In the time before mortal reckoning, the world was whole, a seamless tapestry woven from the threads of the divine and the mundane. The Astraga—primordial beings of immense power—dwelt in a plane beyond comprehension, known as the Ætherial Veil. This was a realm of endless possibilities, where time bent to the will of its denizens, and reality itself pulsed with the raw energy of creation.
The Astraga were not gods, but they were venerated as such by the civilizations of the mortal plane. Their presence was felt through whispers in the wind, visions in dreams, and the unexplainable forces that shaped the fates of kingdoms. For centuries, mortals sought communion with these beings, offering prayers, sacrifices, and, in darker times, their very souls. But the Veil was a boundary meant never to be crossed—a safeguard forged by the Creator to separate the boundless power of the Astraga from the fragile existence of mortals.
Then came the Sundering.
Legends speak of a war that erupted among the Astraga—a cataclysmic clash between the Radiant Concord, who sought balance, and the Abyssal Covenant, who yearned for dominion over all existence. Their conflict tore through the Ætherial Veil, creating rifts that bled their essence into the mortal plane. Where once the worlds were separate, now they began to merge, creating zones of chaos where the laws of nature unraveled.
Mortals, unprepared for the raw surge of Ætherial energy, found themselves either obliterated or transformed. Some were twisted into monstrous abominations, their bodies unable to withstand the influx of power. Others, chosen by the remnants of the Astraga's essence, became vessels for their will—humans now capable of wielding the impossible. These mortals were the first Pactmakers, bound to Astraga fragments through a ritual of blood and will, called Pact.
But the merging of realms came at a cost. As the Veil fractured further, the Astraga themselves began to descend. No longer bound to their plane, these beings walked among mortals, some as saviors, others as tyrants. Entire kingdoms rose and fell under their influence, their names erased from history by the sheer magnitude of destruction.
Desperate to restore balance, the last of the Radiant Concord sacrificed themselves to seal the largest of the rifts, trapping many of their own kind—friend and foe alike—within the mortal plane. This act halted the complete collapse of the Veil but left scars across the world. Astraga still roamed, their immense powers diminished but far beyond mortal comprehension. Their fragments—their wills—remained, seeking those worthy to bear their legacy.
Now, centuries later, the Pactmakers are both a blessing and a curse. Feared by some, revered by others, they walk a fine line between salvation and annihilation. The world has not forgotten the chaos the Astraga brought, nor the dangers of their power. Yet, even as the scars of the Sundering fade, the whispers of the Abyssal Covenant echo through the dark corners of the world.
The Astraga's descent was not the end. It was merely the beginning.
The remnants of the Astraga's war left deep wounds on the fabric of reality. In places where the rifts had opened, the air was still heavy with the Ætherial residue, warping the land and birthing new horrors. These regions, known as the Lands of the Withered, were shunned by all but the most desperate. Strange phenomena occurred there, time could end up slowed or accelerated in obnoxious pace, shadows and light became separate, and strange voices called out to travelers. Deceit behind promises filled with lies about power, money, or a blissful life.
Among the mortals, those who dared to venture into these zones risked not only death but transformation. Yet, it was in these cursed lands that the Pact were most often forged. Fragments of Astraga—shards of their essence and consciousness—lay dormant, waiting for a soul bold or foolish enough to claim them. The process was never the same. Some found themselves bound in an instant, their will subsumed by the overwhelming presence of the Astraga. Others endured trials that tested their strength, resolve, or even sanity.
These contracts came with their price. The stronger the strength of the Astraga fragment, the heavier the toll it demands as it resonates with the user, either with or without any kind of consent. Some Pactmakers aged decades in shorter duration of lifespan. Others lost memories, the ability to feel emotions, or even parts of their humanity and empathy. And yet, the allure of power was too great. The Pactmakers became living legends, wielding abilities that could reshape the fate of nations, or even greed itself.
As the centuries passed, kingdoms sought to control the Pactmakers, turning them into weapons of war, hunters of rogue, simply for restraining Astraga and its outstanding strength that humanity has yet to understand. Temples rose to venerate the Radiant Concord, while secret cults worshipped the Abyssal Covenant, believing their return would herald a new era of dominance. The world teetered on the edge of balance, the scars of the Sundering still visible in cracks and bloodstained battlefields.
But deep beneath the floors of earth, in a forgotten ruin where no sunlight has reached, an ancient Astraga stirred. Its prison of obsidian and Ætherial chains had begun to weaken, the seals eroded by time and the desperate tampering of mortals seeking forbidden knowledge.
This was Fjöhrlûndr, one of the Abyssal Covenant's most feared generals, the orchestrator of the Sundering. Its name had been etched into forbidden texts, spoken only in hushed tones by those who dared to seek its power. And now, it whispered again, reaching out to the broken, the vengeful, and the lost.
In the small village of Kaedral, far from the great cities, the ground trembled with Fjöhrlûndr's awakening. The stars above shifted, aligning in patterns unseen since the Sundering. And among the scattered souls of the village, one would unknowingly answer the call—a soul whose fate would intertwine with the forgotten war of gods and mortals.
For the Astraga's return was inevitable. And with it, the world would once again descend into chaos.