Long ago, before memory could even begin to fade, the five families stood beneath a broken sky.
The world beyond the stars had called them, heroes from another place, summoned to save a land they had never seen before.
Before them stretched the creeping horror of the Void of Cold Winter Spirits. It was an endless, living storm made of shadows and ice, devouring everything in its path. It wasn't just a force of nature, but a will, a hunger, always growing, always reaching. It would open when the great Mandala of Rift, hidden beneath the earth, aligned its marks with the sky once every hundred and twenty years. When it did, it would tear apart the boundary between worlds, letting the Void seep through or to bring heros to fight against it.
Steel clashed, magic roared, and hope flickered.
At the centre of the battlefield, Maverik Wazi, wrapped in the green cloak of the Wazi family, planted his staff deep into the frozen earth. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding with every strike. Around him, his companions fought with all they had, their movements fierce but slowing with each passing moment.
Aurelia Jen, clad in armor that gleamed like fire beneath the dim sun, drove her twin blades into the swirling dark.
Kraven Henry, his long black coat torn and bloodied, barked sharp orders across the chaos, rallying the others to hold the line.
Selene Hart, the quiet healer, wove spells of protection with trembling hands, her light shielding them from the worst of the cold.
Darian Monroe, cloaked in battered gold, roared defiance at the storm, shielding his allies even as the ice bit into his skin.
Maverik looked at them, his allies, his family by fate. Their eyes met his, filled with grim understanding. None of them spoke, but all of them knew what had to be done.
The roaring cold closed in, a sound like screaming wind in a vast and empty canyon. Maverik felt the weight of it, the endless hunger of the Void. He had no choice.
"Forgive me," he whispered, tightening his grip on his staff. "But one must stay behind to seal the cold."
A warmth began to rise inside him, not bright or violent, but slow and steady, like the first light of dawn. He closed his eyes for a moment and let it surge through him.
He smiled; a small, sad smile. The others would make it home. He believed that.
The ground beneath him cracked. The magic circle hidden beneath the ice flared into sight, ancient symbols locking into place. It responded to his will, his life, drawing power from the very core of him.
The light rose. It was not wild or loud, but resolute. It drove back the Void not with fury, but with finality. The storm twisted and screamed, but it could not resist. Thread by thread, the rift in the sky began to seal.
The others stood back, silent and heavy-hearted, as the pillar of light consumed the battlefield. They could not stay. The portal home was fading fast.
Kraven Henry turned once more, his voice rough but clear.
"Train the next generation. Prepare them. One day, they must finish what we could not."
And so they did.
One Hundred and Twenty Years Later
The academy grounds were cold with late winter winds, but laughter and shouting filled the air with stubborn warmth.
Ken Wazi stood at the centre of the training field, his staff slicing through the air with sharp, practiced movements. Sweat clung to his brow, but he paid it no mind. His muscles burned from the endless drills, but he pressed on, focused and silent.
He could already feel the weight of tomorrow settling on his shoulders.
Nearby, Lisa Jen let out a loud, frustrated groan and hurled her practice spear into the dirt.
"Ken!" she shouted, hands on her hips, her red gear catching the sunlight like fire. "Come on, stop being so serious. This is our last day before the portal opens. Lighten up already."
Ken didn't even look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on the training dummy. His stance never shifted.
"I'd rather be ready than regretful," he replied.
Lisa scowled, but after a moment, her shoulders dropped. She picked her spear back up with a grunt. She knew he was right, even if she hated admitting it.
Under the old oak tree, John Henry sat cross-legged, scribbling notes and diagrams into a battered leather journal. His glasses slipped down his nose as he worked, muttering to himself. He was already planning, already several steps ahead, even when no one asked him to.
A little farther off, Kimberly Hart moved with quiet grace. She bent to gather herbs sprouting between the cracked stone paths, her satchel slung over one shoulder. Her calm presence seemed to soften the winter chill around her.
Arthur Monroe stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, watching in silence. His golden armor was worn and dulled from training. He wasn't practicing like the others. But Ken knew that when the moment came, Arthur would be right beside him, no questions asked.
Slowly, the training field quieted. The five of them came together, forming a loose circle without needing to be called.
Ken looked at them. His voice was low but unwavering.
"We're not just a team. We carry the legacy of those who came before. What we do tomorrow will echo through centuries ; in this world, and whatever world lies beyond."
Kimberly placed a hand over her heart without hesitation. Arthur gave a firm nod. John smirked and pushed his glasses up. Lisa folded her arms and rolled her eyes, but her stance was solid.
They understood.
That evening, the academy held a farewell feast. Fires blazed in stone pits across the courtyard, casting a warm glow on teary faces and painted banners. Laughter rang out. So did quiet sobs, muffled into shoulders when no one was watching.
The five were the centre of it all.
Lisa's younger brother tackled her with a hug.
"You better come back," he said, clinging tightly.
Lisa ruffled his hair with a grin. "You think some weird magic portal's gonna stop me?"
Ken stood near the food tables when his father approached, placing a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was a quiet gesture, solid and steady , a reminder of the weight he carried.
"Remember what you carry, son. It's not just your own future it's two worlds'."
"I know," Ken said. The words settled deep in his chest.
Kimberly sat on the academy steps beside her little cousin, who placed a worn stuffed rabbit in her lap.
"For luck," the girl whispered.
Kimberly hugged her gently. "Then I'll bring it back. I promise."
John handed his notebook to a trusted friend, marking certain pages with quick taps. He didn't say much, but his eyes said enough.
Arthur stood with his mother. She didn't say anything, just kissed his forehead. And that was all that needed to be said.
Morning came faster than any of them wanted.
The portal shimmered at the centre of the academy courtyard, swirling with silver and blue mist. Its surface rippled like moonlight on water, but there was something colder beneath it , something old.
Only five could enter. The blood of the ancestors called to it, recognizing the echoes of those who had come before.
Ken stepped forward first, his staff in hand. The magic in the air sang in his bones.
Behind him, the others followed: Lisa, John, Kimberly, and Arthur. Not one of them hesitated.
Ken glanced back at the academy, at the families, the friends, the lives they were leaving behind.
Then he stepped through the portal.
The others followed.
The mist closed around them.
And the world they knew faded away.