In the year 700 BCE, within the ancient settlement of Noravia, nestled deep amidst the towering peaks of the Ural mountains, lies a valley veiled in mystery. With its borders ensconced by formidable heights save for one opening, this realm, though diminutive in size spanning a mere 55 square kilometres, holds unmatched potency. The purpose of the walls weren't a protection but rather isolation for the creatures without, though numerous were weak lacking the abilities of the residents of Noravia. Ordinary human beings shared neither their origin nor legacy but had unwittingly come to share their home planet with two wandering races that could become the stuff of legends and myths.
Centuries had ebbed since the firstextraterrestrial settlers arrived, the account fading into the annals of time. The initial fascination towards the Godlike creatures progressed into feae and skepticism till the myths turned to tales whispered in hushed tones over sleepy heads, lulling them through instruments of fear and fantasy. Humanity, in its gradual amnesia, began to relinquish tales of starships and the enchantments of divine beings they once revered. The sporadic encounters too waned, allowing Noravia to forge an uneasy accord among two distinct species and their hybrids, each vying for supremacy yet beholden to the staff of Sia, bestowing sovereignty upon a singular ruler, one who belongs to none yet encompasses all.
The Staff of Sia, an artefact made from the bones of the first hybrid born of two Godlike creatures. She was not a product of love and the power she wielded was one esconed in hate. Yet her remains ushered an era of uneasy peace among the raced, designating her power to a child born by defying societal norms, a child who survived by a parent with whom he never shared a bond of blood and yet a bond that defined him and molded him into what he is.
"Is this really needed, my son?" queried the figure garbed in a silver mask, addressing his kin adorned in gold. The epithet a norm, not established emotion but only in lineage.
Masks, the hallmark of their society, signified caste; for the countenance of a Royal was deemed sacred, a visage not to be unveiled under penalty of death. Hence, they donned masks fashioned from Noravian Steel, an alloy derived from the very core of their ancestral vessel, melding seamlessly to their flesh, becoming animate, mirroring the wearer's station. Their status, not defined by earthly conventions, reflected the hierarchy ordained by the primordial Noravia, their progenitor planet.
The son, a partial Noravian yet bestowed with the golden sigil of Supremacy, inclined his head solemnly. "Humanity has endured ample suffering in the conflicts. It is time to relinquish the harrowing past, consign it to folklore. Noravians and Aetherruvians must fade into myth, affording humans peace," he pronounced, his voice resonating with a dolorous timbre, yet fortified with steel resolve.
Approaching the two, a woman cloaked in regal purple imparted news of the northern colonies' secession. "The northerners have established an enclave of their own, reluctant to cohabit alongside the Royals," she divulged. Such tidings did not startle the Noravian King, for the chasm between Noravians and Aetherruvians, or Aether, as they preferred, remained deep.
Rooted in Noravian hubris, a legacy of centuries of dominion preceding the Aether's arrival, what began as a treaty soured into a millennia-long conflict. Aether was vanquished, save for a remnant retreating to Greenland, while those defiant against Royal rule dwindled, intermingling with humans to beget the first hybrids—the Wicca. Attempts to augment these hybrids with magic spawned varied were-tribes, anomalies in the eyes of nature, further exacerbating the schism between the two factions.
"Hail, King Belshazzar!" echoed a melodious voice, interrupting their discourse.
Turning, they beheld a woman in a beige cloak, her features bared, revealing a countenance of resplendent blondness and captivating peridot gaze.
"Aether Priestess Renaria, what brings you here?" inquired the monarch enshrouded in gold.
"Your Highness, not all Aether espouse seclusion in the northern enclaves. I beseech you for passage, a conduit between Noravia and our kin," she entreated, her demeanor more demand than supplication.
Acknowledging her plea, King Belshazzar conceded, "Your request holds merit, yet deliberations with the Aether Queen and Royal Monarch are requisite. An equitable exchange betwixt Noravia and the northern colonies shall be considered, ensuring secure passage."
As discussions ensued, construction of lofty ramparts commenced, fortifying Noravia's domain. Embracing not only Noravians but also myriad humans ensnared by ancient wars, now integral denizens of Siluria.
Meanwhile, Renaria lingered, her gaze fixed upon the king. "Speak your mind, Priestess," he invited.
"I tender my resignation as Aether Priestess," she proclaimed.
Perplexed yet anticipating her motives, Belshazzar inquired, "Pray, what impels you towards such a decision?"
"My allegiance to the Royal house eclipses my station. I harbor affection for the Aether Queen and her son, kin to her, now aligned with the Royal army. Thus, I aspire to remain amidst Royal kin, beside my chosen mate," she disclosed.
Foreseeing her intentions, Belshazzar cautioned, "Such aspirations are untenable. The son of Jesse Bellini has passed beyond mortal coil. You can not yearn for one lost."
"He resides within the stone heart of yours, dormant," she persisted.
"Even so, the Royal curse forbids hybrid unions," he admonished, noting her crestfallen countenance.
"Immortals eschew procreation. Together, we could reign as deities, sovereign over this realm," she proposed.
Retrieving resolve, Belshazzar rebuffed, "Your desires transgress bounds. I shall not abdicate my duty nor forsake destiny's path."
Undeterred, Renaria avowed, "From my blood shall your mate be destined and yet deny you. When realization dawns, it shall be too late."
"Proceed as you wish," he acquiesced, unperturbed by her ultimatum.
"Another heir shall ascend, ensuring continuity," he resolved. Unveiling her curse, Renaria departed, her ominous proclamation reverberating. Hastening to the scene, the Monarch and Aether Queen implored, "Why did you not intervene?"
"An Aether coveting power shall not reign o'er my subjects. Provide me a successor, Abba," Belshazzar beseeched.
"The curse portends a future Queen, borne of impure lineage within the House of Renaria. Let all maidens of her line present themselves, thus shall our search commence," decreed the Aether Queen.
Thus, the die was cast, destiny entwined with curses and prophecies, guiding the Kingdom of Noravia toward an uncertain future.