" BOHARA"
The skies of Bohara had never been so dark. Once, the heavens shimmered with ribbons of blue and gold, light flowing endlessly across the lands of Bohol, the heart of the four elements. But now, the clouds churned like wounded beasts, torn open by bolts of red lightning. The air smelled of ash and ruin.
And at the heart of the storm stood the Dark King Morveth, cloaked in shadows so thick they writhed like living serpents. His crimson eyes glowed with hunger as he raised his skeletal staff, the black crystal at its tip pulsating with stolen power.
Before him knelt legions of his minions-creatures born of nightmare, their bodies twisted with smoke, scales, and iron claws. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their presence.
Morveth's voice slithered through the air, cold and merciless.
"Go, my hounds of shadow. Spread your claws through Bohara. Leave no soul alive-burn their villages, drown their rivers, crumble their forests, and tear the very air from their lungs."
The creatures hissed in unison, their eyes blazing.
Morveth grinned, a cruel slash of triumph.
"The King of Bohol hides his daughters, but the elements are mine. Hunt them. Break their light. With their blood, I shall forge the eternal night."
The minions let out a monstrous cry, shaking the heavens, before scattering like a swarm of locusts across the land. Villages fell into screams. Fires lit the horizon. The once-verdant kingdom began to collapse.
Inside the royal palace of Bohol, chaos reigned. Guards shouted, clashing against the advancing darkness, while the marble halls cracked as if mourning their fate. But at the center of it all, in a chamber glowing with the last flicker of magic, the King of Bohol stood trembling.
His crown, heavy with grief, slipped slightly from his brow. His heart ached not for his kingdom's fall but for the tiny hands clutching his robes.
"Father..." a small, trembling voice called.
It was Salim, his eldest, only four years old. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she clutched a doll carved from wood-her favorite toy. She looked up with eyes wide and broken.
"Why is the sky angry? Why is everything breaking?"
The King knelt down, tears brimming in his own eyes as he cupped her face.
"My Salim... my flame of life. The world is changing because darkness has come to steal what is ours."
Salim's lips quivered.
"Am I going to die, Father?"
His chest clenched. How could he explain death to a child who had barely learned to speak of dreams? He shook his head firmly, pressing her forehead against his.
"No, anak. You will live. You must live. Because you carry something greater than death."
Salim blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
The King raised his trembling hand, a spark of fire blooming at his palm. It danced like a candle, then roared into a flame. The warmth kissed Salim's cheeks, making her stop crying for a moment.
"This fire," the King whispered, "has burned in our blood for centuries. It is the fire of courage, of life, of hope. Tonight... I must give it to you."
Salim gasped softly, clutching his robes tighter.
"But I'm too small! I don't want fire. I just want you, Father!"
His tears finally fell, landing on her little hands.
"My child, my princess... this fire will keep you safe when I no longer can. Carry it for me. Burn bright in the darkness."
