Days bled into weeks, and weeks hardened into months. The Primordial Battlefield, once a chaotic arena where individuals clawed for survival like beasts in a pit, transformed into something far more dangerous.
It became a world with borders.
The System did not announce this change with a fanfare of notifications; it did not need to. Anyone with eyes, anyone with a lingering sense of self-preservation, could feel the shift in the very atmosphere.
The air was no longer just air; it was a medium for intent.
The battlefield had stopped being a hunting ground and had become a continent at war, divided by three banners that cast shadows long enough to swallow mountains.
It began as a desperate coalition of the forgotten and the hidden. It became a civilization.
