The world had barely tasted its first breath of freedom when the drums began.
Deep in the iron-walled fortress of Arkhor, the air trembled with marching boots and clashing steel.
The War-Lord General — Varkul Dravonn, the man who'd built an empire from fire and discipline — stood atop his citadel tower overlooking a sea of soldiers.
Tens of thousands.
Armored.
Blood-marked.
Fanatical.
All staring up at him.
A new age had begun… and Varkul refused to enter it quietly.
---
I. THE GENERAL WHO DEFIED THE SKY
Varkul lifted his war-spear, the metal forged from an ancient heavenly meteor.
His voice boomed across the grounds:
"THE GODS ARE DEAD!"
The soldiers roared.
"THE SKY IS EMPTY!"
Their roar grew louder.
"AND NOW—
POWER BELONGS TO MORTALS!"
The army erupted, shields slamming in unison like thunder.
Varkul's eyes burned with ambition.
Arhaan's star shone softly above the clouds — peaceful, gentle, watchful.
To the General, that peaceful star was an insult.
"A guardian?" he spat.
"No. A weakness."
He turned to his commanders.
"Prepare the march.
Arkhor will be the FIRST empire of this godless age."
---
II. THE MARK OF AMBITION
Word spread quickly across the continent:
Arkhor is moving.
Arkhor is marching.
Arkhor seeks the crown of the world.
Small kingdoms panicked.
City-states tightened borders.
Tribes abandoned old homes, fleeing before Arkhor's steel.
Some cried out to the heavens.
Some prayed to Arhaan's star.
It listened.
But it did not command.
This era belonged to mortals —
for better or worse.
---
III. THE INVASION BEGINS
Arkhor's armies swept through three border towns within a week.
They didn't slaughter indiscriminately —
Varkul was cruel, but not mindless.
He wanted order, not ashes.
His message to the conquered was the same:
"Serve Arkhor, and thrive.
Resist…
and vanish."
Some submitted in fear.
Some resisted and fell.
Some escaped and warned the world:
"The War-Lord is building something.
He believes the star is a sign —
not of freedom,
but of opportunity."
---
IV. THE MYSTIC WHO SAW TOO FAR
Far from the battlefront, in the mountain city of Rishaan, an old mystic named Elder Kavaan studied Arhaan's star with trembling hands.
For years he had read the threads of fate.
Now the threads were gone — leaving only raw, untamed possibility.
His apprentices found him in his observatory, chalk circles glowing under his feet.
"Master, the people want guidance—"
But his eyes were wide with terror.
"I have seen the future," he whispered.
"Or rather… the lack of one."
The apprentices froze.
"There is no path," Kavaan said.
"No destiny.
Only the choices we make now —
and the war one mortal seeks to carve into the world."
He pointed shaking fingers toward the distant star.
"If the Star-God does not act…
this age of freedom will drown in mortal greed."
---
V. IN THE COURT OF THE EMPRESS
In the golden palace of Eshara, the High Empress gathered her council.
Varkul's armies pushed closer to her borders.
Messages poured in:
"Arkhor demands your surrender."
"The War-Lord claims divine vacuum."
"He intends to rewrite the laws of the world."
The Empress clenched her jaw.
"Summon every ally.
Every mage.
Every warrior."
Her eyes hardened.
"If this is the first war of the new age…
Eshara will not be the first to fall."
---
VI. THE STAR ABOVE
As the world braced for conflict, Arhaan felt the tension ripple across the land.
He watched the fear.
The ambition.
The desperation.
The hope.
He didn't intervene.
Not yet.
But for the first time since becoming a star…
his light flickered with concern.
Kael felt it from Heaven and murmured:
"Arhaan… something's wrong, isn't it?"
The star pulsed — faint, troubled.
Selara whispered,
"The mortals are beginning their first war…
and this one won't be small."
Kael looked toward the mortal world, gripping his spear.
"A war this big…
will shake Heaven too."