Five centuries ago, the fate of the world hung upon five pillars of power: the Mage Kings.
Each was a prodigy, bearer of a magic so singular and absolute that the world itself bowed before their dominion.
Tharion, the King of Eternal Flame:
His fire knew neither ash nor shadow—a blaze unending that defied the deepest night.
Eira, the Queen of Life:
With a single breath she could heal mortal wounds and coax life from barren stone—an alchemist of creation.
Selha, the Weaver of the Veil:
Her enchantments were threads of illusion and truth, able to ensnare the senses of her foes or reveal secrets long buried beneath time.
Lioren, the Keeper of Time:
To him, temporality was malleable. He could freeze the instant a drop of dew fell, or trap a moment of triumph within an endless loop.
And finally, Kaelorn, the Lord of Gravity—whose name would become a synonym for betrayal.
The sky was a shroud of lead and ash. The ruins of the great city, now a smoldering wasteland, stood as the monument to their fall.
Three of the pillars lay broken upon the ground—Eira, Selha, and Tharion.
They stood at the edge of the abyss, defeated not by a monster or an army, but by the one they had once called brother and friend.
Kaelorn hovered in the void, a dark silhouette wrapped in an aura of midnight.
He gazed upon the holocaust he had wrought. Of their home, only memory and dust remained.
Tears streaked his soot-stained face; he could not hold them back.
"Why is it so hard for you to understand?"
His voice, an echo of pain and fury, shattered the silence of the massacre.
"This world is bleeding! It needs the discipline of order—the strength to keep it from collapse!"
Only Lioren, the Keeper of Time, still stood. Blood dripped from his lips, despair burning in his eyes—but his will was unbroken.
"The only soul in need of redemption, Kaelorn… is your own."
The Lord of Gravity lifted his gaze. His eyes still glimmered with the wetness of grief, but sorrow hardened into resolve.
He raised one arm, and the air above his palm condensed into a core of power—a Sphere of Gravity spinning with the ferocity of a miniature black hole.
He lowered his arm slowly, the motion a presage of death—and the sphere shot toward Lioren.
The universe drowned in absolute silence.
Though the projectile tore through the air with blinding speed, Lioren perceived it crawling forward—eternity condensed into a single instant.
Just before impact, the earth split open.
A wall of crimson flame—the dying breath of Tharion—rose before Lioren.
Slender roots—Eira's final sacrifice—coiled around him, filling his body with a last surge of life.
Reality itself cracked—Selha's power—and Kaelorn hesitated, unable to discern between the real and the illusory.
It was all the time Lioren needed.
The Keeper of Time surged forward.
Time once again became his servant, not his master, and froze for all but him.
When Kaelorn turned—slow as the falling of an hourglass—Lioren was already there, standing before him, hands raised in one final, transcendent gesture.
Sound returned. Time was released.
"Now… go," whispered Lioren, his voice barely audible.
And Kaelorn was consumed by a sphere of blinding light—whiter than the newborn sun—that rose above the ruins.
A flash that would mark the end of the Mage Kings… and the beginning of a new and dark era.