For a thousand years, the skies burned.
Gods and devils clashed in storms that split mountains, oceans, and even the stars above. Mortals called it the Eternal War, but no human truly understood what was being fought for. This was not a battle of mortals. It was a game of gods.
Above them all stood three beings — greater than gods, greater than devils, older than time itself.
Aetherion, the Creator.
The breath of beginnings, whose word could spark galaxies.
Veyra, the Preserver.
The silent keeper of balance, whose hand steadied both chaos and harmony.
Kaelthur, the Destroyer.
The feared one, whose smile promised both ruin and rebirth.
Both gods and devils bowed to these three. For without the Creator, none would exist. Without the Preserver, none would endure. Without the Destroyer... none could change.
But the devils loved the Destroyer most of all. And Kaelthur—though bound to no side—gave them a gift.
A book.
Not a book of wisdom, nor prophecy.
A book of games.
Inside it were endless trials. Games where devils could tempt gods. Games where gods could be deceived. And for a time, the devils played. They cheated, they clawed, they lied through every page.
But in the end, they lost.
The gods sealed the book with all their power, locking away every spell, every trick, every blasphemy. With the Creator's light, the Preserver's chains, and even the Destroyer's silent approval... the book was closed.
Yet, not perfectly.
In his final moments, as the war raged and the devils fell one by one, a rotting figure clutched the book. Draviel — the Rotten Devil, last of his kind still standing. His flesh peeled, his voice broken, yet his grin was wide.
From the book, he tore a single page.
One page. One game. One chance.
"Even if we die," Draviel whispered, pressing the page to his chest, "our play is not over."
The gods struck him down, but his laughter echoed across the battlefield as his body turned to ash.
The page lived on.
It slid through history like a shadow, slipping into the hands of kings, conquerors, and tyrants. Alexander. Napoleon. Temüjin. Each one burned brighter, ruled stronger, and fell harder. For the page granted power... but always demanded a price.
And now, in the age of men and women, the page waits again.
The gods know it survived. They know a new game is beginning. And so, they have chosen their pieces.
The board is set.
The players are ready.
The divine game... begins.