The iron throne of Forgemire was not designed for comfort; it was a jagged construct of black steel and cooling slag that mirrored the state of the nation itself.
In the days following Kael's ascension, the atmosphere in the Seventh Nation shifted from shock to a suffocating tension.
Rumors of his deeds in the Dark Saint's lair spread like wildfire through the soot-stained streets of the capital. They spoke of the boy who had turned five hundred men into a red smear without casting a single spell. They spoke of the Emperor State—a power so vast it felt like a physical weight on the lungs of those who stood near him.
Kael felt the shift. He walked through the great foundries, and the thunderous beat of hammers would falter. Men lowered their eyes, not in respect, but in the frantic hope of remaining unnoticed. He had stopped a great evil, yet the world saw only a new, more unpredictable shadow. He was the strongest, the sovereign of fire and iron, but as he sat upon his throne of slag, he realized the ancient truth of Tellus: those at the top are eternally alone.
The Cradle of the Goddess
Far to the west, across the churning barrier of the Great Divide, lay the continent of Mystika.
When the planet Mumit was but a cooling stone in the void and time was anew, the Goddess Galadriel descended to carve her vision into the earth. While the other three gods of the world scattered their seeds with indifference, Galadriel was meticulous. She created races meant to be beautiful beyond measure, beings whom mana would love with an equal, shimmering intensity.
Deep within the Emerald Wilds, the Elves thrived. Their architecture did not scar the earth; their cities were woven into the very boughs of ancient, sentient trees. At the heart of their civilization stood the World-Cradle, a tree so massive its canopy touched the clouds. There dwelled the High Priestess. She was the pinnacle of Galadriel's aesthetic—a creature of such ethereal, blinding beauty that rumors claimed her mere silhouette could cause the hearts of mortals to falter and their senses to fail.
Below the roots and deep within the veins of the western mountains lived the Dwarves. They were the smiths of the soul, capable of binding raw iron and ancient magic into runed creations that defied the laws of physics. Where Forgemire used heat and sweat, the Dwarves used whispers and enchantments.
Across the sprawling savannas and dense jungles roamed the Beastmen. They were Galadriel's wilder children—humanoids possessing the features of the animal kingdom. They ranged from the swift and delicate bunny-folk to the apex predators of the wolf and lion clans, each a perfect fusion of human intellect and primal instinct.
The Great Protector
But Galadriel left one final, hidden masterpiece: The Phoenix.
It was a creature of myth even to those who lived in Mystika, for it had never been seen by any of the races she created. It was whispered in the sacred texts that the Phoenix was the ultimate failsafe. Should Mystika ever face ruin, the bird would manifest, cleansing the continent and its enemies alike in a fire that did not burn the soul, but reset the world to zero.
A Divide of Faith
The contrast between the two continents was a chasm wider than the ocean.
In Tellus, the concept of a creator was a forgotten relic, a ghost of a story lost to time. The A.N.Ts did not bow to a divine being; they bowed to the tangible, the visible, and the brutal. They worshipped the Supreme Commander Harold, because in a world of monsters, the man with the brightest blade was the only god that mattered.
In Mystika, however, Galadriel was the beginning and the end. She was worshipped as the sole protector and the only rightful deity among the four gods of the world. To the Elves, Dwarves, and Beastmen, the humans of Tellus were not brothers, but godless anomalies—creatures who had lost their way and were now crowning a "tyrant" who played at being an Emperor.
As Kael stared into the forge fires of Forgemire, and the High Priestess looked out from the World-Cradle, the gears of the world began to grind. The peace of isolation was dying, and the goddess's children were beginning to look toward the east with narrowed eyes.