The land was once whole, a vast and boundless continent where gods, mortals, and dragons waged their endless struggles. But war had scarred the earth beyond repair. The heavens clashed with the abyss, and the flames of divine and draconic wrath threatened to consume all. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, stood at the center of it all, bearing witness to the devastation that unfolded.
With the Architect still absent, the burden of preserving order fell upon her shoulders. She knew that if nothing was done, the world itself would break beneath the weight of ceaseless war. And so, Yggdrasil and her children made a decision that would change the fate of the world forever.
Upon the highest peak of her land, she whispered to the roots that stretched deep into the core, calling upon the ancient forces that had shaped existence. The very fabric of the world trembled, the sky wept with storms, and the oceans howled in rage. Then, with a sound like the heavens splitting apart, the continent was torn in two.
A great chasm erupted between the lands, an abyss so deep it reached the very heart of the world. The sea rushed in, swallowing all that fell into its endless depths, forming a vast, impassable divide. What was once a single continent became two, separated by a boundary of unfathomable darkness.
The gods, bound by their own divine laws, watched in fury as the western lands drifted beyond their reach. Their dominion over the world had been severed. They descended from the heavens, standing upon the edge of the abyss, gazing across at the land that now belonged solely to Yggdrasil and her people.
"You would dare divide creation itself?" one of the gods roared, his voice shaking the heavens. "Do you defy us, World Tree?"
Yggdrasil, unyielding, answered with sorrow and resolve. "I do not defy. I protect. The world will not survive if this war continues. This division is the only path forward."
Her king stood beside her, his gaze unwavering. "The West shall no longer suffer beneath the weight of divine wrath. If you wish to reclaim it, you will have to cross the abyss you cannot pass."
The gods seethed in their powerlessness. They could not cross the chasm, for its very existence was an extension of the world's own law—an unbreakable boundary, carved by fate itself.
And so, the West and the East were sundered. The land of the gods and the land of Yggdrasil stood apart, each forever beyond the reach of the other. The gods retreated to their celestial realms, their fury simmering, while Yggdrasil and her people turned their eyes to the future, knowing that the silence would not last forever.
Though the world had been divided, its wounds had not healed. For even as the abyss yawned between them, fate would one day call for a reckoning.
The world trembled as the land tore apart. What was once a single, vast continent had now been split in two. The wars that raged between gods, dragons, and mortals had driven the world to the brink of collapse, and with the Architect still absent, it fell upon Yggdrasil to make the final, irreversible choice.
From the roots of the World Tree, power surged forth, spreading across the land like veins of ancient magic. The skies howled with fury, the seas roared in protest, and then—with a sound that echoed through the heavens and the abyss alike—the earth split.
A great chasm, unfathomable in depth, opened in the center of the world. It stretched down to the very core, where no living being could cross, an eternal wound upon creation itself. The waters rushed in, forming an oceanic divide, severing the lands that had once been one.
To the south, the continent of the gods and dragons drifted away, a land that would come to be known as Runamoine. There, the divine and the draconic forces gathered, bound by their fate yet torn from what was once theirs. The gods, despite their fury, could not undo what had been done. They stood upon the edge of their broken land, gazing across the abyss at what they had lost.
To the north, the land of Yggdrasil and her people became known as Morra, a sanctuary for those who wished to escape the endless cycles of war. Protected by the World Tree and her children, the land flourished in its newfound isolation, though the scars of the past would never truly fade.
The chasm, dark and endless, marked the boundary between what once was and what would now be. No mortal, god, or beast could pass through its depths. It was an abyss of separation, a silent reminder of the war that had forced the world's division.
Far to the east, beyond the great seas, the immortals and the cultivators sensed the disturbance. From their celestial palaces and ancient sects, they turned their gaze westward, sensing the tremors in the balance of all things.
"This is no mere calamity," one elder murmured, peering into the heavens. "The world itself has shifted."
"The land has been broken," another observed. "And the Architect remains silent."
Some wondered if this division was the beginning of a new age, or the prelude to something far worse. Though the lands had been sundered, the story of the world was far from over. In the silence that followed, a single truth remained—change had come, and with it, the unknown.