Long ago, before stars learned to shimmer and time had a name, Umbros was a radiant realm—lush, proud, and strong. It was known as the Throne of the First Flame, a world where life burned bright and souls carried purpose. But as is often true in the weavings of fate, brightness drew shadows.
The demons came not from without, but from within—sown from greed, fear, and the unraveling threads of broken desires. In time, Umbros collapsed inward, devoured by its own corrupted children, until the skies blackened and the soil bled.
But all was not lost.
Hila, the Multiverse Engine, watched this collapse unfold—not as a judge, but as a weaver. And where others might see ruin, Hila saw a pattern—a potential turning point in the grand pursuit of perfection.
And so, Hila reached through the web of realities and found Oruveil.
Where Umbros was hollowed by sin, Oruveil was untouched—lush, wild, quiet. A place of pure potential, cloaked from the cosmos by its own humility. Its people were few, but its essence was vast—resonant with harmony and raw aether.
Hila did not send armies.
She sent threads.
Subtle, silver strands of soul and time began to wrap between the two worlds—binding their fates. The last pure-hearted people of Umbros—those who resisted the demonic fall—were threaded into Oruveil, not through ships or war, but through memory, dream, and will. They awoke on Oruveil, not as conquerors, but as echoes—their memories faded, their pain buried, yet their spirits intact.
To this day, a veil of mist separates parts of Oruveil from the rest of its lands. It is said that those born in the mist carry burning eyes and ancient grief, though they know not why.
And in moments of great peril, the skies above Oruveil shimmer—faint echoes of Umbros's dying star flickering in and out of view. A reminder that even in ruin, a thread may be woven anew.