THE ARCHIVES

The South Architect, Swa Veduro, was known far and wide as a restless wanderer, a being of wisdom and power who never lingered in one place for too long. Though they held dominion over their kin in the South, they roamed ceaselessly — offering counsel to Cymer, engaging in deep discourse with Edenlline. Yet their heart remained tethered to the South, and whenever peril loomed over their kin, they returned without hesitation, shielding them from the storms of fate.

But even the most tireless of souls must yearn for rest. Veduro, having witnessed the splendor and trials of countless realms, grew weary of eternal flight. They had observed the governance of their brethren, studied the ways of kingdoms old and new, and contemplated the nature of rulership. And so, a desire ignited within them — a longing not just for power, but for home. A sanctuary where kin could gather, where their guidance would endure.

Upon the shores of the southwest coastline, where the cerulean waves danced and the isle of Psollo loomed like a phantom upon the horizon, Veduro laid the foundation of a fishing town. The sea whispered secrets of tranquility, and here, beneath the boundless sky, the Architect built a dwelling akin to a grand hall — open to their kin for counsel and communion. As the settlement flourished, kindred souls of the south, once scattered across distant lands, converged upon this newfound haven. In the earliest texts, it was known only as "Veduro's Vision."

Yet, the great work of Swa Veduro did not cease with the land. With their boundless will, they extended their dominion into the depths of Chaarm, sculpting homes and plazas beneath the waves. Pockets of air, entwined with aura, allowed their kin to dwell in the waves, untouched by the ocean’s crushing weight. As the kingdom expanded both upon land and sea, a name began to carve itself into history — Pab'Zuaan.

Yet, Veduro did not permit their kin to lose themselves to the ocean’s grasp. No creature of Pab'Zuaan became wholly aquatic, their divine architect willed that they remain as they were, bound to both sea and shore. To guide their people, Veduro chose a vessel — a kin of exceptional wisdom, whose eyes would serve as the Architect’s gaze upon the mortal realm. This Oracle, the first of whom was Aodora, was granted the power to hear the words of their divine ruler and relay them unto the people. In time, her lineage ascended, and the Oracles became the progenitors of what would one day stand as the royal bloodline of Pab'Zuaan.

It was in this era of prosperity that the Architects began to vanish. The texts of old offer no singular truth as to how or why the South Architect disappeared from the world. Some claim Veduro was swallowed by the ocean, condemned for an ancient transgression long before the dawn of their kin. Others whisper of treachery, of an unseen hand among the gods striking them down and erasing their legacy from the sacred tomes. Yet, among their devoted, the difference of belief gave rise to the seperation, or the Vedlun and the Swavvel. The Vedluns held firm that Swa Veduro yet lived, waiting to return and reclaim their throne. The Swavvels, resigned, chose to honor their fallen god in reverence, accepting that their time had passed.

The mantle of rulership fell to the one most connected to Swa — the Oracle. She ruled wisely, following the teachings of her vanished patron, ensuring the kingdom endured. But the Vedluns saw this as heresy, an affront to the divine order. To them, ruling in Veduro's stead was an unforgivable act, and so, they turned their backs upon Pab'Zuaan, venturing to the mist-veiled lands of Psollo, forsaking the false monarchy.

Yet, even without them, Pab'Zuaan thrived. New settlements arose, both upon land and beneath the waves — Hailing Cove nestled within the caverns, Ulharshore spreading its reach amidst the blue forest. The kingdom proved its resilience, demonstrating its might not only in dominion but in trade and sustenance. But Pab'Zuaan was tested once more.

A soothsayer, blessed with sight beyond the veil of time, foretold the coming of an unprecedented cataclysm — a tempest of unmatched fury. From the abyssal depths of the southern sea, an unstoppable wall of thunder, hail, and ruin. As it neared, the people cried out to Veduro, to the royal line, begging for salvation. But the storm heeded no prayers. It descended upon Pab'Zuaan with merciless wrath, reducing the grand coastal cities to mere splinters, sweeping away homes, livelihoods, and people. Ulharshore, Hailing Cove were obliterated, claimed by wind and flood. The ocean itself rose to devour the land.

Beneath the waves, the kingdom endured. While the land-dwellers struggled to rebuild, those who thrived in the depths stood unshaken, their domain untouched by the storm’s ruin. In time, the kingdom healed, but the balance had shifted. The underwater city had become the heart of Pab'Zuaan, its new bastion of strength. From the remnants of the coastal ruins, a new name was forged — Bivnix, the reclaimed land. Ulharshore, independent and changed, stood apart. Hailing Cove, once a home, became a haunt of ghosts and exiles, abandoned to those who walked the shadows.

In this present age, Pab'Zuaan stands mighty, not in conquest, but in wisdom. A kingdom built for the protection of its own, thriving in diplomacy and commerce, bound to the tides yet firm in its foundation. The Swavvels hold steadfast in their belief that their kingdom, through turmoil and triumph, has become a legacy that Veduro would gaze upon with pride.

What happened to the prosperous land of the honeycomb forest? The Aurix Caesin it was once called, not even the registry name for the area due to the massive kingdom that called it home. Chaverí was a kingdom of fortune, the very first of the Architect's kin kingdoms that rose above the wild pack life and became a civilized society. The first to rise appears to be the first to fall though. History is a bit hazy for the most part on what exactly happened to the Sage's home, many speculate the war with Tucruitora drove Edenlline to become violent and in turn made the magic of the city unstable. Some believe the Sage had simply gone insane like the myth of the West Council, Cymeŕ, did. Some even think it was the Meldr’uno’s plan all along to kill a kingdom, the next only yet to come without warning afoot. Whatever may have exactly happened is debated, but the consequences are still thriving deep below the amber trees and heart of the Aurix Caesin. When Chaverí fell into the hull of the ground and bore away at the minds of its citizens, the territories of the honeycomb forest and the neighboring zones were left to look abandoned. Empty of dragons, gryphons, and civil creatures for a very long time.

Only after the catastrophe did creatures start moving into the area, they were seeking a better life, a more wild life with others like minded to them and not trapped under the religions and government of the other kingdoms. A wilderness awaited them in the Aurix, so the migration there had begun and only grew. Over time the population in the territory got bigger and more stable. What started as single creatures or small families moving there to live at peace with themselves and nature eventually turned into a pack that ruled over the Aurix as a whole. The one thing they sought to avoid was taking over the area with an iron grip that their alpha possessed through each generation. They still respected the land to give them what they needed, no kingdom situation was going to arise anytime soon, but the rogues of the forest felt uneasy knowing they could be ambushed at any moment just because they weren't following the rules of the Aurix Alpha. For those in the pack, life was good. Simple and easy with their jobs and routines that kept the pack alive and well. Although most of the alphas over the centuries were large and scary, they mostly meant well and kept order when required. Centuries passed on and advancements came, the Aurix Territories were once again recognized as a suitable place to call as part of Ptitheros. Now listed as a territory of its own, it held the same power in the trade market and political standards as the Wyndgale clan just north of it did. This was a big step for the Aurix clan, whether they were truly interested in Ptitheros affairs or not, but the option of partaking as a territory of their own was important and honorable. Nothing good is ever permanent.

A major thing about Chaverí was its prowess in magic. The one who rules the city was none other than the once head Council member and Architect herself, The Sage. Commonly referred to as The Wise One by the past citizens, she had cast a spell upon her kingdom to create an aura-protected society. Dragons, gryphons, and other creatures who lived there and worshipped the Sage were given the ability to not fear disease and heal wounds at a surprising fast pace so long as they were invested in keeping peace within Chaverí. When a citizen left they were released from this spell, it was not harmful to break however, as the Sage had a tight control over magic. When Chaverí fell, it fell for a reason that was deeply tied to the spell that encased the kingdom. The Sage stored her magic in relics, one at a time, during its last years the magic was in an artifact called The Soul Chalices.

