Silence blanketed the territory. Kairo's question hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing everyone in place. Lyra flinched, her brows twitching, while Claymond's eyes widened behind his glasses. Varen, however, couldn't hold it in—he burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"Please tell me this is a joke," he managed between laughs.
Even Shiri looked baffled, his usual calm breaking. "Hey, brat," he said, half-amused, half-incredulous, "you really don't know about the Forbidden Continent? The land we're standing on right now? How did you even manage to become a lord?"
Kairo blinked, genuinely surprised. "Wait—this is the Forbidden Continent? I had no idea…"
Lyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You seriously don't know the war-ridden past of our world?" she muttered, disbelief mixing with annoyance.
Varen leaned back, laughing harder. "Hahaha! So you really don't know anything! Guess we've gotta start from page one!"
Claymond rubbed his temples, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he muttered under his breath, "This is going to take a long time…"
The room's earlier tension dissolved into a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement—an awkward calm before the real story began.
Claymond sighed softly, adjusting his glasses as the faint crackle of light from the windows filled the quiet room. "Long before the time of man," he began, his tone measured and almost ceremonial, "when the world was nothing but a timeless void… there existed only one being. The God of All—alone, endless, and unbearably lonely."
Varen shifted, folding his legs and listening for once without a joke. Lyra, with a faint breath, closed her eyes as if she'd heard the story countless times before.
Claymond's voice deepened. "From that loneliness, He birthed His first creations—His angels. Each one bore a fragment of His divinity, a reflection of His will and His nature. Some carried His mercy, others His fury, and some… His curiosity."
He paused, letting the words hang. "To give them purpose, God created a realm—a sanctuary of light to house them. Heaven. And below it, an endless canvas of unformed potential. A void waiting to be painted."
Kairo leaned forward unconsciously, drawn in by the weight of the tale.
"Then came His command," Claymond continued. "The angels descended from Heaven and with their divine sparks, they sculpted the barren void into our world. Seas formed where their tears fell, mountains rose from their battles, and life sprouted from their very breath."
The flickering light cast strange shadows across Claymond's face as he spoke his final words—low, deliberate.
"But that was only the beginning. The true story began when the era of unification ended… when the heroes summoned by the Angel of Hope, Remial, slew the Demon Lord and united the world."
Kairo's eyes gleamed with curiosity as his imagination painted divine wars and fallen angels across his mind. He could feel it—the echo of something ancient stirring beneath those words.
Varen's eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, his grin wide with excitement. "Ah, this is my favorite part!" he said, voice full of energy. Claymond merely sighed and continued, unfazed by the interruption.
"The Demon Lord," he said solemnly, "was born from the collective resentment of all living beings—the hatred, grief, and despair that stained creation itself. He was the first demon… the shadow cast by the light of the angels. His name was Satan."
The flicker of the light made Claymond's expression seem darker as he went on. "The hero, summoned by the Angel of Hope, Remial, descended with a blade forged from pure lightning. For years, he fought through the Demon Lord's armies—battles that scorched the earth and sundered mountains—until at last, he faced Satan himself. With one strike of divine thunder, he severed the demon's head… ending the first age."
Kairo's eyes narrowed in wonder. "And the hero? What happened to him?"
Varen jumped in eagerly, "No one knows! But there are dozens of theories—I personally believe he—"
"Shut up, twerp," Lyra snapped sharply, not even opening her eyes.
Varen froze mid-sentence, pouting, while Claymond cleared his throat. "As I was saying…"
Claymond's tone grew heavier, his voice echoing faintly against the wooden walls of the chamber. "To end the Demon Lord, every race of the world was forced to unite—humans, elves, beastkin, dwarves, and even the races who turned against their kin. Together, they formed the Grand Nations Union, an alliance that stood stronger than any empire before or after. And when Satan fell… their unity, for a time, endured."
