Vol
At the beginning there was nothing. From that nothing came Senfino, endless and unaware, until even absence grew strained by its own silence. From this tension La Sep Ajnoj emerged, seven beings born of pure will. They did not think. They endured. In doing so, they shed the residue of their existence, and that residue became the universe.
Creation was an accident. Meaning came later.
As the void filled, the Ajnoj weakened. What once sustained them was no longer plentiful. Forced to reflect for the first time, they created the Semantoj to soil the fields.
On Vol, the world turns beneath a rigid sky of hierarchy and hunger. The plebej toil in mud and smoke, their bodies stunted by poor harvests and poorer choices. Children are sold to settle debts they did not incur. Justice arrives as decree, tax, or rope, depending on who is asking. Ignorance is cultivated as carefully as grain, because an empty mind is easier to own.
Above them stand the Vekintoj.
Those individuals who can impose their intent upon Manao bend reality through Sorĉoj. Stone yields. Fire obeys. Distance loses meaning. To the plebej, such power is indistinguishable from divinity. To the nobles, it is currency. Bloodlines are measured by Eternal Arts, and entire regions live or die according to a single awakened will. A Vekintoj does not need to be cruel. Their existence alone is enough.
Vol’s cities and kingdoms cling to a fragile balance shaped by this disparity. Renaissance tools grind beside impossible feats. Steam and steel coexist with miracles that cannot be questioned, only endured. Progress is permitted only where it does not threaten those who rule.
Into this world falls Thomas.
Once an engineering graduate on Earth, he arrives on Vol without purpose or calling. He is neither special nor unique, merely chosen for an objective that should be impossible. He can only remain alive and unwilling to stay stagnant. Surrounded by misery he did not grow up in and power he does not understand, he searches for an end worth reaching.
