A long, long time ago, before the existence of the Pillar of the Heavens, even before the world knew peace, war consumed everything in its path. It was not merely a battle between armies; it was the war of an age, a maelstrom of destruction that devoured history itself.
The dragons, majestic beasts of fire and thunder, ruled the world with unquestioned sovereignty. From their thrones in the sky they looked down with disdain on the other races: humans, always at odds with one another; elves, arrogant beings who believed themselves children of nature; dwarves, hidden within their underground fortresses; and the beast-men, hunters who survived at the fringes of civilization.
For centuries the dragons dominated them all. Their mere presence was enough to crush rebellions and subjugate nations. But not all dragons were the same.
Arkeia, a dragon of immense wisdom and power, began to question the destiny of his kind. He believed that endless war would only bring ruin and that true greatness lay not in domination but in balance. Yet not everyone shared his vision. Vorgath, a dragon of shadow and ambition, rose as his adversary, proclaiming that the dragons must not yield their supremacy.
Thus war broke out among the dragons. A brutal conflict whose roars made the earth tremble and whose flames consumed entire forests.
But the conflict between these titans did not remain confined to their own species.
The other races, trapped between fire and sky, were dragged into the battle. The elves, with their ancient magic, tried to halt the destruction, but their sacred woods were reduced to ashes. The dwarves, with their great stone strongholds, were buried in their own mountains by the claws of battling dragons. The beast-men, without a stable home, were the first to fall; their lands became desolate wastelands.
Humans, desperate, did what they knew best: they fought to survive.
It was amid this war that a new race was born. Under forbidden enchantments, the dragons of light assumed human form and mingled with humanity. Thus the Næthrik were born—hybrids of draconic and human blood, with the strength and ferocity of dragons, but the cunning and adaptability of humans.
Still, the conflict did not cease. The war raged for decades, until the world, unable to endure more violence, birthed its own vengeance.
From the depths of the earth, at the epicenter of the slaughter, something awoke.
The war, the endlessly spilled blood, the suffering of damned souls… all of it coalesced into a single entity: Vaelgorath, the Embodied Abyss.
A being born of hatred, the rancor of thousands of extinguished lives. Its roar was the echo of the fallen, its form an amalgam of despair and rage. With its arrival the world cracked: an abyss opened in the heart of the earth, releasing horrors never before imagined. Deformed creatures emerged from its shadow, monsters that did not belong to this world.
And so, the dragons' war ceased to matter. The true battle had begun.
The races that once hated and betrayed one another were forced to unite. Humans, elves, dwarves, pallums, beast-men and Næthrik—all fought together against the calamity. And among them, one warrior stood out.
His name was Fudo, also known as The King of Flames.
Leading the heroes, Fudo and his companions descended into the Abyss of Chaos, confronting the source of destruction itself. With each battle more allies fell, until only a few remained for the final confrontation.
Vaelgorath was indomitable. Neither steel nor magic could kill it. So they took the only option left.
Fudo and the last dragons unleashed their final spell. Their souls entwined in a supreme sacrifice, their blood poured over the abyss. Their bodies were consumed, but their will remained, transformed into an impossible structure—a pillar that rose up to the sky.
The Pillar of the Heavens.
The eternal prison of the calamity.
But peace bought with blood is rarely lasting. And though the world forgot the origin of its greatest prison, the truth still burns in the blood of those who descended from the fallen.
The Næthrik remember.
And when fate pulls its strings once more, the story of their sacrifice will be written again in fire and ash.
//Memory Fragment\\
—Darkness...
—I don't remember when it began, nor how much time has passed. I only know I was a man. A warrior. A hero.
—But heroes die.
—I should have died with them.
—The pain never stops. It is a black fire, a poison that burns in my soul, whispering truths I wish I did not understand. Whispers of Vaelgorath, its hatred made flesh in me. It dragged me into the abyss and showed me the futility of our sacrifice.
—What did we really save?
—The world we protected forgot us. Our names faded. The descendants of those we fought for live without knowing the blood that sustained them.
—Then… why do I exist?
—The answer is clear.
—Destroy.
—Raze everything. Turn the world to ash. Drown the earth in blood. Only in ruin will I find rest. Only when the last scream is extinguished, when the light of hope is smothered… then, perhaps, this torment will end.
—But…
—Why is there something inside me that still resists?
—Why does this shadow that I am still remember the echo of a forgotten oath?
—Damn… DAMNATION!
—SHUT UP!!!
—Let this voice fade… let this useless desire for salvation be extinguished.
—There is no redemption for the dead.
The roar of a beast tears the night.
Six wings spread, eclipsing the bloodied moon. Its titanic silhouette rises through the clouds, covered in scales black as the void, with blazing eyes that drip madness. Every blink is an omen of ruin.
The mountains shake. The winds howl. The stars pale.
Soon… everything will end.
—...Please...
—...Someone...
—...Stop me.