Prologue
Before the blood, before the plague, before a kingdom turned upon itself, there was Sylph. The empire of rivers and stone. Born in mountain passes, expanded through minds sharper than blades. They built machines that carried water uphill, cities that bathed in light, and roads so wide a legion could sleep side by side. Scholars debated in open forums while generals conquered from tundra to desert. For a hundred years, the sun never set on Sylph. It stretched across 20% of Gaia from north to south, sea to steppe. But greatness breeds rot. And kings breed sons. When the boy called Silver was born, the foundation had already begun to crack. By the time he wore the crown, half the empire was ash, and its people prayed to bones. He would not save it. He would remake it.