The Soul Chalices were shattered, this is where history becomes very fuzzy. Whatever happened sparked an immediate and atrocious reaction within the Sage and the kingdom itself. It sunk into the hearth, the Aurix has a limestone basin for its soil so the buildings broke through and went down. Down into the endless caverns that cover the underground of the territory, Chaverí became trapped and covered from the falling debris and honeycomb canopy, hidden away, whoever was left in the kingdom was dragged down with it and left to suffocate on the dirt and grime. Healthy magic turned sour when its source of power was trapped below the hearth and its containment relic had been broken. The spell retained within those who fell down with their city, its powerful and regenerative properties somewhat functioning but not enough. What else from half-powered life magic becomes the opposite; monsters of death and rabid behaviour. The fallen, dead, decaying citizens of Chaverí were raised from their slumped position. Life, glowing life coming to their eyes and their bodies hung onto what bits of flesh and skin was still left on them after so many years before the magic resurfaced itself. Monsters they were, and most did not retain the civil mind they once held. Beasts with a thirst for revenge. These are known as the windiages. The monsters remained in their underground kingdom, their presence not recognized as a serious problem just yet, as most did not wander far at the time. That is until the coming years of the Aurix being claimed by a pack. There was life in the territory that once belonged to the Sage and the Chaverí citizens, and they felt nothing more than hatred towards the Pack of Aurix, they wanted them out, wanted their land back. The Pack made a mistake and clearing more of their home caverns out, their diggers exploring new tunnels and clawing out new paths through the fragile amber limestone.

They came upon a crevasse, an endless drop with pathways spiraling down, but before anyone could get the alpha's permission to go explore, a new visitor had stolen all the attention; a wyvern, pale white scales covered most of his body but bits of his leg and his tail were hanging by threads of muscle, nerve, and chipped bones. He warned not to traverse the new caverns, his voice was raspy and he always looked tense. He was new to the pack, they did not trust the new dragon, so instead looked towards the Alpha. The Alpha sought to explore, make the caverns and dens bigger and this casm that was found looked perfect. Before any searchers could be sent down the land began to change. The trunks of trees slowly calloused into whiter bark, the river stream had streaks of red, and the grassy honey hued grass of the forest was losing to the decay of brown in its sprouts. The ground shook, and a casm broke open beneath them within the caverns. They all fell... down into the abyss until they all slammed to the stone streets of the fallen kingdom of Chaverí. Many members of the pack were killed off by the underground monsters, many died from getting trapped under falling rocks or stalactites, some were wounded beyond movement, but some managed to escape. They found an exit and dug their way out. The Alpha was one of them, and she was followed up until the few remaining survivors and she landed upon the canopy of the Aurix Caesin. The Alpha was disgraced by half of the leftover pack, they blamed her for the situation and the loss of their loved one. They all fled from the Aurix, abandoning the territory once again just like it was so long ago. The Alpha and her followers went west, the disowners flew south.

Bodies who were once under Alpha's rule and called themselves a part of the Aurix Pack left both aliases behind. They flew south, as far as they could go, they passed over the kingdom of Tucruitora, passed by the Melder's Volcanic Domain, and finally came to rest after they got out of the Eastern unclaimed coastal jungles. This new land to them is what came to be known as Rekindle Isle; a peninsula loosely connected to the south end of the Ptitheros continent. After exploring and setting up temporary camps, the creatures believed this place would be perfect, so they set out to travel further and scope as much of the area as they could, making sure there were no tribes or small kingdoms already there. They found no tribes, no kingdoms, no big settlements. But they did find the ruins of what were obviously creatures here before them. Artifacts and torn down buildings, dens already dug into the crevasse that would eventually become their main settlement and many magical objects that all narrow down to the one they honour the most; the Arclen. No one knows who built the Arclen, the Relic, the Memory Glass, everything aside from the Arclen was intact, but the creatures felt drawn towards it.

They fixed it up as their settlement and pack began to grow again. They settled primarily in the Kitte Crevasse, and when the entirety of the Nairuuthli Caverns were explored, they started to build and reside in the largest room in the underground. Pack ranks, trade, and rules were sorted out overtime. Although they had disowned their alpha from Aurix they still wanted to assign one to be a central overseer. Someone who wasn't in charge due to strength, someone who wasn't born into the rank, someone selected by the original members themselves who had survived the migration. They chose to isolate themselves in the beginning as their homes and families grew, but once a permanent dwelling and functional system was ensured, they opened up to letting wanderers and creatures from other lands to join the pack. A new alpha was chosen. Time went on and the pack progressed. The present is calm and the Woarii Pack is happy. They weren't the only ones who migrated south so long ago though.

The republic was forged in defiance, its foundations laid by the rubasyns who departed from Chaveri en masse. Their exodus was a silent rebellion, a rejection of Edenlline’s rule that spoke louder than any battle cry. At first, their dwindling numbers seemed insignificant, a mere trickle that the Architect disregarded. She knew, or so She believed, that they would return, humbled and broken. Her indifference was a grievous miscalculation.

To those who remained, Her lack of intervention was a wound deeper than exile. The rubasyns, once unwavering in their faith, now questioned the worth of a god who would forsake Her own. What was the purpose of devotion if their protector would not shield them? The Coil Leaiv, as history came to call them, grew in numbers, their resentment becoming resolve. They settled upon the North Shrine Plateau and the treacherous northern coast of Dark Grove, their existence harsh but unyielding. Even Edenlline knew they would not crawl back now.

Though dragons of the west had first founded the towns of Braeyc, it was the rubasyns who breathed life into them, expanding the settlements beyond mere outposts. It was an explorer who brought forth the tale that would change their fate. He had soared beyond the known world, to the fabled purple shores of Pselle, and beyond, to an ethereal kingdom of floating isles untouched by time.

At first, his words were met with skepticism, for the floating lands of Ptitheros had always been mere fragments, too small for habitation. Yet, when an expedition was sent, their return confirmed the impossible. This, the headfigure declared, was their reward for defying a god. Their exodus had not been folly, but destiny. They claimed the isles as their own, and in the year 2300 C.E., the name Nox was etched into history. From mere villages, they built towering cities, hidden in the heavens and free from the world below.

Nox thrived in isolation, self-sufficient and proud. They had no desire to entangle themselves with the affairs of the lowlands. Devoid of the magic, the people turned instead to intellect, to machines, to the harnessing of aura through artificial means. Factories rose, and ingenuity flourished, crafting a civilization that rivaled even the mightiest of old-world kingdoms.

Within their floating sanctuary, unrest simmered. The governance of Nox, led by a mayor and enigmatic knowledge, was distant, allowing shadows to fester beneath the polished surface. As time passed, this negligence would bear bitter fruit.

In 1820 C.A., the gates of Nox were forced open. The once-thriving markets had begun to wither, demand outstripping supply. Outer travelers, permitted through an agreement with the renowned Exploration Guild, trickled in, bringing with them whispers of the world beyond. The mayor, seeing no alternative, made a fateful decision — Nox would trade with the world. Their technology, once a secret, now spread like wildfire, igniting an era of unparalleled advancement across Ptitheros. It would take decades before outsiders were permitted to dwell among them, but the first step had been taken.

Today, Nox stands as a marvel of progress. All species walk its streets, though the rubasyns remain its architects and rulers. The mayor and their council continue to preside over their sky dominion, while the ever-evolving technology of Nox keeps it strides ahead of the world below.

In the early era of the world, Tucruitora was forged. Meldr’uno laid its foundations at the very precipice of history, above the enigmatic ruins of The Beginning. Ancient testaments of the first Ola’mels whisper of this lost kingdom, a civilization predating the written word, predating even the earliest harnessing of aura. Though time has shrouded it, its significance to Meldr’uno is undeniable, and scholars still scour the land for remnants of its past.

In those primordial days of the early era, Tucruitora stood without lefikas or The Virtues. It was a land ruled by the will of Meldr’uno Himself, just as the other Architects guided their kin. He sculpted his chosen people — the east dragons — in his own serpentine image. Theirs was the path of devotion, of Ola’mel, and under His demand, they built their realm, shaping it into a bastion of power and knowledge.

