No one counts the years since that time the same way.
Some speak of an age, others of a blemish on the course of the world.
Yet all realms know its name—
the time of unification, born of necessity, not hope.
From the Awakening of Darkness
In an era when the realms still walked separately, their gods, laws, and ways unshared, a power arose whose origin remains disputed to this day.
The chronicles do not name it.
Some speak of an ancient darkness, others of a rupture in the fabric of the world, brought about by pride or forgotten magic.
Only this is certain:
Where it appeared, trust withered.
Where it acted, alliances crumbled.
And where it lingered, even the oldest prayers fell silent.
From the Call of the Realms
First the borderlands fell.
Then the outer cities.
Finally, even those kingdoms that considered themselves invincible faced the realization that no people could survive alone.
Messengers traversed sky, forest, mountain, and ice.
Old enmities were swallowed, old oaths broken or forged anew.
Not out of unity—but out of necessity.
Thus, for the first time, the Ten Kingdoms gathered.
Not under one crown, but under the looming certainty of doom.
Of Dragon Mountain and the Heavenly Portal
The oldest records tell of the Emperor of Longteng showing the way when no one else could see one.
On Dragon Mountain, which the ancients called Longshan (龙山), he drew the divine bow, whose origin remained hidden even from the chroniclers.
Whether it was courage or despair is not recorded.
But when the arrow tore the sky, a gate between the spheres opened.
From this gate emerged the Fire Dragon. A being older than the realms themselves. Guardian of the primordial fire.
Not tamed—but summoned.
From the War of the United Banners
What followed is not described as a victory.
Only as an end.
The united armies fought side by side, yet even their combined might would not have sufficed.
The fire dragon burned the darkness where no steel could reach it.
His fire was not destruction—but an annihilation of what should never have been.
But every fire demands its price.
When the darkness fell, the dragon fell too.
From the wounds inflicted by the enemy.
From the Death of the Last Fire
When the fire dragon died, so the legends tell, the world changed.
Since that day:
.) the fire never burns quite the same;
.) some realms fear the flame,
.) others worship it all the more.
Whether the dragon knew he would die is unknown.
Some priests teach that he chose it.
Others whisper that the empires took more than they could ever give back.
Of the Lost Weapons
In the same war, many of the sacred weapons were lost—artifacts forged for a purpose that no longer existed.
Some are said to have been destroyed.
Others supposedly rest in places no empire may enter alone.
And still others exist only in songs, their words sounding different from generation to generation.
To this day, scholars debate:
Whether their return would be a blessing or a curse.
Whether they would save the world—or tear it apart again.
Of the Silence Afterward
After the war, the empires returned to their lands.
There was no coronation.
No shared throne.
No lasting alliance.
Only silence.
Some empires celebrate the unification as the highest moment in their history.
Others barely speak of it.
And some teach their children that this day must never come again.
Of the Age of the Great War
Yet the peace that followed the victory did not last.
The Ten Realms had stood united when the Darkness threatened their very existence. But with its fall, the common enemy that had held them together vanished as well.
The armies returned home. The old borders remained, as did the old claims.
And while some realms were still mourning their dead, others had already begun to calculate.
They saw the weakened borderlands.
The lost weapons.
The gaps in the ranks of their former allies.
Not all sacred weapons had been lost. Yet their remaining power no longer rested in every hand, and what had once served the survival of all became an object of fear, envy, and desire.
What began as the defence of their own borders became a pretext for conquest.
Borders were crossed.
Alliances were broken.
Kingdoms fell, and others rose upon their ruins.
Thus began the Age of the Great War.
Not through the awakening of a new Darkness, but through the will of those who believed they could profit from the sacrifice of others.
And as the realms waged war against one another, the prayers grew quieter.
The chronicles speak of sanctuaries where the flames went out. Of priests whose cries remained unanswered. Of signs that no longer appeared, and miracles that never came again.
Some claimed that the gods had turned away from humankind.
Others believed that they had abandoned Mittertal forever.
Whether this was the truth or merely the despair of those who could find no answers is not recorded.
Yet since that time, certain legends have told that Mittertal had lost more than the Fire Dragon alone.
It had also lost the favour of those who once watched over its world.
Concluding Remarks of the Chroniclers
"The Ten Kingdoms triumphed together—
yet nothing remained untouched."
Thus ends the Great Tradition.
Not with hope.
Not with despair.
But with the admonition
that even united worlds pay a price
that no one can bear alone.