The Hidden Chronicle of Agonis and Cainis

The world knows the legend—but legends are clay, and clay is easily sculpted by kings. The true tale is far older, far darker, and buried so deeply that only the cultists of Apothrica, God of Secrets, still whisper it in their sleep.

I. The First Vision

It was Cainis—not Agonis—who first dreamed of the storm: a tide of ash and thunder boiling out of Falenfas, swallowing the world whole.

He told his brother. He begged him to listen. And Agonis—beloved, mighty, practically a living miracle to the villagers—agreed.

The journey south remained the same: the seas, the monsters, the trials. But the reason they set out… that belonged to Cainis. Not destiny. Not prophecy. Just a younger brother clawing at a future only he had glimpsed.

And it was Cainis who doubted the girl in the Black Pass. Agonis chose trust; Cainis chose silence. She mocked him whenever his brother slept, but he endured it—for Agonis, always for Agonis.

II. The Seduction at the Volcano

At the lip of the Hellgate, Lilith played her hand—but not upon Cainis. Her whispers coiled around Agonis, praising his strength, his destiny, his right to rule. She promised him a throne forged from the bones of demons. Power beyond mortality. A place among the gods—not earned, but taken.

Agonis faltered. Then he believed her. When Cainis tried to pull him back from the edge, Agonis struck first. The hero became the murderer.

Cainis fell with no last words—only confusion in his eyes and blood in his lungs. Brotherly trust breaking like glass.

III. The Corpselight Sorcery

Lilith did not let Cainis rest. She dragged his body across the rune circle. Blood spilled, true, but it was Cainis’s blood—unwilling, uncorrupted, innocent. And that purity was exactly what the Hellgate required.

She breathed infernal fire into his corpse, twisting his soul into a demon-bound revenant. A puppet. A weapon. A mockery of the man who once tried to save the world.

This was the birth of the shadowed Cainis, the armored warlock later blamed for the opening of the gate.

The official tale claims Agonis was stabbed. In truth, the wound he bore was Cainis’s dying blow—struck in self-defense, too late to change anything.

IV. The Flight of the Fallen

Agonis fled—not in noble retreat, but in naked terror and shame. He crawled into the cave and begged the gods not for justice, but for forgiveness.

And the gods—ever hungry for champions—remade him, granting him wings of light to cloak the darkness in his past. He returned north. He forged alliances. He became the hero the world needed. But heroes are not always innocents.

V. The Rewriting of the World

Centuries later, the first emperor of Midgard—Augustus Baelish II, a man who believed truth to be a tool, not a virtue—commissioned the Ecclesiastical Rewrite.

His goals were simple:

• Sanctify Agonis.

• Sanctify the empire born from his legend.

• Sanctify Augustus himself as the chosen heir to divine perfection.

So he inverted the truth.

Agonis became the tragic hero. Cainis became the traitor. Lilith became the seductress who tricked the virtuous. And Augustus became the emperor descended from a spotless myth.

Scribes were executed. Old temples burned. Any contradictory text was declared heresy. The entire world shifted around a lie polished until it gleamed brighter than the truth ever could.

VI. The Forbidden Conclusion

Only in the Archive of Apothrica does the original record remain:

“Agonis rose as a god, but not because he was pure.
He rose because the world needed him, flaws and all.
Cainis died a hero, though he was erased.
And Lilith did not lie—
she merely revealed what was already in Agonis’s heart.”

The truth does not diminish Agonis’s victories. It only casts his shadow long enough to touch the present. And it leaves one question burning quietly in the dark: If the empire is built on a lie, what happens when the truth wakes up?