But Meldr’uno was not content. Among the other Architects, he saw something he lacked: uniqueness. To the west, Cymer’s creatures bore mighty wings; but in the North, something different had emerged — gryphons. His own kin, reflections of Himself, now seemed... uninspired. In a ruthless display of vanity, He cast them out, deeming them unworthy of His kingdom. In their place, he breathed life into a new race — the lefikas — imbued with a new strength, and to them, he gifted all that was once promised to the Ola’mels. The old were forsaken, and a new Affiliation was born, washing away the past.

The other Architects recoiled in disdain, but none interfered. Meldr’uno, relentless in his reinvention, introduced the Virtues, binding his new kin under an unyielding ideology. Tucruitora flourished; its capital expanded, and its people thrived. Aura manipulation, literature, and architecture advanced, and through trade and diplomacy, lefikas took their place among the great kin of the world.

As ages passed, the rigid lines between the Architects’ creations blurred. Kin moved freely, cultures intertwined, and new cultures rose from these minglings. It was an age of unprecedented unity, the first great melting of civilizations. But where others saw progress, Meldr’uno saw the decay of His perfect order. To preserve the sanctity of His creation, He allowed settlements beyond the capital to form, where those unfit for Tora’s core could dwell without tainting His vision. These outposts became hubs of trade, melting pots of culture, and as Tucruitora’s borders expanded into the Meldra Desert and Sol, so too did its riches and influence. To further distance Himself, Meldr’uno established the Dome, a beacon through which He could oversee His domain without interfering. Thus, His kingdom stood as He willed it, and He remained unseen.

The world beyond His reach stirred with discord. In the North, Edenlline’s reign wavered beneath the defiance of the rubasyns. She, the guardian of Chaveri, saw their rebellion as her own failure, and in her moment of weakness, the East God struck. With cunning words, He wove a justification to His kin: Chaveri, weakened and untamed, needed the order and enlightenment of Tora. The Sand and Stone War, later known as the Sunken War, erupted in 3210 C.E. Yet, when the land proved too treacherous, Meldr’uno abandoned His conquest, halting Tucruitora’s expansion at the northernmost reaches of the Meldra.

Centuries passed, and in 1501 C.A., the echoes of the Architect’s influence remained deeply ingrained. A cruel matriarchy had persisted since His time, where female lefikas wielded unchecked power, leaving others in subjugation. Discontent festered. Suffrage ignited, a movement so forceful that even those in power saw the need for change. Pharaoh Nexetep and the ruling council yielded; at last, males gained the rights long denied them — to govern, to serve in the military, and to choose their own fates. Such reforms softened the world’s view of Tucruitora, lifting its reputation from the shadow of its past.

Peace was fragile. In 2081 C.A., flames of destruction swept across the land in the tragic event known as The Raining Fire. The Radicals, zealots of the old Tora order, with aid from the Lace-Ups, ravaged the town of Sequendalar and scorched the edge of the capital. Though the kingdom itself had not sanctioned the atrocity, the world cast blame upon Tucruitora. In time, the realm recovered from its disgrace, reasserting itself as one of Ptitheros’ most formidable and respected territories.

When the hands of Architects shaped the world, the great capitals of Sequendalar, Chaveri, and Tucruitora were created. Within Chaveri, the gryphons, once held aloft in divine reverence, dwelled among their dragon kin. Yet when Edenlline found her expectations unmet by her fellow Architects offering no outcry over her favored children — she withdrew her blessings. The gryphons, stripped of their sanctity, found themselves as unwanted among Edenlline’s other creations.

By the dark year of 2800 E.D., unrest churned beneath the mountains and forests of Chaveri. The gryphons, resentful and scorned, felt the cold shadow of their dragon kin’s disdain, and war erupted between them. The conflict raged, but Edenlline, unwilling to let her kingdom crumble, cast her will upon the battlefield. Many gryphons abandoned the land of their birth, seeking refuge in the distant, frozen expanse of the Maw. The dragons, bitter and estranged, turned from their Architect, seeking solace in the embrace of foreign practices. The loss of her followers enraged Edenlline, and to those who remained loyal, she bestowed her answer: the Soul Chalices, vessels of divine power granted only to her most devout. Yet these relics would remain scarce for many long years.

From the forlorn tundras of the Maw, the gryphons carved a new fate. The first flock, led by the siblings Ichnae and Eury, braved the perilous highlands, forging a settlement where the weight of history could not find them. Generations passed, and in time, dragons, gryphons, and even lefikas who rejected the rigid rule of kings and Architects gathered beneath the frozen sky, building a refuge far from Chaveri.

Within the heart of the old-world capital, another storm was brewing. By 2100 C.E., as the city basked in uneasy peace, the rubasyns — once scavenging creatures remolded by Edenlline’s hand — began to question their place in the grand design. A rubasyn, once devoted to the Architect, uncovered forbidden truths buried within ancient texts: the origins of their kind, the cruel shaping of their souls, and the silent prison in which they were kept. Whispers turned to calls for freedom, and in the shadows, rebellion was born.

The schism came to a head with the founding of Nox, the exodus of the rubasyns into a sanctuary of their own making. Edenlline, shaken and uncertain, saw herself reflected in the eyes of her defiant children — and in her moment of weakness, her oldest foe struck. Meldr’uno, the cunning Architect of the East, seized the opportunity to claim what he deemed undeserved land. The East Architect roused his people, the Tucruits, with promises of prosperity and conquest, declaring Chaveri unworthy of its rule. Thus began the Sunken War (Sand and Stone) of 3210 C.E.

Warriors of Chaveri clashed with the might of Tora. Blood soaked the streets as battle consumed the land. But Edenlline, weary of the slaughter, descended from her palace with her most gifted casters. She called for Meldr’uno, demanding battle not between kin, but between gods. And so, for the first time in recorded history, the East Architect revealed himself in his true Virtue form, radiant and terrible. The heavens trembled as the two Architects waged war, their auras colliding in blasts that sundered the land itself. The world cracked open, canyons tearing through Chaveri as the fabric of reality strained beneath the weight of their power. Wildlife perished, soldiers vanished into the abyss, and the city began its slow descent into ruin.

In her final gambit, Edenlline poured the last reserves of her chaliced aura into a final, cataclysmic strike. With a surge of divine might, she cast Meldr’uno back to the deserts from whence he came. Yet victory came at a cost—the land, weakened and broken, succumbed to decay. The once-verdant forests withered into the desolate Aurix Caesin, and by 3550 C.E., Chaveri collapsed into the abyss below, leaving only echoes of its past glory.

In the East, Meldr’uno, unable to claim the shattered land, turned his gaze elsewhere, ceasing his conquest at the northernmost edge of the desert. Chaveri, buried beneath the world, struggled onward. Edenlline, retreating into the depths, severed herself from her people. They clung to the fading remnants of their Soul Chalices, but without her guidance, the kingdom waned. By 4400 C.E., Chaveri breathed its last. Those who could flee abandoned the sunken realm; those who remained perished, their spirits bound in cursed limbo. With their aura tethered to their forsaken chalices, the dead could not find peace. Beasts, malformed and hollow, rose from their graves, lingering in the darkness of a kingdom lost to time.

Nature reclaimed the ruins. The once-majestic city became a graveyard draped in golden forests, where trees bore bulbous leaves and thick sap, where roots twisted into labyrinths and golden grass covered the land above. Chaveri’s name was lost, but its bones remained, silent and waiting.

Manko was forged by the mighty hands of the west dragons and their revered god, Cymer. A land vast and untamed, it flourished under the Architect’s dominion, a realm of prosperity where the dragon reigned supreme in the advancement of kin civilization. Their knowledge was unparalleled, their ambition unyielding, and for eons, they stood as the undisputed stewards of progress.

