Long before time had a name, before the first star burned or the winds whispered across an empty void, there were the Ancients. Beings beyond mortal comprehension, they wove existence from nothingness, shaping worlds with their will alone. And among their countless creations was ours-a land where Fae and humans once lived as equals, bound by an unspoken harmony.
But harmony is fragile.
Jealousy took root in human hearts, twisting admiration into resentment, wonder into hunger. They envied the magic that coursed through Fae veins, the ageless grace of our kind. And so, with fire and steel, they struck. Slowly at first, then with unrelenting cruelty, they turned on the Fae, enslaving them, claiming their gifts as spoils of conquest.
For centuries, our people suffered.
The Ancients watched in silence until, at last, they intervened. With a power beyond reckoning, they split the world in two-the Human Realm and the Fae Realm-severing the chains that bound our kind. Yet the Fae could not be left defenseless. As a final act of mercy, the Ancients bestowed upon the royal bloodlines a gift: the Spark of Creation, a power as eternal as the stars, meant to guide and safeguard our realm.
Then, the Ancients left, retreating beyond the veil of time.
It is said they still watch from the shadows, waiting to see if humanity will ever be worthy of what they once destroyed. But in the meantime, the Fae endure. And the Spark remains, passed from ruler to ruler, a beacon of all we were, all we are, and all we must become.
With the realms reborn and the Spark passed through royal veins, the Fae began to rebuild, the royal families scattered, each carving their own domain from the untamed lands of the new realm.
To the west, the Dragovich ventured into the endless frost, forging a kingdom of ice and eternal winter-Vostroya. Their lands lay beneath frozen skies, where the cold was a constant, and the people thrived in the embrace of an unforgiving snowbound world.
To the east, the Viviani settled in the lands of unyielding heat, birthing a kingdom of flame and perpetual summer-Lucenova. Their realm burned with the brilliance of an eternal sun, a land of golden fields, volcanic peaks, and passion that never waned.
To the south, the Beaumont claimed the lands of renewal, where the world was forever in bloom. They built the kingdom of new life and perpetual spring-Éverune. Flowers never withered, and the air carried the scent of fresh earth and endless possibility.
To the north, the Nyxarios walked among the dying leaves and long shadows, embracing the realm of eternal twilight and perpetual autumn-Xanthosia. Here, the air was crisp with the scent of change, and the world stood in a state of quiet reflection, where death and rebirth danced in delicate balance.
And at the center of it all, where the first lands remained untouched, stood the strongest of all-the Pendrake bloodline. The keepers of the old world, they did not claim a single season but ruled over the land of change, where the winds shifted, the leaves turned, the snow fell, and the flowers bloomed in an endless cycle. They built the kingdom of balance and stagnation alike-stormhold. It was here that power lingered, and it was here that destiny would be decided.
(End Of Prologue)