Long ago, before the rise of civilizations and the whisper of mortal tongues, the world was woven from Natura—the primal energy that coursed through all things. It was the breath of creation, the pulse of existence, an unseen force binding land, sky, and sea in an eternal dance.
At the heart of this boundless expanse dwelled Aeonir, a being beyond mortal and divine, the silent architect of balance. Neither god nor mere spirit, he was the unseen force that ensured no power tipped the scales too far into chaos or stillness. Yet the world was vast, and even he could not watch over it alone.
From his own essence, Aeonir forged five realms, each embodying the forces that shaped existence:
Ignis, where fire burned untamed, rivers of molten fury shaping the land.Terris, a realm of towering mountains and unshaken earth.Aquaen, a domain of endless waters, where tides whispered secrets older than time.Aeris, a kingdom of endless skies, where the winds carried the echoes of forgotten songs.Voltaris, a tempest-torn world of storms and crackling energy.
To govern these domains, Aeonir created five deities, each bound to their realm, sovereign and protector. Under their watch, the first age of balance began—an era of unity, held together by the unseen thread of Natura.
Yet balance required more than guardianship. To give birth to life, Aeonir forged two relics of immense power.
The first was the Immortal Elixir, a shimmering essence that granted life, wisdom, and eternity. Aeonir spread it across the five realms, igniting the spark of existence. But creation without limits breeds recklessness, and so, to restore balance, he forged the Terminus Blade—a weapon that could end all life, even that of the immortal.
Thus, the cycle of existence was set in motion—life and death, creation and destruction, bound by the will of Aeonir.
Ages passed, and Aeonir, once the eternal guardian, felt the weight of time upon him. Knowing he could no longer uphold balance alone, he summoned the five gods to choose his successor. After deep contemplation, he named Aquaen, the Water God, as the new ruler of the realms.
But not all welcomed this decision. Ignis, the Fire God, burned with fury, believing himself the rightful heir. His anger festered, turning to resentment, and soon, to war. With fire and fury, he waged battle upon the realms, unleashing devastation unseen before. The skies darkened with smoke, the earth trembled, the seas boiled, and storms raged.
At the heart of his conquest, he reached for the Immortal Elixir and drank deeply. But immortality is a double-edged gift, and because his heart was tainted with greed, the Elixir granted him endless life but stripped him of wisdom and mercy. He became a being of pure, unbridled destruction.
Aeonir, though weakened, faced Ignis in battle. Their clash shattered mountains, sundered lands, and threatened the fabric of reality itself. Even together, the remaining gods could not overcome the maddened Fire God. The battle reached its climax when Ignis sought to seize the Terminus Blade, intending to destroy it forever—erasing the only weapon capable of ending him.
But in a final act of defiance, Aeonir shattered the blade, scattering its five pieces across the realms.
With his dying breath, Aeonir and the remaining gods combined their powers, sealing Ignis, his ten generals, and his monstrous army in a newly forged prison-realm—Tenebris, the Realm of Darkness.
Yet before the seal was complete, Ignis stood amidst the raging void, his once-blazing form now wreathed in shadows and embered malice. His voice, deeper and darker than before, carried across the dying battlefield.
"You think you've won? You think your seal will last forever? Fools! I am no longer bound by flame alone—I have become something greater. Something eternal.
You may call me Ignirath, the Dark Lord of Tenebris. And know this…
The stars will wither, the gods will fade, and mortals will bow before me. I will return.
And when I do… the realms will burn."
With a final, wrathful cry, he was sealed away, his prison forged from divine might.
But even as the gods stood victorious, they knew the war was not truly over. Aeonir, his body fading into Natura, gave a final prophecy:
"When the world is shrouded in darkness, when hope is but an ember flickering in the void, the bearer of the Mark of Aetheris shall be born. Chosen by fate, they alone shall wield the power to reforge the Terminus Blade and cast the Dark Lord into oblivion.
But even in the deepest shadow, a guiding light shall remain, watching, waiting… until the time is right."
And with those final words, Aeonir was gone. The gods gazed upon the sealed realm of Tenebris, knowing the battle had only been delayed, not won.
The scars of war had not yet healed. Ignirath, the Dark Lord, would rise again.
And when he did… the realms would stand upon the brink once more.