But as the years waned and the seas whispered of distant fates, an ill-omened departure befell the land. Following in the wake of Veduro’s disappearance, Cymer, too, abandoned His throne in the year 5670 C.E. He was seen returning once more from his journey across the seas, though Veduro did not stand at his side. Yet the Architect was... changed. He no longer walked among His kin as before, but withdrew into the depths of His domain. He entered the sacred halls of the Irthir (Archives), passing through the gold-medallion entrance known in later days as the Room of Parallax. From that moment onward, He was never seen in flesh again.

Though absent, faith in Cymer did not wane. The Sequns held firm to the belief that He had not forsaken them, that He merely waited in the depths, biding His time until His kin called upon Him once more. In His absence, the people turned ever more to spiritualism, their devotion to His tenets deepening. Temples arose across the land, and their rituals grew ever more elaborate. Yet as the years stretched on, it became clear that leadership was needed. The people would not create royalty, for such a thing would dishonor the Architect’s design, but an agreement was struck. A leader would be chosen, their power tempered by the wisdom of the shamans. Thus, the role of chieftain was established, and the first to bear the mantle was Tochzho, a dragon of serene wisdom.

In time, the shamans began to whisper of an impending calamity — a harbinger of ruin that would rise from the sea. Their warnings rode the swift wings of brirsters to the lands of Pab’Zuaan. But the soothsayers of the coast, blinded by ambition, twisted the prophecy and claimed it as their own. They foretold not only a storm, but a catastrophe of unspeakable proportions, a tempest of wrath and ruin that would descend upon Chaarm Bay. A hurricane, a storm of the millennia, would surge from the depths of the southern seas, its fury laying waste to the shores of Pab’Zuaan and the edge of Wurunwa. Yet, by fate or divine will, Sequ’Manko would be spared.

Before the storm could carve, a different calamity was unleashed. War descended upon Sequendalar, swift and merciless. It was a conflict born of malice, remembered as the Raining Fire. The Radicals [of Tora], emboldened by their allies within the ranks of the Lace-Ups, unleashed devastation upon the land. Flames consumed the eastern edge of the capital, the once-mighty city crumbling beneath their onslaught. The people fled, seeking refuge in Seree'yaa, Sequano, or lands beyond. And for a time, the desolation lingered. The Radicals and their accomplices remained, looting what little remained, scouring the ruins for treasures and remnants of Cymer's legacy. But the jungle was not theirs to claim. Beyond the capital, the Mankians stood ready, defiant, prepared to defend.

A darker war waged beyond the battlefield — a war of words and deception. The enemies of Manko spread lies, branding the Mankians as little more than beasts, uncivilized and unworthy. With high-ranking figures among their ranks, the falsehoods took root, and the world turned a wary eye upon those who were Sequn. Cities once welcoming grew hostile, and the refugees who sought solace in Wyndgale, Pab'Zuaan, and Kilaan were forced to mask their heritage.

Centuries have passed. The scars of war have faded, but the memory remains. Many of those who once fled have returned, drawn back to the land that raised them. Sequ’Manko has risen anew, forged stronger. With fortified defenses and a restructured governance, the kingdom now wields a power formidable enough to challenge any foe.

Ptitheros stood at the precipice of a revolution. The fusion of aura and biomechanical engineering, once a subject of distant speculation, became the obsession of scholars and alchemists alike. Across the globe, breakthroughs were made with astonishing frequency, as the insatiable curiosity of mortals drove them ever closer to unshackling the mysteries of existence itself.

The divide between god and mortal lay in the mastery of aura, the limitless essence that defied the very laws of the universe. A civilization could ascend with each advancement, but the natural bounds of aura within creatures hindered their progress. Even the great mages could only etch spells and carve runes — feats impressive, yet finite. Intelligence alone could conceive grand designs, but to birth them into reality, something far greater was required.

All eyes turned to Nox, the undisputed cradle of innovation, where the world believed the first steps beyond the sky would be taken. But fate wove a different tale. The first voyager to the stars did not rise from the hallowed halls of Noxian scholars, but from the bustling heart of Tucruitora, where an unassuming lefika toiled away in solitude. Tektite, a mere translator by trade, found no joy in the constraints of her work. Her heart yearned for the boundless expanse of the cosmos, for the thrill of creation. She was no trained scientist, yet her hands wove together knowledge from all fields, crafting devices and designs in the depths of her home. Years passed as she labored in secrecy, fueled by the discoveries of Nox’s finest but driven by her own relentless ambition. She sought to do what no mortal had done before — breach the void.

Though she lacked the structured training of the scholars, Tektite wielded something they did not: a lindost, a beast steeped in aura’s deepest mysteries. With its power, she crafted what others had only dreamed of — a vessel capable of reaching beyond the sky. The key to her success lay in propulsion, a revelation unlocked through the forging of a condensed aura orb — an engine of raw, malleable energy that could be wielded as both magic and force. With this newfound power, she built her ship. The vessel, delicate yet unyielding, was forged from allumnix, the plant-born metal that had long armored the warriors of Ptitheros. Its frame was bound by the indestructible roots of honeycomb trees, as if the very earth itself willed it to stand against the cosmos. When at last it was completed, Tektite named her creation the Voyager.

With unwavering resolve, she and her companion ventured into the desolate reaches of the desert sands. There, beneath the watchful eye of the twin moons, she risked her life to see her dream take flight. And in a moment that would echo through time, the Voyager soared. Ptitheros had touched the stars.

Upon her return, the world stood breathless. Tektite, now the first astronaut of her kind, brought her blueprints before the engineers of Tucruitora. They marveled at her ingenuity, refining and fortifying her work before presenting it to the ruling body of the kingdom. The governing royals, awestruck by the display, recognized the true scope of what lay before them. They granted Tektite wealth and protection, her invention now a gift to all Ptithians. She abandoned her former life and ascended to the ranks of the great scholars of Nox, her vision now shared with the finest minds of the era.

Word of the Voyager spread like wildfire, and soon, the great kingdoms pooled their riches into a single, unprecedented endeavor — a unified space association, devoted to reaching beyond the stars. But the dream was not realized in an instant. Decades passed as scholars, artisans, and engineers tore apart Tektite’s designs, rebuilding them in forms that could be replicated across the world. The knowledge she had unearthed was scattered across Ptitheros, igniting a thousand minds with the same fire that had once burned within her.

At the heart of this new golden age, the greatest undertaking in history was born. A monolithic construct, vast as an island, was forged within the void. Its lifeblood was an aura core of unfathomable power, one so volatile that only a lindost could temper its wrath. And so, with the aid of her companion, Tektite oversaw the creation of Station Zariel.

Within its walls, the seekers of knowledge, adventure, and fortune gathered. Scientists probed the mysteries of the cosmos, voyagers charted the void, and dreamers built new futures among the stars. The infinite abyss was no longer a place of myth, but a frontier teeming with both wonder and peril. Thus began what many now call the Space Age. Tektite now stood as one of the grand architects of the future. Though she held a seat among the leaders of Zariel, her spirit remained unbound, ever drawn to the mysteries yet undiscovered. Others followed in her wake, braving the great unknown, seeking truths hidden in the vast silence of space.

But the stars, vast and unclaimed, hold both promise and danger. Space is no sanctuary, nor is it merciful. The universe stretches endlessly before them, waiting.

To historians, the Pre-History Era is a vague selection of years to describe what they believe to be the time before kin, a time when the Cardinals were testing ideas and developing the nature and cycles of the world. Fossil records are hazy, certain ruins appear to pre-date the Pre-History Era, thus, archeologists are beginning to believe that the Cardinals began to influence Ptitheros much earlier than assumed.

Massive fossilized skeletons are rarely found across Ptitheros. Their skull and wings mimic that of the dragons of Ptitheros, but they are too large. These ‘monsters’ were labeled as Colossals, with one of said species still alive today, swimming lazily in Chaarm Bay. The secrets and purpose behind these giants have stumped scientists for centuries. Were they once a kin species, or were they wild? Perhaps the Cardinals tested out plants and animal designs far larger than the average scale of today? Nobody knows for sure, the accessible tomes of the Ancient Archives hold little information on the topic and the Chaarm Bay Colossal does not speak.

