Prologue - Whispers of Calamity
They say this world began with a scream of light—
not dawn, but a tear in the void.
Mana poured through emptiness, birthing land and sky in one heartbeat.
Continents flickered into being.
Crystal rivers carved valleys.
Mountains rose like scars.
Winds sharp as glass raced across empty horizons, heavy with promise—and peril.
From that savage birth came civilization.
Elves raised towers of starlight.
Dwarves dug deep into the earth’s bones.
Humans built empires—impatient, hungry, fragile.
All breathed magic like air, feeding on ley lines that demanded devotion... or sacrifice.
But long before Malnaar’s name curled black on every tongue, the sky ripped open above Arinoth.
Demons poured out—skin of stolen stars, teeth of regret.
They swept the elven groves like a plague of midnight, leaving only ashes behind.
Night could not hold forever.
Dragons turned on their fiendish kin.
Fire clashed with shadow, heaven itself split.
When the dust fell, the world lay shattered into shards, each clutching its own dream of survival.
Defiance flared in the Stormpeaks.
Elves struck down wyrm overlords.
Steel rang on scale, dragon blood salted stone.
Their cries echoed until the mountain remembered them as prophecy.
Then hunger returned.
The Sapphire Expanse filled with sails—mortal, immortal, tierfolk—
all chasing freedom in a world that demanded masters.
Blades flashed under cold moons, ships broke, and the blood of dreamers slicked the keels of survivors.
Gods fell silent.
The black Dragon was chained in the Runebound Citadel.
False peace.
The dead rose. The Purge swept. Emberdeep’s forges cooled.
Mana storms birthed monsters and desperate men.
Now begins The Rise.
War drums thunder beyond every border.
Eldritch power flickers in untrained hands.
Cities cower in their own shadows.
And the gods—if they still watch—
hide behind veils of shame.
All creation holds its breath...
waiting for the next calamity.
