Myth
The sun had long vanished beyond the horizon, and the sky was painted red by flames.
A cold rapture was on the man's face; his eyes were as fiery as his color: reddish-brown, and he felt nothing but a desire for a single goal-to become the Supreme God, for he was his son.
- This is only the beginning," he murmured to himself, as he projected a flame forward. The storm he left behind plunged the world into decay.
- Every nation has its destiny. said a soft voice behind him. Szenlin did not turn around, but he knew who had approached him. His spiritual advisor, who still tried to salvage something from what he had burned to the ground.
- Every nation? The world will be mine alone. I will subject the entire world to fire. - he said.
The man turned away and slowly flew up towards the sky. The voice, now familiar to him, spoke again.
- Be careful, Szenlin, there are still those who can stop you. - it warned.
- Whoever tries will be incinerated- he said coldly. Fire shows no mercy, nor do I.
With that, darkness engulfed him, as if he were no longer human. Szenlin believed he was the sole ruler. He wanted the whole world to lie at his feet. Meanwhile, he knew that his greatest enemy, who had not yet revealed themselves and who had once tried to stop him, could return at any moment.
Until the moment the final blow arrives, he will rule, and everyone will bow before him-or so he once thought.
Threatening midnight-black clouds churned across the sky. Thunder roared loudly, and blinding lightning flashed. In the midst of this terrible storm stood a lively brown, castle-like building. Pointed towers jutted out from its black roof. Its walls were adorned with rye-colored lattice windows. It was a school, and in a cold, sparsely furnished classroom, a silver-haired man with a curly mustache was teaching the children gathered around him.
He wore a long black cloak, with a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and a ruby ring adorned his finger. In his hand, he held a thick, large-volume black book, from which he read diligently in a hoarse voice.
"In the beginning, there stretched an immense, boundless, pure blue expanse, at the very top of which shone the dazzling yellow Sun. Scattering its rays, it created life, then a stray little beam of light condensed. Like a thin thread of silk, molecules swirled inside it. Suddenly, they came together, and from their fleeting dance, shapes emerged. The children of the Sun marveled as they explored everything into which they were born. Later, they reshaped the world to build dwellings for themselves from gold, clouds, or rainbows."
"Thus was built the proud celestial realm's radiant culture. Its inhabitants are commonly called Gods. They are those endowed with unparalleled beauty and power by the universe. The Sun's very first son dutifully took the lead as the Chief God, a just ruler."
- "But why is the world so narrow?" he asked. "Let it be wider!" he exclaimed.
Beneath them, he created a separate layer, supported by firm brown earth to ensure stability. He covered it with fresh green grass, scattered seeds to gift it with plants, and so it would not thirst, he gave rivers, lakes, and seas their beds. Nature continued, folding into high mountains and hills. Seasons replaced the depleting resources."
"This landscape is so monotonous!" sighed the Chief God. He broke its dullness with various animals. Yet something - he felt - was missing from his work."
He created beings in their own image, creatures similar to them, and finally declared that his art was now perfect. Then his son was born, to the Queen of the Sky. He named him Szenlin, and he held the tiny child in his fragile hands with such pride that his chest swelled whenever he looked at him. The Queen of the Sky was called Csillag.
The child grew, but visibly differed somewhat from his peers. Unlike the calm nature of the descendants of the Sun, he was quick-tempered and extremely passionate. His parents believed he would outgrow it in time, so they deemed it unnecessary to pay special attention to the boy's behavior. Not everyone liked Szenlin. His father's loyal friend, the god of storms, was his fierce enemy.
However, despite the passage of time, the young prince did not change. The Celestials found him increasingly difficult to handle; some thought Szenlin did not belong among them. The Chief God refused to hear of it, constantly repeating that in time it would be proven that he would be the greatest of them all.
Szenlin knew well that his father was the Lord of All. His power stretched into infinity, without the limits of time. The sun of the sky's king would never set. This could only mean one thing: his son could never receive the coveted throne.
The young prince could not accept this. Filled with boundless rage, he turned against his father, deciding to seize the crown with his own hands. A great battle raged, in which Szenlin was defeated. The throne usurper, whose attempt ended in failure, was painfully banished from the celestial kingdom by the Chief God. He was cast beneath the earth so he could no longer cause trouble among them.
The prince grew angry again, and in his thirst for revenge he rose to the surface, among humans, where he incited selfishness and wars. Thus it happened that once peaceful tribes turned against one another. Soon chaos took hold in the lower realm, ending in bloody battles. The victorious tribes formed a strong state in the east, called Krón. The losers had to flee, moving westward. Because of the bloodthirsty nature of the easterners, peoples also migrated north and south. The Krón came under Szenlin's rule. Those who did not want the eastern tyranny grabbed oars and sailed far west, where they founded a new country. These travelers were called Kwellán. Around this time in history, the name Windstorm Land (Szélviharföld) first appeared.
Yet Krón continued to wage wars. The perfect world had become corrupted, covered by the black blanket of evil.
After their death, good people could become members of the celestial kingdom, but the Chief God did not consider the souls of the wicked. Thus, Szenlin created the third level, also known as Tartarus, the dwelling place of the damned. The corrupt people who descended there transformed into special monsters and demons in the Underworld, threatening the other two worlds. The Chief God, worried, isolated Tartarus. He raised a huge red gate before it, sealed with a supernatural lock. For a long time, peace reigned between the worlds-until the fateful day when a dark high priest arrived from the yawning void and opened the gate.
The creatures of the Underworld leaked out to the second level, including the prince himself. The Chief God entrusted his confidant, Hára, the god of death, to hunt down the escapees and return them to their original place. He vowed to do his best to fulfill this task, but found none of them.
-Excerpt from the Chronicle of High Priest Szherkhár, the professor finished reading aloud.
He noticed how wide-eyed the young listeners were, enjoying the shivers that swept through the room-an atmosphere intensified by flickering torches casting shadows on the dark walls.
"According to mythology, demons still walk among us even now. Róbert, could you please tell the person sitting next to you to come back to us mentally?" he said, fixing his somber gray eyes on a dark-haired boy.
"Is that poor guy daydreaming again? Riki!" the boy nudged the sea-blue-eyed young man sitting tightly by the window.
The old man cast a stern glance at them. His hand was tired from holding the large leather-bound tome covering the country's history.
The young boy ignored them and fixed his gaze long on the sky, as if searching for something in it.
"Do you really think Szherkhár's chronicle is just a fabrication?" the professor asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm sure demons don't exist," Róbert interrupted.
"You've always been so down-to-earth," the dark-haired boy remarked indifferently.
"More reasonable than you. Windstorm Land is the only country in the world. There's nothing around us but endless sea. No one has ever seen Szenlin except High Priest Szherkhár-maybe he doesn't even exist," Róbert concluded, closing the topic.
"And what if he does, and they are coming? Look at the sky!" Riki nodded toward the windows.
"Are you dreaming about the storm? Do you really believe all that nonsense a priest wrote down without evidence?" Róbert shouted.
"No matter how much you insult me, I know you're only hostile because you're afraid it will be revealed how much you fear the unknown," the dark-haired boy replied.
"Crazy!" their classmate shouted scornfully.
The teacher saw the argument between the two boys was about to escalate badly and decided to end the quarrel diplomatically.
"It's up to each of you to decide what you think about history. Class is over, you may leave," he announced, though a glance at the storm outside betrayed his own unease.
If you are Hungarian you can find the whole book in Hungarian called Démonszállottak.
