Once upon a time, no wait, in a land far away in a parallel universe where everything was almost perfect, there was a lovely faraway kingdom named Pagasia. Pagasia was a perfectly delightful place to live in and had picturesque ancient forests and was surrounded by mist and snow capped mountains. This kingdom, like most kingdoms, was ruled under the monarchy system. Even so, the people of Pagasia were treated with kindness and respect, and voted on important decisions. In this almost perfect country (what's the point of a perfect one) the kingdom of Pagasia held a five week festival to celebrate the country's 'almost perfectness'.

It was on the fourth day of the fourth week of the festival, when the Queen's child was born. It was a little girl, a little princess or 'princelet'. Now before you tune out and start to say that this little girl had long blonde hair and striking eyes, wait, because she didn't. The Queen's child was like any other newborn baby, round and rosy (possibly a little blue) with a smile that made everyone – even the toughest caveman's heart melt, and a cry that would burst your eardrums. This little girl did not have long blonde hair (is that even possible?) but she did have a straggly mound of blackish, brownish mess on top of her head. Her eyes were not what you would call 'striking', they were rather, intriguing – a mix of brown-black, hazel and purple.

She was beautiful.

The country of Pagasia rejoiced. For like any other nearly perfect kingdom, one needs a new heir to carry the bloodline, and possibly marry off to some other wealthy country. The people of Pagasia had got wanted – a girl to call their 'princess' and a figure to carry the burden of their country.

On the other side of that massive continent that Pagasia sat on the edge of; another almost perfect country was rejoicing. The empire of Raxamon was a wealthy country, with vast hordes of gold, silver and oil. Set near the coast with stunning beaches and roaming plains, Raxamon was another almost faultless country to live in.

It was here, another child was born over two years ago. Now walking, the crown prince was expecting a little brother, although he did not know this. Twenty-three days before Pagasia's third week of festival; the second prince of Raxamon was born. The kingdom rejoiced with the royal family. Another son was all Raxamon needed to potentially gain continent domination, and another princelet.

As time grew on the children grew older and so did the tales of these two fated countries, and their once united motives became just a little more sinister. In a tiny space of four years traditions were set, challenges from the various non-perfect, common place countries were set and the world that the two children had been born to became a little hasher. This is where the real story begins.