Morning came, and with it rose the twin suns. Their light spilled across the wastelands, painting the sky a faint pink—beautiful, yet cruel. Beneath that beauty stretched a world that offered no mercy. The heat pressed down like a hammer, the soil lay cracked and barren, and crops had long since surrendered. Even the few stubborn trees that clung to life did so with brittle branches, their roots clawing at the dust as though begging the earth for water.
The air shimmered with heat, and the wind carried only silence and sand. Travelers who wandered too far often left nothing behind but bleached bones, picked clean beneath the suns' relentless gaze.
And yet, hidden within this merciless expanse, there were pockets of hope—oases. Rare sanctuaries of water and green where life dared to gather. In those places, the weary found rest, and the desperate found salvation. But beyond them, stretching across continents, Avallah was a world that had forgotten kindness.
This was Avallah: a planet a hundred times larger than Earth, a world shaped by war and survival. And at its center dwelled the Aspers—beings more advanced than mankind could ever dream.
The Aspers were not one, but three races, bound together not by trust, but by fear.
The Red Aspers, the Rageallah: small, red-skinned, with black eyes and tempers that burned hotter than fire. Forged by war, they once ruled Avallah with brute strength and iron will, their armies marching like storms across the land.
The Blue Aspers, the Oceallah: tall and refined, with smooth crests upon their chests and eyes as dark as the ocean depths. Cold, patient, and calculating, they claimed the throne of Avallah for centuries, ruling with a precision as merciless as ice.
The Yellow Aspers, the Sparllahs: masters of invention and cunning strategy. Two centuries ago, they seized power from the Rageallah in a conflict still remembered in fear as the Terror Days.
But their triumph had not been won by machines or cleverness alone. Their true strength lay in a bloodline that all others dreaded: the Golden Aspers.
Only seven existed. Born tall, furred, with tails ending in arrow-like tips, they were living legends. Their unmatched abilities carved them into rulers, and from their line rose the royal family of the Sparllahs. The Golden Aspers were not simply leaders—they were symbols. To their enemies, they were monsters. To their people, they were gods.
Yet even legends had limits. When the Sparllahs nearly wiped out the Rageallah in their rise to power, the Oceallah intervened. The balance of the world trembled, but the three races pulled back from annihilation, forced into uneasy unity. A treaty was signed, binding them together beneath words of peace.
But peace was fragile.
The Aspers smiled in council halls and raised their banners together in public squares, but behind closed doors, every race sharpened their blades. The Rageallah longed to reclaim their throne, the Oceallah watched the others with cold patience, and the Sparllahs clutched their crown as if it might vanish in their sleep. Avallah was not ruled by trust, but by fear of what would happen if that trust failed.
And in the hearts of its people, tales endured. Priests whispered of a child born of golden blood who would decide the fate of all three races. Traders repeated the prophecy in marketplaces, their words dismissed as idle superstition, yet carried in hushed tones all the same. Some claimed he would unite the races; others swore he would burn the world to ash.
On the surface, peace reigned.
But peace was only words.
And words could be broken.
Far away, beneath the shadow of this fragile balance, a boy stirred. He did not yet know it, but his blood tied him to every secret, every war, and every betrayal of Avallah. His fate would shape not only the crown, but the survival of the world itself.
His name was Solvane.