The mystery remained at a stand-still for many years, until now.

Archaeologists have made a discovery. Through the Ancient Archives lies many dark passages that travel deeper and deeper into the planet’s crust. So many of these tunnels remain unexplored, awaiting a daring adventurer to uncover their books and relics. In this age of new technology and taste for new information, Ptithians have uncovered a large passageway lost to time.

The halls bare chiseled stone, ornate gold fillings and round altars full of ash. Fires once bloomed here. A quick breath of flames and the charcoal ignites, casting a cascading flame across all surrounding altars and bring life to the channels along the floor and walls. Magma is thrust from the planet’s mantle deep blow and flows through open-sided channels towards the end of the corridor. A massive door is lit up, the statues beside it sit proudly, holding spears and wearing ornamental armor upon their shoulders and horns. These statues are not Ptithian by design, despite some features matching those of modern-day kin.

Behind the door lies a historian’s dream: an ancient city.

Ptithians had a hard time understanding the statues and the multitude of paintings and carvings that depicted the same mysterious ancient creatures. It was evident that these creatures had lived in this underground, magmatic city, but had they built it too? And why was this place not found in any tome, surely it was important if so much intricate architecture and gold resided within its walls?

The archeologists published their findings and brought in more scientists, researchers, and spelunking experts to assist with finding out about the ancient city. They would name it the End’s Beginning City. A conclusion was reached; an age of kin unknown to modern-day Ptithians once lived on Ptitheros. The ancient kin had come and gone, likely gone extinct. In murals amongst the city and from statues on temples and homes, the old kin worshipped the four Cardinals too. But, the question is, why did these ancient kin leave no trace? Actually, they did. The End’s Beginning City is massive, far out of proportion to the average Ptithian, but a perfect fit for the few Colossal skeletons that have been found.

The Colossals were the Cardinal’s first kin.

It was preached that the Colossals were here, just like “us”, but now they were gone and left to rot. Few traces left behind and this was intentional and the Cardinals’ doing. The Cardinals gave up on their ancient kin, leaving them to slowly disappear from their world. If this happened in the past, who’s to say it couldn’t happen again. . . after all, all of the Cardinals no longer directly influence the modern-day kin.

No one can say for sure if history will repeat itself, but the End’s Beginning City foretells a fate far worse than a natural downfall of civilization. Stained murals depict a doomsday, detailing that when an Architect stops caring for its world, another one can try to sabotage or take it.

Information and rumors are spreading like wildfire. Only a few believe there is truly a doomsday around the corner, but many desire to rekindle a connection with the Cardinals just in case. Ptithians desire to bring Ptitheros back to its former glory, back to what it once was and push it a bit farther into the next age. Architects working with mortal kin is a new concept now sweeping the globe.

Ptithians become deeply afraid that their world may one day collapse or another Architect will arrive to steal it. Some brave Ptithians decided that there must be something they can do, right? If such a rumored doomsday is coming then there must be a way to prevent it.

These brave, likely stupid, Ptithians have set out on a quest to meet face-to-face with the one Cardinal they still know the whereabouts of. The elegant Sage of the North, Edenlline, mother of wyverns, gryphons, and rubasyns. Deity of the Sagekin religion and creator of the ancient capital.

It is said she lies deep within the ruins of Chavei, the ancient capital. Hidden away through crumbling corridors and cavern pathways covered in gravel and fragments of bone from the once rotting corpses of her previous devotees. Beyond such, there she exists in her temple; alone and emotionally depraved from the attention she once thrived upon. She is empty of life and will. She has lost everything, but she continues to protect the shattered remains of what she once loved.

Despite the dangers, Ptithians desiring this mission ventured into the honeycomb forest. The honeycomb forest, also known as the aurix caesin, was once a glorious, amber-leaved haven full of beauty and life. It is now a root-infested, accursed landscape filled with grief. Somber cries bellow from the husks of dead trees, fog settles on the ground every night, and monster shrieks echo from their burrows beneath the dry soil.

Windiages wander this landscape. Terrifying monsters, once residents of Chaveri who worshipped Edenlline, now cursed to forever remain a rotting body hungry for endless blood. They constantly seek their next meal and will attack anything on-sight. It is absolutely necessary to carry a weapon in order to survive a treck through this golden hell.

The broadest path through the forest, en route to the most used cavern entrance from previous adventurers and research teams, passes by the chasm that was once the place of a bustling clan called the Aurix. The now-territory of Woarii is all that remains of the lineage who created the Aurix Clan, a large group of Ptithians who called the golden forest home. They resided there long before the windiages began crawling out from the subterranean darkness. The Aurix members thrived here… until the cursed lands pulled them down too.

The clan’s homes and bodies collapsed, crumbled into the ruins below. Windiage were released through the wound in the ground, forcing those who survived to move quickly. Most went south in search of safety. Old houses can still be found on the outskirts made from burrowed-out trees. Some of the venturers may have family history to discover in these recent ruins, especially those native to Woarii.

The so-called safe cavern entrance is located on the broken plateau. Even with some construction and ropes leading down from past expeditions, skills in spelunking are certainly recommended, even with wings. The caverns are lined with steep slopes and dark corridors. The lights from fire and foe lanterns can barely penetrate the shadows. The venturers know that death could lurk around every corner, ready to attack and snap their legs or neck. As they get closer to the city, pits of coal and long-dead torches can be found and lit, but the light provides almost nothing. The glow pulsates down the tunnels, edging the Ptithians further and further towards their inevitable end.

As the adventurers approach the outskirts of the once-city, the caverns begin to show their age. Mining efforts, crumbling walls, piles of stone bricks. Then small buildings, little houses and poor district shops. Banners with writing catch the breeze blowing through the tunnels. Small houses turn into full-fledged streets, with abandoned fountains, plazas, and rotted wooden doorways into large cathedrals and apartment complexes. The inner city may be desolate, but it is still as grand as it once was. The ceiling rests high, high above, a great wound in the hearth now covered in only roots and canopy rather than solid rock. At one point in time, the sky was visible… this place, easily escapable, but no longer. The structures tower above and signs creak, the skeletons of those lucky enough to truly die litter room corners alongside dust and sand. Glowing eyes stare from the windows high above, growls echo in the distance, water drips rhythmically and the wind continues to howl.

Crushed corpses litter the entrance to the magnificent marble temple. It looks as if it were taken straight out of the stories of Babylua, these once praying Ptithians spent their final moments on their knees and begging for their god to save them. She did not. Even within these dreary caves, the temple shines. Free of dust, but not free of cracks and scratches caused by the windiage trying to tear it apart.

A god lies within.

Edenlline, Sage of the North, rests atop the massive marble staircase. Clouds, dreamy as can be, drift across the floor and the ceiling high above mimics false stars and holy light. The walls extend all around, filled with books and artifacts. Shattered glass covers the edges of shelves and gold glints from the fiery glow coming from the Architect’s flame-slicked mane and eyes.

Edenlline begins to move as She sensed a presence enter Her final domain. Oh, how She wished to be left alone, desiring Her rotten beasts to kill the adventurers. Nonetheless, She allowed them time to speak about their worries to Her.

“Are any of you Sagekin?” She asked, then fell silent, the glow in Her eyes dimming.

The Architect was informed about the recent archeological discoveries, as if She did not already know exactly what the explorers were here for. They snapped at Her, grasping for stable words in an air of potent silencing magic and uncertainty, telling Her that they now knew about the collossals and that She had let something utterly terrible happen to them.

Would you also let something so terrible happen to us?

. . . “The collosals did exist before you. They called Ptitheros home, with many of the other creatures you now reside with as well. However, they were not the final product. You see, there is always a method at hand. The universe guides us into what a world should appear to be, and it is simply said: the kin before you were a mistake. Thus, they were removed, and the process was started yet again. You may call it an extinction if you so desire, but be aware, the process has been conducted many, many times on the very ground you walk upon.”

