Chapter Text
Millennia ago, beneath the fossilized ribs of the titan in the area later known as Bonesborough, a warlord had a child. This child was so gifted in oracle and illusion magic that merely standing in their presence anyone’s deepest desires and darkest secrets would be made manifest. However, such vulnerability more often than not lead to the summoning of one's greatest fears .
For which the warlord approved.
And so the child and their power were sealed within a room. A room with no windows and no light. For the only thing the warlord’s victims should see is their own worst fears. Thus the child became a faceless threat to his enemies.
An institution was built around the room and powerful magic was taught to those who were loyal. To those who failed him the room and the child within served as punishment. And so his tyranny flourished.
That is until the day the child’s magic grew beyond the walls of the room. The tyrant like so many others did what tyrant’s do when a pawn is more trouble than they’re worth. On the day the child’s power coalesced, the day of their birth, the father entered the room of his unconscious child, and slew his own flesh and blood. He felt neither regret nor remorse.
Having lost such an asset the tyrant went with more tried and true methods. His army being such it could afford a few examples. And he prospered once more.
On the day of the first anniversary of the child’s death, there was a sea of nightmares as the child returned. The magic of the child bolstered not only by a year of coalescing but also from the fear of the child themself.
A single innocent facing their fear defeated that which the tyrant’s army could not. Thus beginning the tradition continued to this day.
Left in their wake were nine relics. The people locked them away after they continued to return no matter how badly they were destroyed. Then one day a mad seer emerged from the woods and walked past the many guards right up to the tyrants and said to him. “In the darkest fear there is hope. These tools may prove the realm’s salvation or it’s doom.” Before disappearing the way she came.
Eventually the tyrant was overthrown and so too was the next, so on and so forth. School upon school built on top of that one room. And thus the story of Grometheus.
And that’s the story everyone knows, at least until Belos rose.