[Narrator's Voice]
Two hundred years ago…
in an age when modern technology stood at its peak, humanity believed itself untouchable. We ascended ever higher, evolving beyond what nature had written for us. There seemed to be no wall we could not break, no sky we could not pierce. The very idea of "limit" was erased from our dictionary.
But everything in existence bears its limit. Even eternity. Even gods. Nothing escapes this law.
Remember this truth well. For humanity forgot it.
At first, the signs were faint, as though reality itself whispered warnings too subtle for proud ears. Then the sky trembled, twisted, and tore open.
From that wound in existence emerged a vast shadow—a dragon of unfathomable scale, its wings blotting out the sun. Upon its back lay a coffin bound in chains, and from that coffin seeped a despair so pure it corroded the air itself.
And thus, the end began.
The apocalypse was not a moment, but an age. Its storm endured for decades, drowning generation after generation. Cities of glass and steel, monuments to our progress, were reduced to rubble and ash. Seas boiled, mountains crumbled, the very heavens rained down fire and lightning that split continents apart.
Our weapons, our machines, our brilliance—everything we once called "strength"—shattered like fragile glass. The humanity that dreamed of standing equal to gods was humbled, broken, ground into dust.
In that silence of despair, hope died.
And when hope dies, prayer is all that remains.
Like spoiled children, selfish and arrogant, we remembered the gods we had long abandoned. Like a fledgling who spurns its master, only to scream for help when the hawk descends, humanity cried out to the heavens for mercy.
And then… the light came.
It descended like judgment—brilliant, merciless, absolute. Humanity thought its prayers had been answered. Joy returned to eyes that had long forgotten light. But joy turned to dread. For this was no salvation.
The light erupted across the world, engulfing sea, sky, and land. And when it faded… the earth itself was reborn.
The towers of man lay in ruin, and all trace of modern civilization vanished as if it had never existed. The oceans split, unveiling drowned kingdoms. Mythic trees, titanic and eternal, rose from the soil like gods reborn. The ground itself tore open to birth endless labyrinths. Beasts that once were animals became monsters of magic and nightmare. Forgotten races stepped forth from the grave of history.
And humanity… we too were remade.
Those who survived awakened to new power—energies beyond mortal comprehension. Fire and storm danced at our call, earth and sea bent to our will. But not all could endure the weight of this rebirth. Those who could not… perished. Extinct, nameless, erased.
Thus ended the Age of Science.
Thus began the Age of Fantasy.
But humanity did not vanish. By nature's law, by indomitable will, we did not bow. This time, however, we walked not against the world, but with it. Accepting fate, we rose anew, shaping our lives alongside this transformed earth.
A hundred years passed. Civilization bloomed once more—not of steel and circuitry, but of magic and myth. A new technology, forged in harmony with the world's fantasy, carried us forward.
And so, as the curtain fell on the old world and rose upon the new, a single voice echoed across history:
"Hear this well—Reality has died, and in its place, the Realm of Myths has begun. From this day onward, mankind shall rise together with fantasy."