4323rd Year, Southern Alfheim Continent...

The world was coloured in crimson light that day, corpses littered the land as far as the eye could see. Each a man in armour, a soldier in a kingdom's army that had been utterly annihilated.

Yet amid this hellscape one man still stood strong. Alone and outmatched he knew himself to be, yet despite so he drew his sword to face his enemy. Alone he faced the destroyer, the calamity, the entity that had alone brought this desolation down upon them all.

This being was no man nor was it any beast, it could not be defined by any form it did not choose to take of its own volition nor did men have the means to grasp its true nature. They called it a god, for what is unknown to man often found itself being deemed as such.

Rivers of red converged, as did smoke coloured as fire, all into a single form that was the so called god's chosen shape. The creature swallowed enough of the crimson river to fill an ocean, breathed in enough of the crimson smoke to cover the heavens, and added shape unto its shapeless form.

The man looked towards the beast in defiance, even so he rationalised that nothing he could do would best the monstrosity before him. The crimson body that took form hovered soundlessly in the skies above. They called him Grimnir, the Father of Dragons. His lower body was a sphere as massive as a small moon, his upper body was a humanoid brandishing mighty claws and wings that veiled the heavens. The crown of his being was featureless save for seven eyes shaped as a star when viewed all at once.

Before such a mighty being the man knew well his powerlessness, he was too small and insignificant even for its eyes to behold him. Regardless still, when Grimnir turned its gaze towards the grand city that stood at his back the man raised ready his blade. For his loved ones, for his fallen comrades, he charged forward before the might of a monster he knew well he could not defeat.

His sword cut through the crimson body of the beast as easily as water but there was no sense of triumph to be found in that. The damage he inflicted did not matter to Grimnir, whether heavy or light all the wounds the man inflicted quickly closed just as easily as a river flowing back into form.

The soldier collapsed onto his knees, his tired body failed to keep pace with the still moving god. All he could do was watch the beast bear down upon a city with no defenders. That was his city, his home of forty four years where his wife and children lay. The man could do nothing but laugh in a half crazed manner as he realised that this was truly their end, their pitiful and inglorious end.

He watched the city burn in silence, crying all the way. The lone soldier did not die that day. Indeed with his gaze forever fixed upon the mad god's back, when all he could do was laugh and cry in despair, he made a resolute choice...he founded an order.

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On that day, a thousand years ago, the world adopted a simple rule. The gods that inhabited this world should not be provoked nor should their power be called upon lightly by those who possessed the means. That man founded this rule, as well as the organisation that enforced it, which had lasted to this day.

The gods usually watched the world without interfering and so an understanding developed that it would be for the best to let them remain that way. Every kingdom of the modern world greatly feared the possibility of a god reappearing, that is where this story begins...

"Is there any point telling me about such a tired old tale?" Asked the young man who sat sporting garments blacker than night in his dim and shabby office. The target of his criticism was a young girl who seemed to be just eleven years of age clad in garments of rich white and gold. She was the one who spun him the story of the god called Grimnir.

"Indeed there is a reason," Said the girl.

"And that reason is?"

"As you know, the gods don't usually care for human affairs unless they're called upon by a Beacon and some fool makes a pact with them. Unfortunately there's one such Beacon here on this continent right now that's no different from the one used to summon Grimnir back then." The boy, Mourn of Mercury, dropped his quill and finally removed his gaze from the document at his desk. He looked towards the girl before him. "Now I've got your attention, don't I?" She said.

"Speak, this is a matter that threatens the safety of everyone living in these lands."

"I will certainly speak," The girl glowed with an amused smile, "The woman we're looking for goes by the name of Beatrix, she is likely disguising herself." She ceased her description then for one simple reason, she looked on with curiosety as the young man's features warped in response to her words. "Well that's an interesting reaction. Pray tell, do you already know where this woman is?" Said the girl, whose name was Uriel.

"Unfortunately yes, I do know of her, though I'm likely one of the few who do. Are you certain you coming to me was a pure coincidence?"

"Us coming to you was based on the fact that we found you most likely to cooperate with us, you already knowing where to find our target is most certainly an unexpected boon." The girl said as she dropped a wax sealed and folded document onto Mourn's desk. The young man did not look at it nor its contents, he merely pushed it back the girl's way and crossed his arms indifferently.

"This matter will be dealt with. Now what else is it you want from me?"

"Don't make it sound like I'm the one using you," The girl said with a giggle that seemed almost innocent. Mourn could not help but retort in his mind that she should stop trying to act cute, after all even if her face was adorable her mind was certainly twisted. "Simply put," The girl extended her hand to him, "Mourn Mercury, do you want to help us save the world?"

"From what?"

"Naturally, from the mindless creatures who are even now destroying it."