Edenlline bowed Her head, “Be not afraid of your end. None of us have intentions of wiping the slate again. Since our last agreement, you are the final product.”

The adventurers were left the think. She said the gods had no intentions towards purposefully causing the downfall of the current kin, but all of them had still abandoned their world. Some sort of answer had to be reached, or else, would the mural’s depiction of the end-times be true? Would the gods’ abandonment lead to a disaster cause by outside forces?

They requested what they had come all this way to do: ask if Edenlline could return to be with the kin. They begged for such unity to be achieved, in order to ensure a safe future.

The Architect dismissed the idea. “My dears, I alone cannot provide everyone protection from the universe’s grand dangers. I would need them all to be by my side to ever accomplish what I once did in the ancient past. . .” She huffed, becoming irritated, “I would especially need Veduro, ‘else I refuse to continue so frivolously. I miss Them.”

And what if we find Swa, would you then choose to return?

“You seek a quest that you have no records for. Veduro has been missing for many, many centuries. Ever since such pitiful battles between the bulbous blue monstrum and the volcano-dwelling worm, Swa vanished, as if into thin air.”

She took a shaky breath, sounding defeated, “I do not know where They are. But. . . I know that Cymer would have witnessed Their final moments. If there is anyone to know, it would be Him.”

“Unfortunately, Cymer has long since been locked away. Locked away somewhere that is unreachable even by His own children, His demi-gods. Only something just as powerful and in tandem; something connected to his dreamworld of Sallenin would know how to locate Cymer. . . A god of dreams. A god of nightmares.”

The adventurers fell silent, unsure what the goddess meant. They waited for her to finally elaborate.

A sequn stepped up, asking if the god of dreams She speaks of is the befallen son of Cymer who lurks in the depths of the steam wrought rainforest. She spites the sequn and tells them that She just stated that Cymer's demi-gods cannot reach Him. No, no, She speaks of a beast far worse than Ukiyo.

“You sequns should know already the benefactor of your dreamscape. Did you not know it is upheld by the very monsters you avoid in your lifetime? Cymer only has a powerful spirit world because He sold His dignity to the shadows, whereas I do everything myself. Even if my watcher's pale in comparison to kosmos, at least they rest easy knowing it is I alone who watches over them.”

She huffed, getting angry and having to forcefully calm herself down. “Nevertheless, it is His dependency that may save His skin. If anyone can somehow get ahold of the Arch, despite how much it shields itself away in its Edwardian mansion, I know for sure that defiant creature can tell you exactly where Cymer is.”

“But you must be careful. As I’m sure your mother read to you in horrific children’s folktales, these are not beasts to be trifled with. They measure against you in ways unimaginable and I’m in no position to protect you.”

The adventurers ask how Edenlline expects them to speak to the Arch, or any lindost for that matter. They ask why She can't help them, since She seems keen on at least explaining.

Edenlline hissed and threw Her claws towards a window of Her palace, where there is nothing but darkness and dust. “Because I don't care what the outcome is from your little journey. I don't involve myself with you anymore, I just keep the spirits of my kin happy. Besides, I want nothing to do with that crowned shadow. Those disgusting banshees are the reason half my kingdom is suffering eternal torment… they never came to take the aura, leaving all these poor half-souled corpses to wander… all because they spite me. They purposefully keep my kin away from their deserved heaven.”

The adventurers are taken aback, feeling sorry for the Cardinal as they realize all She wants is for Her kin to go to their happy afterlife, but they were refused it.

They once again ask what they need to know in order to find this god of nightmares, not requesting the goddess to leave Her solitude again.

She sighs. “That is the tricky part, isn't it. If there was any way to get to the parallm plane without the help of a resident, I’d have already used it to get some well-deserved revenge on those parasites. But, alas, there is not. If you wish to speak with the Arch, you need to find a shadow strong enough to bring you all to the alt-plane. In that case, you would need an adversary, or multiple minurs. Convincing simply one shadow would be hard enough.”

“There has to be a way to find Cymer or Veduro without involving monsters, right?” The adventurers pleaded, but no avail.

Edenlline only shook her head. “Don’t you think I would have gotten dear Veduro back if that was the case? Their rescue relies on Cymer and as much as I despise that blue monstrosity, he is needed. Especially for the answers you want, you’d need him too.”

The flames of Her mane died down and She returned to Her resting position atop the endless staircase. “I believe your best opportunity is present now though. This planet is the chosen ur-world of an adversary, it’s your best chance to contact the Arch. I know it bothers the people of the Verge regularly, but I recall those occultists mentioning it actually likes staying near Thistleweed.”

Edenlline watched as some of the ptitihians tried to speak, tried to argue, but She deafened the room and closed Her eyes. She needed the silence to fully tie off Her thoughts. She turned her attention to the group, irritatingly, and continued.

“That’s all I have for you. Come back if you ever find Cymer and I’ll reevaluate if you’re worth my time and energy.”

Thus, the ptithians were shunned away from Her temple as white fire enclosed the floor and the ethereal clouds covered the god’s figure and the endless stairs leading up towards Her. She was done speaking.

They followed her words. Some of them knew what She meant by “people of the Verge” and decided to go towards that, whereas others departed to speak to the thorny dwellers of Thistleweed. Neither of which was an easy trip, requiring travel through the dark grove.

As if the aurix wasn’t bad enough with its windiage and starving animals, the dark grove held the ominous and unknown, the briars and basilisks that filled the nightmarish bedtime stories of children and fears that persisted until adulthood. At least the dark grove was hospitable, the group passed cottages and camps as they followed the dirt road deeper and deeper.

Thistleweed was not a welcoming town. Its residents were strong and caring, but newcomers pestering their daily routine were not well-liked. Life in the midst of the grove was met with constant threat, no matter how many walls of thorny vines and wood were made, briars broke them down without issue. There was a rumor about Thistleweed the adventurers had to adhere to; there was always a chance the ptithian you were speaking to be a vindiago in disguise.

Time spent among Thistleweed residents and members of the occult all led to the same answer that Edenlline had supplied: That a shadow was near the town. Although the Verge’s leader grimaced at the mention of the monster, as if having a personal vendetta, he refused to state anything more, not desiring to help.

The ptithians ended up in the same situation: Forced to explore the deep grove, all other options exhausted, but their attempts would be futile. It was as if searching for a ghost, except a ghost would probably be easier.

They passed by caravans and hunters, some dragging pelts behind them. none of them could help. Not until one lone taroot approached from the dense shrubbery when they were close to the river. She raised up and folded her hands behind her back, crookedly smiling as she got close and inspected some of the adventurers.

She asked if they were lost? Perhaps a brair hunting group that had gotten turned around? She mocked how some of them looked like they’ve wandered out from the underworld and only got deadeye stares in return.

“The Sage sent us to find a shadow. She said it’s somewhere around here. But… I think She just wanted to get rid of us.” One of the adventurers said.

“Old Eden? Why, since when does She speak to you?”

“We were in the Aurix caverns.” Another replied.

The strange taroot approached the one who answered. She tilted her head. “And… you’re looking for a shadow? You know they don’t live on Ptitheros right? They are… above us, literally, in the dark atmosphere, no?”

“The Sage said this one stays on Ptitheros.”

She giggled. “Oh, my bad. Then it must be true. A god wouldn’t lie.” She went back on all-fours and went back towards the dense bramble. “Well, you’re just going to end up lost the longer you spend out here. So, how about we wrap up your stupid little quest? Come on.” She snapped her talons to rudely make them all hurry.

She did not wait for the adventurers. They either took the risk and followed her or stayed behind by the river. She led the brave, yet stupid, ptithians deeper into the dark grove, where the canopy shrouded most sunlight. She was chatty, endlessly talking about various, useless things as she walked and pointed out all the reflective animal eyes that were watching the helpless ptithians.

