Centuries have passed since the boy was disturbed from his coffin, and he would have likely gone for a few more centuries had the area not been under attack by the Empire. It was something of an odd circumstance in which the town, insignificant in and of itself, was more than less in the crossfires of the Kings Glaive’s finest. The ground had split open and it was a bout two months afterward the townsfolk discovered the underground temple. It was fortified by steel walls, thick doors, and long dark hallways. Electricity once worked down there as there were switches, lights, and other things like old boxed computers, it was nothing like what technology looked like today.

They discovered more and more of the rooms and pathways, completely undisturbed by daemons and eventually they came across a strange room with empty shells that looked like giant eggs on a conveyer belt. In a room stood a lone egg, not a speck of dust would be found in the pristine white-room, and once the villagers got their lights set up in the room they could make out a ghostly figure of a young boy who simply appeared to be asleep. As if a spell was put over him.

Some began to speculate this was the crystal’s doing and perhaps these egg shaped pods were designed from the crystal’s power. That they were organized here, obviously, through great effort from the ancient civilization that dwelled here so many years ago.

Yet, one brave townsperson brushed their hand against the pod and the white egg began to pull apart like a flower blooming in the light of the sun. Hushed voices and curious whispers sounded through the room at the sight and then gasps as the boy began to move forward with a breath.

From there, the rest was history. As in, nothing was ever going to be the same again. A week or so after the boy woke things began to change in the small remote town. The people began to obsess and fuss over the boy and began to call him the sleeping prince. The town’s physicians and healers fret over the condition of the boy and tried their best to bring color back to the boy’s cheeks but nothing seemed to help. What certainly didn’t help, however, was the sun’s light and they soon adjusted their routine, around the boy, to be done so at night.

It was three weeks since the boy’s awakening did it finally happen. Sora took his first draw of blood on the wrist that reached over his face to dab a cool clothe to his forehead. It surprised them both but with just the taste of the blood in his mouth he regained color, energy, and his voice. Which is why they had come to know him as Sora. After that he regularly began to feed on the villagers and regain health at a much more rapid speed than he had with the food and drink they had tried to give him prior. It was clear to them all what Sora was and what he needed. There wasn’t one villager who had the resistance to deny Sora his drink. Perhaps that was part of the allure and soon enough the village turned solemn and grey, but happy as the villagers flocked to Sora to provide him his meal.

This, however, began to leak of suspicion as travelers came with trade and noted the pale state of the town as they wandered through expecting business as normal. Yet, they were turned away with their goods and left with more questions than they cared for.