It was the year -543, centuries before the first orca swam through the seas. Even Kujima had yet to be born. Four hundred and fifty-eight years after the first prayer to God, the world was still shifting, evolving—unaware of the darkness that would rise.
At the heart of this darkness stood the Dark Council—an assembly of the underworld, where lords of crime, warlocks of forbidden magic, and heretics of lost faiths convened. Here, in the shadows of kingdoms, they dictated the hidden laws of the Hexa universe.
But all that was about to change.
A woman—only in her twenties—would burn their names into history.
Her name was Lady Nyx.
Her birth name? Forgotten.
Nyx was born from a scandal.
Her father was a lowly noble—a man who had strayed into the red-light districts, seeking pleasure he could not afford. Her mother was a prostitute, never home, never concerned.
But Nyx's father—weak-willed and desperate—had something most bastards did not.
A noble's blood.
And that meant he could make deals with God.
Or so he thought.
In this world, a bargain with divinity came at a price. A noble who sought power had to offer something of equal worth. But Nyx's father had nothing. No wealth. No influence. No devotion.
The only thing he received was a cursed gift—the power to move shadows.
Useless, perhaps, to a man like him.
She would make it her own.
The Academy of Devotion
Nyx entered the Academy of Devotion, where students prayed daily, trained rigorously, and sought power through faith.
But faith meant nothing to Nyx.
She was alone. Abandoned by her father. Unwanted by her mother.
She was just another forgotten girl in a world where strength was all that mattered.
Until someone noticed her.
A nobleman—a member of the rising Dark Council—had been watching her closely. He saw a pawn where others saw nothing.
One day, he took her from the Academy and offered her to the Dark Council.
Not as a recruit.
As a slave.
Nyx did not resist.
Perhaps she thought being useful was better than being nothing at all. Perhaps she was just too weak-willed to refuse.
Either way, she entered the Dark Council as a servant of the underworld.
She scrubbed floors. She cooked. She ran errands.
But she listened.
Her ears caught whispers of power-enhancing stones, mana-draining gems, and ancient rituals.
She watched the Dark Council trade in ores, smuggling them between kingdoms, enriching themselves while the world above remained ignorant.
And every time she transported those ores—
She stole one.
Just one. Small enough not to be missed.
The Dark Council knew, of course. They simply did not care.
To them, she was nothing but a slave with a pocketful of useless stones.
She was waiting.
One night, the same nobleman who had dragged her into this life approached her in secret.
He handed her an ancient scroll.
A parchment, he claimed, from the Dark Council itself.
"Try it," he whispered. "You collect stones, don't you? Use them."
Nyx should have questioned it.
Why give something so valuable to a slave?
But she didn't ask.
Because deep down—she knew the answer.
She was expendable.
And so, alone in the depths of the Dark Council, Nyx unrolled the parchment and began the ritual.
She spoke the words aloud.
Nothing happened.
She placed the stolen stones onto the scroll.
Still—nothing.
Hours passed. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hands trembled.
And then—
A single drop of blood fell.
Her own.
She hadn't even noticed she was crying.
Her blood dripped onto the parchment. Onto the stones.
And suddenly—
Agony.
The Eyes of the Void
Nyx screamed.
Her vision blurred. Her skull burned from the inside out.
She collapsed, clutching her face, her entire body convulsing as something inside her twisted.
Her eyes.
They were—collapsing.
Imploding.
She could feel it—her orbits sinking inward, consumed by something greater than flesh.
Blackness filled the sockets where her eyes once were.
Not darkness. Not blindness.
Void.
The kind of abyss that stared back.
Blood poured down her face, drying in crimson rivers along her cheeks.
But she did not die.
She did not beg for mercy.
She endured.
And when morning came, Nyx was no longer Nyx.
She had no name.
She had no eyes.
She had only the abyss.
And soon, the Dark Council would know fear.
Lady Nyx had been born.