n Virelia, power is not sung from the heavens or drawn from arcane ley lines.
It is not gifted by gods.
It is felt.
It scrapes across skin, curls up the nose, coats the tongue, hums in the bones, and burns behind the eyes. Here, the very senses—those fragile, fallible threads by which we understand the world—are the levers of dominion.
To touch is to harm.
To smell is to know.
To taste is to become.
To hear is to command.
To see is to rule.
We call this art Praxis—the shaping of reality through sharpened perception.
Long ago, our ancestors unearthed Relics—crystalline remains of a lost age—each attuned to one of the Five Prime Senses. These relics do not create magic. They awaken it. In the right hands, they can twist sound into blades, memory into scent, and fear into touch.
But relics are rare now. Most lie buried beneath wars and empires. Only a handful of kingdoms still possess them. Even fewer know how to wield them without being consumed.
In this tale, you will meet a man born without light or language. A man who felt the world more deeply than any of us ever dared. When he crossed the veil and awoke in Virelia, his body was whole, but his senses—his Praxis—were already alight.
This is not a tale of chosen heroes.
This is not the story of the strongest warrior.
This is the journey of one man who could smell betrayal, taste destiny, and touch the truth with shaking hands.
You are not expected to understand everything at once.
Neither did he.
Now: breathe in.
Touch the page.
Taste the words.
The Praxis begins