There is a concept pertaining to a theoretical superior mortal being hailing from the North in the highest peak of Remnant, coming down to the lower planes to spread the words of Heaven. For the longest time, people believed that this being existed and walked among us.

His name was King Ozymandias, Lord God of Vale, the holy land blessed by the Seasons. This Prophet King sat on his throne of silver and emerald, there his magick would light up a green torch that could be seen from miles away, revealing fragments of the future.

He reigned long, his rule was iron. But eventually, people learned the Prophet King was nothing more than a charlatan when the Great Army of the North marched in and took the Valley for themselves. Ozymandias was said to have possessed great power, but even he was reduced to the status of fugitive once she stepped foot onto this land.

Though, stepping foot would not be an accurate way of describing it. Her foot never even touched the ground, hovering steadily just a few feet above, almost as if a god had descended from on high to claim what was theirs. She walked forth as the holy city was ransacked and conquered. Behind her a sea of flowing Atlesian flags, carried by the North wind, signaling her arrival.

This being was the symbol of Atlas's power. People of the North would call her their guardian, their protector.

But when she marched into Vale that day, the people called her the Superman.


"Bzzt…zzz… when you smile my darlin'… we smile upon the Valley…"

The song echoed on across the entire country on the radio. It was a new classic composed by the late Sir Qrow Branwen, who wrote this song in remembrance of a former friend, Summer Rose, lost away at sea. The sea in this context was a metaphor, for Sir Branwen knew not where Summer actually died.

The Legendary Hero went missing a long time ago. It was said that she was the very heart of the Valley itself, and if her heart were to ever stop beating, this country would soon follow suit. To fall and crumble into the sand whence it came.

Sir Branwen could not bear to see the disaster that was to come, nor the pain of losing someone so dear to him. On the night when he wrote down the song, he took with him one wine glass, filled it as best he could and took a swig. Before lunging into the unknown of the cold dark waters far beneath the Bridge of Valor. The state funeral that followed was momentous, a token to remember the Legend of the Valley.

But in the end, it was cut short, and the song was left on the radio as the evacuation broadcast sounded loudly beneath the bombs and the airships. The full might of Atlas was something the Valley had never seen before, something not even the Prophet King could foresee.

"My King, you need to leave now!" General Goodwitch commanded, drawing her royal military blade. "Your blood is sacred, and it cannot fall to the hands of Northern infidels."

"Thank you… my love…" Ozymandias put on his hooded cloak. "I swear on this day, the Valley may fall, but our flag will fly again, that is a promise."

General Goodwitch nodded as blood dripped down her head. Goodwitch was one whose name was known throughout the lands. One so ruthless and strict, so accomplished and powerful. Her march across the mighty desert and conquest of the West was legendary.

But the Legends of the Valley now faced a being far beyond anything they had ever seen before. As the bells of the church rang and the General looked up in the sky in horror – a being adorned with a striking red and white cape soared through the sky and punctured the bell tower like it was made of paper. The pillars crumbled into sand, and the being flew far above into the sky.

"Peter," said Ozymandias as he was escorted down the secret tunnel, "is it true? Does a mortal fly? The one they call the Superman… does he fly?"

Peter Port, head Royal Alchemist, trailed behind his King. His voice trembled in the darkness of the tunnel, for what he saw was power absolute.

"Yes… my King – she flies."