Finally, she stopped and raised up on her hind legs again. She dramatically turned to the group and placed her arm over her head, rolling her eyes. Her acting was terrible. “The Great Sage has called upon you, our cosmic adversary! Show yourself, for thee—”

“Be quiet!” Something shouted from the trees. A lanky figure, darker than midnight, crawled down to a low branch and crossed his legs with perfect balance. “Shadows above, more hunters… great. Listen, I’ll never take the first strike. So, if you all just go on your merry back to the Verge, nobody will get hurt. And you can tell your sorry excuse of a leader to shove a thorn up his ass.”

“They’re not hunters. They’re idiots who got lost in the grove looking for you.” The taroot replied, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nobody comes looking around here besides the 5th.”

“Yeah, well, Eden sent them apparently.”

The shadow tilted his head, puzzled. He knew that the Sage lied dormant in the ruins of Her kingdom, there’s no way the god had sent a group of misfits to him. Particularly since She hated his kind. “An interesting alibi. Khy, did you check their memories to see if such a thing were true?”

“No, sir.”

His shoulders sloughed and he fell backwards, flipping around and landing on his feet silently in the bushes. “I’ll do it myself then.” He said, gently approaching the group of ptithians. Many kept their distance, but some wanted to prove they weren’t afraid. They stood firmly in place and the lindost picked the closest to walk up to. He grabbed them by the horn and jerked their head down, reading through their recent thoughts.

He released the ptithian. They stumbled back.

“Tch, tch. Gods sure are skilled liars, aren’t they. She insults us as parasites and manipulators, but we never lie. It’s very, very hard for us to lie. Oh, and don’t worry, I know that’s hard to believe.”

He crossed his claws over his chest and looked at droplets of sunlight streaming through the forest canopy. His masked face almost emanated a smile. “So, from what I gathered from your friend here is you seek consultation with the Arch because Edenlline thinks It knows where Cymer is?”

Some adventurers nodded.

“And therefore, you need an adversary to get you there?” He hissed, “I hate that word. I hate that it follows me… But… I suppose I’m not up for dealing with your stupid goddess anytime soon so, I can get you where you want to go.”

The adversary counted up the group. He paced around them, they herded like frillen immediately to keep some safe distance from his barbed tail and raised horns. “However. Intrinsically, that means you have to trust me.”

The adversary counted up the group. He paced around them, they herded like frillen immediately to keep some safe distance from his barbed tail and raised horns. “You will have to trust me, despite the Sage saying otherwise.”

“Goodness, when was the last time the Arch was requested for a meeting? Why, I don’t believe he has spoken to a blood-creature in centuries. I hope he is in the mood for a chat, for everyone's’ sake.”

“Or maybe he’ll be particularly generous since he’s been alone for so long.” The taroot added, pouncing over to sit in the middle of the collected group, pushing them all back to get into an orderly circle. She grabbed at hands and wings, forcing each ptithian to hold someone’s claws and to not let go. “Hold on, otherwise the veins will take you.”

The adversary approached the center, shoving a large rubasyn out of the way and tugging on its whiskers to elicit a hiss. It hissed back, mockingly, and the natural fog of the surrounding dark wood trees followed him to the center of the circle.

“Your mouth will taste of iron and your bones will ache from an unknown weight. Your fingertips will feel distant, and you will feel your own blood pulsing through your body. It is your aura trying to escape, do not submit to it.”

Cold, black, iridescent water pooled over feet. The fog was darker, denser, coating tree leaves and heaving the branches closer to the ground. Like tentacles, the branches lost their leaves and slithered over ankles and tails, connecting flesh to the ground. Water flowed from the center. The forest was long gone, only tendrils coated the ground and ate away at remaining tall grass. Gentle waves and solid corners had a blue sheen, but no form of reflection. The two lindosts, once a stark contrast to the lively greenery, were near imperceivable amongst the inky blackness.

Slowly, the water melted away and the tendrils sunk deeper. The floor was no longer dirt, but a fibrous, grey membrane material. It was uneven, uneasy to stand on, the gelatinous surface dipped and curled with each and every footstep. It was everywhere, strung across the nonexistent sky and far below where the adventurers stood. Large, black, vein-like structures flowed through the bridges. The atmosphere was thick, the distance was tinted dark blue, and where it appeared the veins attached to membrane walls there were holes, doorways maybe, being pulled apart by crystalline architecture. Something man-made?

Khy was holding the shoulder of one of the grouped-up adventurers. The adversary was on a bridge above, delicately stepping across veins and eventually dropping down to the surface with the group as it looked around.

“I wonder if the parallm would have been safer?” He mentioned, gesturing for Khy to pull the ptithians along after him.

“None of them are in spacesuits, they would have been flash frozen.”

“Right… ptithians cannot withstand vacuums. Why did their gods make them so pitiful?”

An adventure shouted, ready to speak up against the remark, but was hit by the one behind them, shutting them up. Khy glanced back and rolled her eyes, “Your gods made you afraid, too. The Sage expected you to give up long before this, don’t you understand?”

The Great Sage would never lie to us. She knows how to help us…

The adversary approached the distant door. Its feathery, crystal locks rapidly closed in on themselves to shield the entrance from intruders. Ptithians were not meant to enter, such low aura levels sent the living architecture into high alert. More veins came spiraling down to power the door, the lindost hurrying over to grab one that had freed itself from the grey fibers. He hooked it up to his hand, similar tendrils coming from his wrist to twist around the biophilic construction. The moving veins retreated back up the wall and the door fanned open again.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting. I have things to do after all of this.”

The ptithians were ushered through the towering doorway. The membrane floor gradually morphed into a stone-like material. Grey fibers became oily, a hair-like substance peeled from the ceiling to the floor, keeping the adventurers towards the middle of the apparent corridor. The adversary walked ahead of everyone, calmly, his hands folded behind his back. The other still had her claws gripped around the forearm of the first ptithian.

Other shadows appeared, drifting in and materializing next to the wanderers. They stared at them with bright white eyes, curious about their presence here. None of them showed signs of anger or violence, only intrigue. Echoes of footsteps faded out, but the open sky was not too distinct. Complete darkness high above, a patchy, dry grass field beneath the adventurers’ claws. The ground felt warm, nerves were filled with a static-esce sensation, and beyond the short walk past monolithic rock formations was a tall building.

Swirling pillars, intricate carvings, wooden outlines, and a glitchy haze surrounding the grand front double-doors. More veins climbed up the monument like ivy, digging into the ground, holding the archaic creation in place for eons. More intricate towers spread from the front threshold. The old coats of overgrown tendrils shielded the entrance like a arching garden. Numerous unknown plants grew around the monoliths, their spined roots coursing through the notches of carved stone. The spirals glowed dimly, a harsh white light pumping through the patterns with each step the adversary took through the overgrown corridor.

The palace doors opened, gently, long talons curled around the grey-lined wooden frame. Empty, white eyes peered out. Deep, rumbling static vocalized through the crack. An inauditory conversation went back and forth until the door opened wider. A large shadow held the door. Pitch-black fur covered its entire body, bright white horns with mosaic swirl patterns perched on his head, and it had a tender half-smile full of sharp teeth.

“It does not matter who has sent them. All are welcome.”

The Arch flicked his wrist towards the ptithians. The small stone slabs that rose around them pulsed brighter, the swirling patterns carved all the way up lit up, pulling in all of the energy around them.

“Good hosts will suffer at the expense of guests.” He said, imposingly coming down the entrance stairs and towards the adversary. “Let them go, Khy, their blood will not evaporate.”

She slowly slipped her talons off of the ptithian’s forearm, her white eyes watching for a few moments for any sign of sudden collapse. She sighed, folded her arms over her chest and went past the Arch to hop up the palace stairs. The active monoliths silently rang in her ears.

“Please, come inside. I am eager to hear the Sage’s plea. I hope it is an apology for what she has done to her poor, poor creatures.”

