Before their fall, the ancients left behind words none dared to speak aloud…
"Beware, ye seekers of forgotten crowns, for the Council of Thrones is not a tale of glory alone.
Those who forged the stars and bent the heavens now sleep beneath the silence of eternity.
Their names were written in light and erased in blood — and those who dare to claim their legacy invite their own undoing.
For the thrones remember, and they do not forgive.
Yet within the ashes of ruin, the faintest spark endures.
When darkness consumes the world and false kings fall, the true thrones shall awaken once more.
And in that moment — when the worthy rise — hope itself shall wear a crown."
The world has long forgotten the true thrones of the council, yet power is never left untouched. Hollow crowns are claimed by the unworthy. They call themselves the council, but their words are empty, their thrones cold. The mightiest empires crumble, not from war alone, but from those who cannot bear the weight of their seats.
"A throne in unworthy hands cuts its own empire."
False kings rise with ambition, blind to the laws the ancients left behind. They seek glory, yet all they leave behind is ruin. Cities fall, rivers dry, and forests burn, while the names of the true council fade into myth.
Yet even in the ashes, whispers persist. Some remember the prophecy. Some dream of power beyond mortal reach. The thrones are not idle, and the echoes of the real council stir in ways unseen.
Beware, seekers of the forgotten. The world teeters on the edge, and only those worthy in strength, wisdom, and resolve may awaken the power that sleeps. The true council watches still, and the cost of ignorance may be the ruin of all.