Long before kingdoms fell, when the first wolves howled beneath the moon, a shadow rose in the east: Lord Vorlag, the Iron-Fisted Warlord. A conqueror born of blood and steel, Vorlag craved not only dominion over men, but mastery over beasts and gods alike.
His search for power led him into the forgotten places of the earth, where he unearthed a terrible secret, the slumbering red dragon, Dragoth.
Born from the molten heart of the world's first volcano, Dragoth was a being of fire and fury, its scales gleaming like liquid ruby, its eyes burning with molten gold. With every beat of its wings, the earth itself trembled and burned.
According to legend, Dragoth marked Vorlag with a dark gift. The dragon's curse seeped into his blood, twisting and remaking him into something the world had never known. From that night, Vorlag rose as the first of his kind, a dread titan, bearing the will of a wolf and the fury of a dragon.
In his hunger for dominion, he shared the curse with his most loyal werewolf followers, binding them with the same dark gift. Thus, the first Lycan bloodline was born, creatures neither man nor wolf, but something far more terrible. From their blood spilled the legions that would come to be feared as Lycans.
Vorlag unleashed chaos upon the world, his armies sweeping over kingdoms that fell one after another beneath his wrath.
The goddess, mourning the destruction wrought by Vorlag, sent forth her Guardian to carry her moonfire into the mortal realm. The flames were pure, divine and unstoppable.
The faction of Lycans, werewolves, sirens, and humans gathered, desperate to end his reign.
But when the Guardian offered them the fire, none was worthy enough to wield it. Their mortal forms could not contain such divinity.
So the Guardian turned to the Starborn, a race shaped from starlight itself, for only they could wield the fire against Vorlag.
From among them, one girl was chosen. The fire marked her, binding her forever to the will of the goddess.
With her, the factions rose and at last destroyed Lord Vorlag and his dominion.
She became the first Moonguard and their Queen.
From her bloodline, an entire race of Moonguard warriors was born. Yet she was no longer eternal, for the fire of the Goddess had made her mortal.
In the end, she died as all mortals must.
The Dragoth was bound in the demon world, its chains sealed by the chosen girl. Lord Vorlag's body turned to ash, but his spirit endured, a shadow lingering in the dark.
....
Queen Ysandra woke to the soft glow of sunlight spilling through her crystal window. Outside, the city sparkled. Tall crystal towers caught the light and broke it into a thousand rainbow colors.
Floating gardens drifted between the buildings, their flowers glowing violet, gold, and teal.
She stretched and stepped out of bed, her feet touched the smooth, warm floor, which looked like snow. Her beauty was otherworldly. She had golden hair and flawless skin.
Tiny birds with wings that looked like clear, sparkling crystals flew between the floating gardens, catching the sunlight and scattering rainbows with every flap.
You could hear very soft musical sounds from unusual instruments, lingering in the air.
Ysandra put on a long dress of deep blue silk that sparkled in the sunlight, as if tiny stars were woven into it.
As she watched the city wake, Ysandra smiled. Every day in the Starborn Realm was full of wonder. And yet, she felt a quiet longing deep inside her.
She turned back into her room. The chamber was simple yet elegant. Purple curtains and detailed tapestries covered the walls. A large four-poster bed with gold decorations stood in the center, covered in fine silk sheets. A small table with a mirror and shiny trinkets added elegance. There were lots of flowers that made the room calm and cozy a perfect place for the Starborn Queen to rest.
Today would be full of duties. But maybe, just maybe, today would bring the news she always secretly hoped for.
She stepped outside and was met by Nim, her goblin, a small, wiry creature with green-gray skin, dark eyes, and long, twitching ears. Its claws were sharp, its grin crooked, and it moved with a restless, almost magical cunning.
As a Starborn royal, she carried a rare gift, the power to speak with any creature in the realm.
"You slept long, my queen," Nim said in a small voice.
"I did not," Ysandra replied, brushing a hand over its ears. "You've been keeping busy without me, haven't you?"
"Busy? Oh, yes! The garden has been chaotic," Nim squeaked. "The floating vines tangled themselves again, and the crystlies refused to listen. I tried to warn them, but you know how stubborn they are."
Ysandra chuckled. "I imagine so. Did any of them get into real trouble?"
"A few, but nothing serious… yet. And oh, I spotted a new bird this morning. Bright orange, like a tiny sun, darting through the violet flowers. It looked important somehow."
"Important, you say? Perhaps it's a messenger," Ysandra teased, her eyes sparkling. "Did it leave a note or speak to anyone?"
Nim shook its head. "Not yet. But I've been watching, just in case. You know I never miss a thing."
"I do," Ysandra said softly. "And I trust you to keep watch, as always."
Nim puffed out its chest proudly. "Of course, my queen. Nothing escapes Nim."
Ysandra whistled, and a white horse with wings soared into view. It circled gracefully before landing with a soft thud on the terrace, wings folding neatly against its sides.
"Ah, there you are," Ysandra said.
The horse nickered softly, stamping one hoof, as if answering her.
"Did the guards report anything strange while I slept?" Ysandra asked while brushing her hand over the horse's mane.
"Oh, plenty," Nim said, ears twitching nervously. "The council has been in secret meetings all morning… something about Dragoth."
"What?" Ysandra whispered.
A sudden chill raced down her spine.