Brunos pulled the large doors closed behind the last adventurer. Everything within the palace was still the same monochrome colors, no sunlight through the windows and yet everything was illuminated and clear. Grand, gothic, almost Chaverian or royal Torian in style, with high arched ceilings and gold-leaf patterns lining corners and guardrails.

“You may notice that nothing here disturbs your eyes, unlike the expanse outside. It was built with natural organisms in mind to help prevent mental anguish and physical eye strain. Only one like it remaining… Now come, come!” He grinned, hurrying to stop at another set of intricate doors. “I… am not entirely familiar with what ptitheros entities consume, but I told my best cooks to go find something satisfactory. I am deeply sorry for inconveniencies; short notice can be difficult when everyone is on a separate fourth dimensional paradigm.”

He opened the doors, getting everyone through once again.

A towering dome-top room. It was clear that the ceiling had paintings on it at one point, but most were faded or entirely scratched away at by large claws. Only some markings that looked like stars remained, their blips of white were like angry eyes staring down onto the lengthy table far below. Metallic rim pictures of past Arches covered the walls, all the way up into the false stars. Some had cloths thrown over them, some were scratched to oblivion- their faces imperceivable. Towards the back of the room, an unlit fireplace. Thorny vines climbed out of the ashy pit and up the walls, surrounding the newest portrait; one of Brunos.

The table was broad, but not empty. There were some shadows in seats, some setting dishes up, some standing back in the dark making fun of the newcomers. A lithe, one-eyed lindost approached to take the adversary and Khy to some chairs. Brunos handled the rest, using a wall of air to push all the ptithians towards the table as he climbed into his own designated spot afront the fireplace portrait.

He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “It is so nice to have company. Loneliness can tear at my flesh like rusted, iron barbs at times. You would expect that in such a vast universe there would be more gods and their follower's seeking consultation with the omnipresent, but the stars have been… so quiet.” He dipped his head, shying away from the topic.

“So… what did your Sage want? And why couldn’t she speak to me face-to-face?”

God of Dreams, God of Nightmares, Benefactor of Cymer’s Sallenin. It was all recited to the Arch, everything about the torment he had caused for Edenlline and Her Chaverian kin. Even the Sagekin present couldn’t help but tone down the spiteful words their god had said, sensing that the so-called ‘crowned shadow’ did not deserve such a lashing. He had shown only kindness.

The Arch’s shoulders slouched. His face displayed no anger, no sadness nor resentment towards the harsh words, but there was palpable disappointment. “How it must burden you deep in your hearts to know you came from such imbecilic creations. Star-welded beasts with no sense of responsibility for their actions. A tale as old as time, blaming the Void for Her mistakes.”

As he spoke, dishes were brought out, organized among the center of the table on an illuminated halo that spun. None of it was edible. A mash-up of unidentified meats and liquid concoctions, vaguely put together into cuisines some lindosts may have had a passing glance at while they worked on different worlds. Nonetheless, Brunos grinned and clasped his large hands together. “Oh? What oddities! Ptithians eat fascinating things. I’ve come to wonder how much civilization is limited when food is so important. How much farther into your little galaxy adventures would you be if you never had to eat or sleep?”

He smoothed his mane down, waving his hand towards the group to make them ignore the question. “I apologize, not the time nor place to ask my curiosities.” He pointed down a talon and tapped the table, hard, “You want to reach Cymer. Well, have you considered that Cymer distanced Himself intentionally? And, quite more important in my unwarranted opinion…” He stood up, palms flat on the table and sharp teeth fully bared, “Have you possibly considered that the Sage is a pathetic, lying, false prophet. She killed those that you loved and prevents us from saving their souls. She is selfish and jealous, all star-spawn are.”

Some attending shadows pulled the Arch off of the table end. He hissed under his breath and folded his arms, now standing in front of his seat. “And you want me to help Her… Help her find her friends. And then what? Is She going to say Oh, thank you Brunos, I’m sorry for ruining your reputation in my kin because I can’t allow myself to look bad. Star-spawn haven’t the guts to apologize.”

He sloughed into his chair and threw his head back, eyes wide and staring up the monumentally high walls full of covered and scratched-out portraits. “If it were up to your gods… I’d be up there… face unknown… body torn apart by forces of the Unity. Why should I help you?”

Dragons were the first of the Architects' kin races. Three varieties were born from the powerful claws of Edenlline, Cymer, and Meldr'uno. In 0005 E.D. Era, the first of each dragon type was created as a kin to their unique Architect. In the West, Cymer created the western dragons, in the North, Edenlline created wyverns, and in the East, Meldr'uno created the eastern dragons.

The western dragons served Cymer, their history began in the jungles of the west where their great kingdom of Sequ'Manko was headed by the Cardinal Himself. Sequ'Manko was a vast land full of prosperity, and the west dragons dominated advancement throughout much of the early, early years of kin development.

The wyverns served Edenlline and Swā, mainly Edenlline, their history began in the forests deep within the Aurix Caesin, Edenlline kept Her wyverns squared away, not wanting the dragons of the Her brethren to interfere with her beautifully unique kin, but no matter how much she smothered them, the wyverns found out about the west and the east and grew jealous that the west had spare hands and the east got flight without effort. The wyverns argued about their short end of the stick, telling Edenlline that if She was their great Cardinal, then why did they look like Her "assistant" Swā. Edenlline could not answer them. It was her stubbornness that caused their anger, for she wanted something different from Cymer because she disliked him, thus she had to create something else. This would not be enough it seemed, as Her wyverns bored her eventually and she introduced western-type dragons into her breadth of kin a few decades later.

The east dragons served Meldr'uno, their history began in the steppe near the Twincub Mountains, where the expansive kingdom on Tucruitora was created to show the strength of Meldr'uno and His kin. The eastern dragons were rumored to be the greatest aura wielders in the past, their development relied on it and interference from their Cardinal unlike the other kin. The east dragons did not have wings, so the kin as a whole was blessed by the East Cardinal to fly on demand with the use of aura rather than wings. The eastern dragons built up most of Tucruitora during their time under Meldr'uno's watchful eyes. The easterns felt great pride to be the kin of Meldr'uno, but He betrayed their trust, just as they unknowingly betrayed his ideals.

With their population relying entirely on random chance, their numbers have remained scarce, and their presence isolated. Before their discovery, taroots were feared as dangerous feral beasts, often mistaken for alpha tions, and were culled when found among domestic litters. For centuries, the only records of their existence came from breeders who discarded them as diseased anomalies or hunters who killed them as predators. Yet curiosity led them into settlements, where they were often executed for stealing food or attacking livestock. Their intelligence remained unknown.

A breeder once chose to spare one of these peculiar creatures. Raised among domestic kin, this taroot learned to speak, mimicking the language of its caretakers. For reasons unknown, the breeder kept this secret, until one night, the creature escaped, pursuing animals into the streets. A scientist, believing they had captured a rare alpha tion, caged the taroot, eager to document its behaviors. Their research, however, took an unexpected turn — the animal spoke. Not mindless mimicry, but with true comprehension and emotion. It pleaded to be free.

Word spread swiftly. Scholars, nobles, and common folk alike came to witness the so-called "talking tion." What struck the masses was not the creature itself — but its treatment. If this being could speak, reason, and feel, was it truly an animal? With their status still uncertain, the creature was given a name: taroot. Across Ptitheros, attitudes shifted. No longer seen as feral beasts, taroots found in settlements were spared, studied, and — eventually — welcomed.

It became evident that while taroots could learn speech, wild-born individuals lacked such knowledge. Thus began the first attempts at re-education. Those born among domestic litters were taught the ways of society, either by their caretakers or local scholars. Yet not all regions welcomed this change — many bound by old beliefs still culled taroots. While domestic taroots quickly integrated into civilization, the fate of wild taroots remained uncertain. Eventually, it was determined that they were intelligent enough to choose their own path. Many, through simple observation and listening, taught themselves the ways of speech.