(/)FANTASYNOVEL , DESERTED-PROLOG
The World Had Changed.
The forests that were once lush and green had become nothing more than memories, erased without a trace beneath an endless sea of sand. Rivers had dried up, leaving only cracks across lifeless earth. The sky, once blue and bright, was now shrouded in a suffocating haze of dust, turning day into gloom and night into an abyss.
Sandstorms had become the new rulers of the world. They raged without mercy, sweeping away cities that once stood proud, swallowing history written in the ink of civilization, burying the remnants of glory beneath layers of dust untouched by time.
Yet, from this ruin, something new was born.
As the earth was slowly stripped away and storms howled in unending fury, mankind itself began to change. Bodies once fragile adapted, absorbing something foreign—an ancient essence contained within every grain of sand, pulsing like the dying heartbeat of a world that still refused to surrender.
From the ashes and dust that veiled the heavens, an unfamiliar power emerged.
They called it Mana.
An energy that seeped through the air, soaked into the soil, and fused with those strong enough to endure the chaos. From among these chosen, new rulers arose—individuals capable of bending the elements, of raising barriers against disaster’s wrath, of kindling light when the world sank into endless darkness.
From the shattered earth awakened Aura—a force that transformed ordinary people into warriors who surpassed the limits of flesh and old logic. Their bodies burned, not with fire, but with pure strength that could only be explained through courage and the weight of loss.
But change did not touch humans alone.
Beasts and plants, touched by the same energy, evolved into forms unknown to history. Some became allies, others unimaginable threats. From within the wreckage of life, new species emerged—creatures never before written in the chronicles of time, now walking upon a scarred earth.
Centuries passed, yet the sandstorms never relented. At times they waned, giving an illusion of calm, only to return fiercer than before. Winds roared ceaselessly, carrying dust that smothered the sun, turning daylight into an eternal dusk. Rain, once ordinary, became legend—said to fall only upon blessed lands, rare gifts bestowed by the chosen Archons, whom many still believed in.
Humanity had no choice but to adapt. They scavenged the ruins of the old world, searching for cracks through which survival might slip. But no matter how they struggled, what was lost could not be restored. Science, once the foundation of hope, was reduced to fragments—shards of theory stripped of meaning in a reality rewritten by chaos.
From these ruins, new civilizations arose. Five great kingdoms emerged, each standing upon the balance of strength, knowledge, power, and trade. In the face of extinction, humanity rebuilt—merging science with magic and aura, forging new technologies that no longer relied on logic alone, but upon the very energy entwined with their world.
They strived, they tested, they created, salvaging scraps of both ancient knowledge and newfound sorcery. Yet even as progress was made, the world did not heal. Storms raged on, earth remained barren, skies refused to turn blue. And when human will was no longer enough, hope turned to something greater than themselves.
Faith in the chosen Archons deepened, becoming the only light left against despair. People sought protection in them, and the Archons answered—teaching and codifying the arts of magic and aura. Through their guidance, humanity endured, building civilizations, warding off annihilation, delaying an end that had once seemed inevitable.
But not all men cared for salvation.
Among those who fought to restore the earth stood others who reveled in ruin. To them, disaster was no curse, but an opportunity—a fertile ground upon which cruelty thrived.
For them, chaos was not to be fought, but celebrated. Murder became a tool for power, manipulation reigned unchecked, corruption burrowed into every seam of society. Theft, gambling, even the trade of human flesh—all without shame, without conscience.
They cloaked themselves in destruction, hiding sins they would never admit. With faces free of guilt, they defied faith and civilization—the two pillars that should have held morality aloft—as if wrong had never belonged to their lives. For them, truth was nothing more than wordplay, and ruin a small price for the freedom they exalted.
To them, the storm was not a curse, but a feast. The howling winds, the swallowing dust, the darkened skies—merely part of a grand revel they embraced with laughter echoing through the ruins.
Yet amid the merciless desert, beneath a sky that promised no peace, stood a single youth. He refused to bow to the fate that sought to consume him, refused to become part of the chaos. In his eyes burned a flame unextinguished, an ember of defiance that darkness could not smother. He would not simply resist ruin—he would challenge it. For to him, fate was no chain, but a prize to be seized with both hands.
Evran.
An orphan, raised beneath the shadow of storms. His hair, dark and ashen, whipped by desert winds, and his eyes gleamed with unyielding resolve. He was no noble’s son, no predestined hero. Yet he refused to surrender to a broken world.
Every day, he honed himself—pushing magic and aura to their limits, surviving in a world that wished him dead, searching through ancient texts half-erased by time. His gaze followed the swirling patterns of storms, seeking to grasp the rhythm of chaos itself.
He sought answers.
Not merely the truths buried in forgotten histories, but something deeper—something the world itself had perhaps forsaken. He longed to know why. Why had the world fallen? Why had suffering endured for centuries unending?
And most of all—how could it be stopped?
Even if he had to walk beyond the edges of the world, even if he had to face the unthinkable, he would continue searching. For in his heart he believed… truth still remained. And only by finding it could the world yet be saved.
He dreamed of skies turned blue once more, of air that was clean and cool, of a life no longer shackled by fear of the eternal storm.
"But Evran’s journey will not be easy."
Spoke a hooded figure within the shadows, smiling faintly as he closed an ancient dust-covered tome.