The world is not kind, nor cruel. It simply is.
It drifts through the endless dark, a frail ember wrapped in silence. Luminora — a name spoken by those who think naming something grants it meaning. It spins, unheeding of those who cling to its skin, of the ones who ascend, and the countless more swallowed in the earth.
Some call it fate. Others, punishment.
But there is something older than both.
A nameless ache, a quiet defiance stitched into the marrow of those who refuse to kneel.
In forgotten places, where names erode and faces decay, the sky bears witness. Constellations trace shapes no living tongue recalls. Patterns made by hands that no longer exist. The faithful see omens. The lost see nothing. But above all, it watches.
Below, shadows walk.
Creatures born from emotion's castoffs — from sorrow, from joy, from rage, from calm. Feelings made flesh, neither good nor evil, only what the heart leaves behind.
They, the Akumo, move in the hush between heartbeats, in the corners of thought, in the dark and quiet places of the soul. The old ones call them many names. Akumo, some whisper.
But names are smoke.
And yet, within all things stirs a current.
Mana, ancient and indifferent. A breath between stars, a pulse beneath the soil, a memory in blood. Some wield it as shield, others as blade.
The gifted shape it to echo the forgotten stars — tracing constellations in the air, weaving spells that remember what the world has chosen to forget.
There is sorrow here. A sorrow that clings.
It lingers in the marrow of stone, in the bones of old forests, in the silence between words.
A sorrow so old it has forgotten its own name.
Those who walk this path will bleed.
Some will break, crumbling into dust and memory.
Some will wear the chains forged for them and call it peace.
And a rare, nameless few… will fracture the wheel itself.
This is not a tale of heroes.
Nor of villains.
It is a tale of those who chose — and those yet to choose.
For Luminora has never favored the pure of heart, nor the wicked.
It listens only to those who act, when all else falls silent.
The inescapable fall of this world creeps ever closer.
Time alone will decide when it comes… or if it comes at all.