Today marked our first true lesson at the academy. A day where knowledge, the very foundation of power, would finally be within my grasp.
I could barely contain my excitement. The thought of unraveling long-lost secrets, discovering techniques to grow stronger, and learning the truth of the world sent a thrill through me. My mind drifted into endless possibilities, fantasizing about what lay ahead.
But my thoughts were cut short as our homeroom teacher, Rufus, entered the room. The lively murmurs died down instantly, replaced by an air of quiet anticipation. He moved with purpose, his sharp gaze sweeping over us before he turned to the chalkboard.
With deliberate strokes, he wrote one word.
HISTORY.
Then, he faced us. "Tell me—who here knows the true history of our kingdom?"
Silence.
No one answered, and I wasn't surprised. The past, for most of us, was little more than scattered fragments, passed down by word of mouth. The nobles had access to written records, but for commoners like me, history was shaped by stories—often incomplete, often changed over generations.
Rufus crossed his arms, waiting, but no one spoke.Until finally, from the back of the room, a voice cut through the quiet.
"Aye, I do," said Torvik, his tone steady. The only dwarf in our class, and my closest friend, he sat with arms crossed, his usual playful expression absent.
Our elders tell us stories of what came before, he began. Not just myths, but memories carved into stone, recorded in our halls. The Great Pandemic was not just a tragedy—it was a turning point. The world that came after was not the same as the one before.
The room leaned in, drawn to his words. Even Rufus remained silent, letting him speak.
Before the plague, prosperity thrived. Humans, dwarves, and elves coexisted—not just in peace, but in unity. Mixed villages, shared knowledge, and trade that stretched across the lands. It was a golden age, or so they say.
Torvik's expression darkened.
But every great era has its limits. Populations grew, stretching our resources thin. Land for farming became scarce, and people went hungry. And so, as all desperate civilizations do, we expanded. We looked beyond our borders… and into the Dreadmore Zone.
I tensed at the name. Everyone had heard of the Dreadmore—the wild lands, the endless jungles, the domain of monsters. Few dared venture there, and even fewer returned.
Torvik continued, his voice steady.
The Dreadmore was dangerous. But it was also untouched. Rich in soil, teeming with life. It was a risk, but a necessary one. And so we settled, pushing deeper and deeper.
And that was when we found it.
A place where the air shimmered, where the ground itself seemed unstable. And at its heart—a rift. A link between worlds.
Murmurs spread through the class. Torvik nodded. We didn't understand it at first. But one thing was clear—something was leaking into our world from that place. A strange energy, unlike anything we had ever encountered. We named it mana. It seeped into the land, into the people. It changed us.
I swallowed. Magic had existed for as long as I could remember. But was it really something new? Had we not always had it? Torvik's voice turned grim.
And then… came the orcs.
At first, we thought they were invaders—beasts pouring through the rifts, seeking to conquer our lands. They were larger than us, stronger, their very presence radiating power. They came in waves, and we fought them back, believing we were defending our homes.
His words sent a shiver through me. Orcs were monsters, weren't they? Brutal warriors, relentless in battle. But hearing it like this… Torvik sighed. But then… things stopped making sense.The longer we fought, the more we saw signs that something wasn't right. It wasn't just the orcs. Other creatures appeared—beasts with no place in our world. And ruins. Structures that had never been there before, standing in places we had lived for centuries. Not just in the Dreadmore, but everywhere.
The classroom was deathly silent.
That's when we realized the truth, Torvik said, his voice quiet now. Our worlds weren't just colliding. They were fusing.
A stunned hush fell over us. The rifts weren't just doorways. They were bridges, merging two separate worlds into one. The orcs and the others weren't invaders. They were refugees—just like us, just as lost, just as confused. Their lands, their history, their very existence was being reshaped just as ours was. And in the chaos, war broke out—not because of malice, but because neither side understood what was happening. I exhaled, my mind racing.
Torvik leaned back. Even now, the fusion isn't complete. Ruins still appear. Creatures still emerge. And the Dreadmore? It remains the heart of it all, the place where the two worlds bleed into each other the most. That's why it's feared. That's why people still disappear there. A long silence followed his words.