bearer of wildflower perfume, now carried faint traces of smoke and the metallic bite of steel—an omen of the storm brewing under the king’s ambitious rule. The kingdom, with its towering stone walls and crimson banners snapping in the gusts, loomed as a cold, unyielding force, its decrees rolling across the land like thunderclaps.


    Zaldra’s family, long favored for their stewardship of these fields, had woven their lives into the soil over generations, their claim as deep as the roots of the ancient oaks that stood sentinel along the boundaries. But the king, driven by a hunger for progress and wealth, saw their traditions as relics to be swept aside. His edict came without mercy: the lands were to be seized, the family exiled, their legacy erased in the name of a modern empire. The day the soldiers arrived, their iron-shod boots crushed the tender shoots Zaldra had nurtured, the air thickening with the scent of trampled earth and the clamor of armor. His family’s pleas were swallowed by the rhythmic thud of hooves and the barked orders of the king’s men. This was no mere loss of property—it was a violent theft of their identity, a severing of their bond to the world they had known.


    Cast out, they traded the golden fields for a bleak wilderness, where the wind howled through barren plains and the ground lay hard and unyielding beneath their feet. Their new home was a patchwork of ramshackle shelters, the thin walls trembling against the relentless gusts, the air heavy with the damp chill of rain that seeped through every crack. Zaldra’s hands, once stained with the fertile earth, now curled into fists, the knuckles whitening as resentment coiled within him. The laughter that had once filled his days faded into a ghostly echo, drowned by the mournful wail of the wind and the steady drip of water on sodden wood. Each breath carried the bitter taste of betrayal, each glance at the horizon a reminder of the life stolen from them.


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    Then came a day when the sky darkened with roiling clouds, as though the heavens themselves mourned the world below. Rain fell in torrents, a cold, unyielding deluge that turned the earth to a quagmire and veiled the air in a shroud of mist. Zaldra trudged along a narrow, muddy path, his boots sinking into the mire, his clothes sodden and clinging like a second skin. The chill gnawed at his bones, a physical echo of the despair that had taken root in his soul. Anger simmered within him, a fire fed by hatred for the civilization that had stripped him bare, its flames licking at the edges of his sanity. Every step was a battle—not just against the storm, but against the crushing weight of injustice that threatened to bury him.


    Fate, ever capricious, chose that moment to intervene. His foot slipped on the slick ground, and he plummeted into a deep, misty pit, the air rushing past him as he fell. He landed hard, pain exploding through his body as he struck the damp, uneven floor. The pit was a cavern of desolation, its walls slick with moss and veined with twisted roots, the air thick with the musty scent of decay and ancient stone. Above, the storm’s roar dulled to a distant rumble, leaving him entombed in a silence broken only by the drip of water and his own ragged breaths. The darkness pressed against him, a suffocating mirror to the void widening within his heart.


    As he staggered to his feet, a faint gleam caught his eye—a shiny box half-buried in the mud, its surface gleaming with an unnatural luster. It seemed to pulse with a dim, otherworldly light, its edges traced with strange, shifting symbols that writhed like living things. Fear and curiosity warred within him as he approached, his trembling fingers brushing its icy surface. The box thrummed beneath his touch, a silent power radiating from its core, both alluring and ominous—a promise whispered from beyond time itself.


    The moment his hand closed around it, a surge of energy erupted, the air crackling as though the fabric of reality had torn. Time froze, and a blinding light swallowed him whole. A burning cold raced through his veins, a sensation of being unmade and remade in an instant, his body trembling as immortality sank into his bones. But with this gift came a curse: as the power settled, the warm memories of his past began to dissolve. The faces of his family blurred, their voices fading to distant whispers, the scent of the fields and the touch of his child’s hand slipping away like mist. In their place grew a hollow ache, a void filled only with pain, anger, and the cold weight of eternity.


    Zaldra’s transformation was more than physical—it was a shattering of his humanity. The man who had once tended the earth with love was gone, replaced by a being forged in vengeance and a twisted justice. The box had not merely granted him power; it had rewritten his soul, amplifying the cruelty civilization had sown within him. The sweet echoes of his past were silenced, supplanted by a ruthless resolve. In that dark, rain-soaked pit, Zaldra emerged anew, his heart an icy stronghold, his mind a tempest of retribution.


    Thus, from the ruins of his former life, he forged a new legacy with his family: The Immortals.