The elders of the Golden Savanna say that before kingdoms raised their walls and races drew their borders, the world was a single, vast expanse where the wind carried the scents of life and death without distinction.The savanna saw everything, heard everything, remembered everything.
There, amid grasslands that swayed like seas of gold, the oldest and most fragile agreement on the continent was born:the pact between prey and predator.
The eight races gathered beneath the High Sun:The Leonids, masters of the horizon and of strength.The Elves, who spoke with the trees at the edge of the world.The Draconians, who carried fire in their blood.The Orcs, tempered by the desert that made them unyielding.The Dwarves, who had turned stone into a living kingdom.The Lycans, shadows of the white tundra.The Arachnids of the Deep Echo, as unseen as dark thoughts.And the Humans, weaker than all… and dangerous for that very reason.
Every race wanted to survive.Each knew the others wanted the same.And none were willing to surrender their place in the world.
So the pact was simple:
"One territory for each race.And one territory for none."
That "territory for none" became the central savanna—what is now called the Expanse: an ocean of grass, predators, and dust, where life has no masters and death asks no permission.There are no laws there, no clans, no leaders.Anything that enters must fight to keep breathing.
In the savanna, footsteps are decisions.The scent of blood is a message.Sun-bleached bones are warnings.
So when the bodies of the Leonids were found torn open—silent, without any sign of battle—the savanna did not mourn.It simply accepted them, as it accepts all who fall among the tall grass each day.
But the living felt a chill.
Because the races know the savanna kills with claws and fangs…not with clean, perfect, silent cuts.
No. This was something else.Something outside the natural cycle of prey and predator.Something the savanna did not recognize.
And when the savanna does not recognize something…the races tremble.
Rumors spread like embers carried on the wind: troop movements along the edges of the elven forests; Leonids gathering young warriors; Orcs sealing their caravans; Draconians deploying watchers across the burning sky.
The savanna knew the balance of the pact was breaking.And the elders of the Golden Savanna say that when balance shatters, no roar or cry is heard…
Only the silence before war.
The sun fell like liquid fire over the Expanse, staining the grass a violent red.The wind carried whispers of war.
Leonids patrolled the borders of their plains, growling at intruders, their eyes blazing with ancestral fury.In the distance, Draconians spread their wings above the dunes, scanning the horizon, their fire-breath marking territory.The forest elves whispered among the trees, bows drawn, alert to any sign of invasion.Even the humans, scattered in hidden refuges, felt the tension like a pain in the chest.
It all began with a single act:
A group of Arachnids of the Deep Echo hunted in the Expanse, taking prey the Leonids considered theirs.It was nothing significant—just food… but to the kings of the plains, it was an unforgivable insult.
Tharak, young leader of the Leonids, roared his orders and gathered his warriors.They would not allow their honor—or their territory—to be defiled.
When the Leonids arrived, they found the Arachnids—silent sentinels hidden among the tall grass.There were no words.
One wrong movement unleashed the first storm of claws and fangs.The ground trembled with the force of the charge, the air filled with screams, shrieks, and the metallic scent of blood.
From the edges of the conflict, the Elves watched.
They did not intervene at first. But when a young Draconian fell into the line of fire, their patience shattered.With a cry that split branches and leaves, they struck at the invaders threatening their own.
The clash spread like burning oil.One spark—and the entire savanna was consumed by chaos.
The Orcs, alerted by the tremor of the ground, rushed in, eager to exploit the confusion.Even the humans, hidden at the fringes, felt their shelters tremble beneath the footsteps of giants.Some tribes tried to flee—but the Expanse does not forgive: every tree, every rock, every curve of the land was alive with the hunt.
The ancient pact shattered in an instant, and none could remember the last time the Expanse had seen a day so red.
This conflict was not merely about food or territory.It was about supremacy.About pride.About proving who would control the Expanse—and, above all, who would survive when the pact was broken.
Amid the chaos, shadows moved in silence, watching from afar.
They did not need to take part. The war had nothing to do with them.The scent of blood and fear thickened in the air, feeding something no race could control…
And while the Expanse screamed with hundreds of claws, fangs, and wings, one truth became clear:
The war would not end until only one race remained…or until something far darker intervened.