What follows is not legend.
It is true.
And the world has tried very hard to forget it.
Over one thousand years ago, a boy was born into a world that still accepted magic.
Sorcery was not forbidden. Spell-chasers walked openly among the people, respected and revered. And from the moment this boy could think—could dream—he knew what he wanted to be.
A spell-chaser.
The greatest one to ever live.
At fourteen, he began his training.
He learned faster than anyone had seen before. Spells that took others months to master, he absorbed in days. His instructors couldn't keep up. His peers couldn't compete.
Before he left home, his parents gave him a single piece of advice:
"No matter what happens—never lose faith in what you are."
He carried those words with him for the rest of his life.
Adulthood was not kind.
He survived alone. Struggled. Wandered from place to place, honing his craft in silence, refusing to abandon his dream.
By the age of thirty, he had done it.
He became the greatest spell-chaser in the world.
His name was spoken in every kingdom. His power was unmatched. He had everything he'd ever wanted.
Except for one thing.
Someone to share it with.
He searched for years.
Rejection after rejection. Loneliness that never lifted.
Until, finally, he found her.
A woman with abilities like his own. She saw him—not as a weapon, not as a threat—but as a person.
They fell in love.
For four years, they traveled together, using their magic to help those in need. Healing the sick. Defending the weak. Building something beautiful.
It was the happiest he had ever been.
Then came the Casters.
A group of men who despised magic. Who believed that unnatural abilities were a corruption—an infection to be purged.
They found her first.
She cast one final spell before they killed her.
It wasn't enough.
They came to him next.
Not to kill him. Not yet.
They delivered a warning:
"Stop using magic. If you don't—we will kill you. And every spell-chaser left in existence."
He said nothing.
They left.
And something inside him began to crack.
He killed his first man not long after.
One of the Casters. The one who had given the order.
The moment the life left the man's eyes, something sparked.
Not grief.
Not guilt.
Power.
And he couldn't stop.
The rampage lasted days.
He tore through villages. Burned cities. Massacred entire kingdoms without rest.
When it finally ended, they counted the bodies.
The official record claimed ten thousand, three hundred dead.
But that was a lie.
The true number was one hundred thousand, nine hundred.
They rounded it down to make the world feel safe.
It didn't work.
The Casters launched a manhunt.
For months, they tracked him across the land. But no matter how many soldiers they sent, no matter how many traps they laid—he escaped.
He killed everyone who came for him.
His legend grew darker with every passing day.
They stopped calling him a spell-chaser.
They called him the most dangerous man on the planet.
Desperate, the Casters created enchanted maps—tools that could track magical essence. They distributed them across the land, offering massive rewards to anyone who could bring him down.
Thousands tried.
All of them failed.
When the Casters realized no ordinary force could stop him, they made a decision.
They gathered every remaining spell-chaser under their command.
Dozens of them.
Some of the most powerful magic users are still alive.
They sent them all after one man.
The battle was catastrophic.
He killed nearly every one of them.
But in the end, they cornered him.
And the Casters—who had stayed hidden, who had never fought their own war—stepped in at the last moment and delivered the final blow.
They didn't just kill him.
They killed the spell-chasers, too.
Every last one.
Then they burned the bodies.
All of them.
They wanted no trace of magic left in the world.
But they failed.
Because something survived.
When the flames consumed his flesh, his essence—dark, furious, undying—crawled away from the fire.
It slipped into the earth.
Hid in nature.
Waited.
For a thousand years, it waited.
The wizard had a name.
A name the world tried to bury.
A name that would not stay dead.
MAZZA.