“The Golden Age, the age of heroes, has already passed. What comes next will be an age of dusk—an age of nothing but rusted iron. Or so they say.”
Under darkness, with men clad in armor before him, the young Prodotis paced back and forth while delivering his speech. “What a foolish statement. They act for their own convenience and have confused this with prudence and resignation, because it gives them an excuse to live in sloth. Were the heroes of the Golden Age simply chosen by the gods? No. Those who did great deeds and won themselves acclaim came to be called heroes after their time. The blood of gods that flowed through their veins was no more than a tool to assist them in their endeavors.”
At this time, what were the names of those who held their breath amongst the grass on that moonless night, listening to Prodotis’s voice? There was Haos, prince of Terea, with his radiant blond hair; Papus, lance corporal of Krios; Falaina, scion of giants, who had come from the south bringing aid. All of these men would one day be called heroes.
“On this night, we shall surely topple the proud fortress of Westa of the Eleven Cities and obtain the blood of the gods. The Boreans declare that a mere human striving to approach godhood is an act of insolence, but this is only to maintain their monopoly over the Nectar—and therefore their supremacy.”
Prodotis turned to look at his friend with the blond hair and extended a hand to him. “O Haos, of noble visage, please fight alongside me in the vanguard. There are no heroes in our ranks and the forces we command are inferior in number, but if we—men of the same age with our fine pedigree and our overwhelming courage—lead the forward charge, I have no doubt that we can rally our soldiers and secure victory. Above all, there is no one with whom I would rather share the acclaim that toppling Westa will bring.”
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“Things have not turned out as we might have hoped. Although we broke through the castle walls and invaded the temple of Ex Machina Optimism...the gods’ blood we obtained is only enough for one person. It looks as though the Boreans’ claim that the Golden Age has ended was no exaggeration. Even the martial kingdom of Westa possesses only this minuscule amount of the gods’ blood that creates heroes. Those coming from Westa in pursuit of us will soon catch up. We mere humans can no longer repel them. Therefore, my friend, please listen closely to me. It is you who should drink deeply of the Nectar and become a hero. I will give up my claim upon it for the sake of friendship.”
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“My friend! It has been some time. Welcome to Krios, the city of gold! Now we are both kings. It saddens me that I cannot easily come to greet you, but now the dawn has broken on that sorrow. Please accept my hospitality, befitting of a king greeting a king... What? Compensation for the Nectar? Do you still concern yourself with that? That was a gift. You needed it to inherit the throne of Terea, and at that time I saw no other course of action. Beside, O Haos—since then, I, too, have become a hero. By my own method different from yours, that is...”
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“My friend, the time has finally come. This great battle will decide who is stronger—the people of Borea, who claim the right of godhood as their own, or our Alliance of Krios and Terea. The heroes amongst the enemy’s ranks, born of Nectar, or our artificial heroes born of Ichor. In both quality and quantity, our two armies are no longer comparable. We shall surely win. From this day forth, this new age will be ruled by two kingdoms, Krios and Terea... By the way, my friend, this may seem sudden, but I have something I wish to confide in you. What lies ahead for my artificial heroes...do not be shocked by the secret rites of immortality, which will return humanity to its primordial state. We were once gods.”