He adjusted his glasses and continued, "The world was divided into four great continents. The first—Elyndra, the Heartland—became the cradle of civilization and the home of the Grand Nations Union. The second—Sylvaran, the Verdant Expanse—was blessed by the World Tree itself, a fragment of the divine essence of God. The spirits were born from that tree's roots, and the elves who refused to bow to mortal kings made it their sanctuary."
Claymond's gaze darkened. "The third continent—Nethrakar, the Abyssal Marches—was formed from the ashes of the Demon Lord's magic. It became home to the demons, shunned and hated for their bloodline's curse. And the last continent…" He paused, closing his eyes as if recalling an old memory. "Dravathorn, the land of calamity—the land of dragons and giants."
Kairo's eyes widened. His breath caught as fragments of his dreams rushed back to him—the silver-scaled dragons piercing through storm clouds, the towering giants clad in bronze armor. He remembered the colossal dragon that rose from the moon's surface with wings like continents. He remembered the fire-maned giant roaring beside it, its molten breath shaking the heavens.
His heart pounded. (Was that… a dream? Or a memory?)
Claymond exhaled deeply, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of lost ages. "For a time, the four continents lived in a fragile balance—an age of uneasy peace. The only tension rested between Elyndra, the cradle of civilization, and Nethrakar, the realm of the outcast demons. Their conflict was political, rooted in pride and history. But neither side knew… the true storm was gathering elsewhere."
He paused, adjusting his glasses as the faint light flickered across his eyes. "The true threat was Dravathorn, the Forbidden Continent. It held the two mightiest races ever to walk creation—the Dragons of the Silver, and the Giants of the Crimson. Their power was absolute. Their rule, eternal. For centuries, they shared dominion over that land in solemn peace, bound by an ancient pact. Yet… for reasons lost to time, that peace ended."
Claymond's voice deepened, as if echoing across centuries. "It began without warning. A single roar from the skies, followed by the earth's first scream. The Silver Dragons, led by Indra the Silver, the mightiest dragon to ever live, raised their wings against their old allies. And from the heart of molten mountains rose Rudra the Crimson, King of Giants, crowned in flame and hatred. Beneath them rallied the Dragon Lords and Titan Generals, and together… they began a war that sundered heaven itself."
The air in the room grew colder. Shiri's scales shimmered faintly under the dim light, while Kairo leaned forward, lost in the storm of images Claymond's words painted.
"Their war shook the bones of the world," Claymond continued. "Mountains turned to ash, oceans boiled, and storms raged for decades. Their wrath tore apart continents. The Grand Nations Union—the pride of mankind—stood up against them, mustering the might of all races. But against dragons who devoured lightning and giants who commanded magma, what could mortals do?"
He shook his head slowly. "It was like a lone tree trying to resist a flood. Their armies were scattered in days. Their cities fell in hours. Elyndra, the shining continent, was shattered into pieces. The Union—the symbol of unity—was reduced to memory."
Lyra's expression softened, her usual cold demeanor cracking under the story's weight.
Claymond's tone grew quieter. "And then came the death of hope. The World Tree, the living heart of Sylvaran, stood as the last pillar of peace. The elves and spirits fought valiantly, their songs echoing across the burning skies. But even the divine could not halt that cataclysm. The dragons' frost and the giants' flame struck the tree simultaneously—freezing and burning it until it split in two. The heavens bled emerald and gold, and the spirits fell like stars."
Kairo's breath trembled. (The world tree… burnt and frozen at once?) His mind raced back to his visions—the silver dragon rising from the moon, the crimson giant roaring flame—and his heart pounded with an uncanny sense of déjà vu.
Claymond finished in a low, distant tone, his voice nearly a whisper. "Nethrakar followed soon after—drowned in its own darkness. Dravathorn itself fractured, its surface torn apart by the fury of its kings. The world… was reduced to shards of what it once was."
He looked up at Kairo, his eyes sharp yet mournful.
"This," Claymond said, "was the Era of Eclipses—the end of the old world."
To be continued.....