The war that would come to be known as The Fractured War ended with exhaustion.
When the final battle ended, silence spread across three continents. Armies disbanded not because their leaders commanded it, but because there were no longer enough soldiers left to fight.
The Northern Continent, once hailed as the bastion of order and progress, stood on the edge of ruin.
The grand citadels of Victoria steel towers that had once reached for the heavenswere reduced to blackened silhouettes.
Entire valleys had been scorched into glass fields from the bombardments of elemental artillery.
The proud northern fleets that once ruled the skies over the Central had been shattered and lay scattered across frozen seas.
But their greatest loss wasn't land nor machines...it was identity.
The North had always believed itself the guiding hand of civilization, the one to impose structure upon chaos.
