Mida's Origins

836 years before the Order Era.

175 years after the passing of the hero Xia Lun.

Atop a snow-covered mountain, before an altar.

Two dragons were busily preparing something.

Surrounding them were countless frozen creatures—beasts clad in fur, humans dressed in cloth… All were encased in a layer of frost, lifelike yet immobile as ice sculptures.

"Will that being truly respond to us?" Milaia turned to her husband.

"Of course. That lord will grant our wish," Favos replied, lifting his draconic head from where it had been pressed against the ground. "I will conquer all and become the leader of the Chaos Dragon Clan…"

"But that thing is an eldritch god from beyond our world… I fear the risks," Milaia murmured, her eyes flickering with doubt. She had no intention of taking such a gamble. "Perhaps I should leave with our child first?"

"Do you not trust me?" Favos unfurled his colossal wings, their shadow engulfing the entire altar.

"How could I not? Favos, I am your wife." Milaia’s gaze darkened.

Perhaps binding herself to this fool had been her greatest regret.

Though he possessed exceptional talent and was the son of the Chaos Dragon Clan’s leader, he was lazy, indulgent, and utterly unwilling to dedicate himself to cultivation.

Now, upon hearing that his father intended to pass the leadership to another, Favos had resorted to this desperate scheme to reclaim his birthright.

"Relax. As long as we offer enough sacrifices, there will be no issues. This is merely a simple transaction."

Ignoring Milaia’s warnings, Favos turned and began inscribing the ritual array upon the altar.

"Then… should we gather more sacrifices? Are you certain these will satisfy the appetite of an eldritch god?" Milaia glanced at the frozen figures around them—each still alive beneath the ice.

"There’s no time left. My father has already noticed something amiss. If that old fool discovers us, all will be lost." Favos’ voice dripped with venom. "It’s all his fault. Had he just passed the title to me as he should have, none of this would be necessary…"

Milaia fell silent. She knew Favos was beyond reason now.

The crimson magic circle was completed, its surface resembling a pool of thick, churning blood.

Favos began chanting in an ancient, esoteric tongue.

The air grew heavy, an inexplicable dread creeping into Milaia’s heart—as if something monstrous was watching them.

One by one, the frozen sculptures shattered, their occupants reduced to gory fragments before being absorbed into the array.

"It… it worked!" Favos stared intently at the altar.

From the center of the array, a two-meter-tall cylinder of inky black liquid slowly emerged.

It was a brush.

Though its form bore no resemblance to a writing tool, both Favos and Milaia instinctively recognized it as such.

Smooth and polished, no one would ever guess this object was an eldritch deity from beyond their world.

As the brush manifested, an overwhelming pressure descended, nearly forcing Favos to his knees.

The shaft of the brush writhed, forming a pair of glowing blue eyes and a mouth beneath them—like a human face embedded within.

"I am… Fiction’s Truth, a being of the beyond… State your purpose for summoning me."

"I need power—absolute power!" Favos declared fervently.

"To gain power… you must offer a sacrifice… of this world," Fiction’s Truth intoned.

Merely hearing its voice sent Favos and Milaia’s minds reeling, their thoughts thrown into chaos.

They were of the Chaos Dragon Clan—any lesser being would have been driven mad by the exchange.

Favos blinked. "But I’ve already offered sacrifices, Great One…"

"Those were the price to summon me… not the cost of power."

Sacrifices? What else could they offer?

Every captured creature had been consumed. The mountaintop was barren now—nothing but snow and ice remained.

Favos’ gaze shifted to Milaia, sending a chill down her spine.

Was he truly considering sacrificing her?

"Our child… yes! We still have this!"

Trembling, Milaia produced a dragon egg wreathed in frost and pressed it into Favos’ claws.

Without hesitation, Favos raised the egg toward Fiction’s Truth.

CRACK—

The very air shattered like glass as a silver-haired figure emerged from the rift.

"Vermin from another world… how dare you trespass upon this one?" Aina’s voice was glacial, her eyes blazing with fury. "This is Xia Lun’s world—my world! Filth like you… deserves annihilation!"

Fiction’s Truth’s lips twisted into a grotesque smile. "You are… this world’s incarnate will… are you not?"

Aina struck instantly. The surrounding space collapsed, dragging both her and the eldritch entity into the raging currents of the void.

Only beyond the boundaries of reality could she unleash her full might.

Favos and Milaia stared dumbfounded at the gaping spatial rift, sensing the terrifying energies clashing within—forces that rendered them insignificant as ants.

A roar of rage echoed from the abyss.

"I see now… you two… were mere bait. Your entire race… will pay for this folly!"

Then, the rift sealed. Aina reappeared before Favos, clutching a pair of glowing blue eyes in her hand.

"My… my lady, we—" Milaia was the first to react, prostrating herself in desperation.

Aina flicked her wrist. The dragon’s head tumbled from her shoulders, her scorching blood melting the snow where it fell.

Traitors who summoned an eldritch horror? Aina had no words to waste on them.

Favos stood frozen, still cradling the egg he had failed to offer, his mind trapped in the moment before his wife’s death.

"Give it to me," Aina commanded. Mechanically, Favos obeyed.

A heartbeat later, he joined Milaia in death.

Atop the mountain, Aina stored the two dragon corpses away, glanced at the frost-veiled egg in her hand, and vanished.