"You ask what a monster is…"
The voice was a low, resonant rumble, a profound question dropped into the vast, echoing silence of the Grand Library.
The air hung thick with the scent of aged paper and beeswax candles.
"Is it a terrifying beast, a creature of nightmare with impossible powers? Yes, in the folklore and myths that haunt our sleep, it absolutely is. It's the dragon's roar, the vampire's kiss, the shadowy thing under the bed, pure, unadulterated, external terror."
"These monsters are easy to fight, in a way, because they are clearly not us. We can point a torch or wield a silver sword and declare the battle begun…"
Lucan, barely nineteen, leaned forward over the massive mahogany table, his eyes, the deep, unsettling red of polished rubies, fixed on the worn pages of the book before him: The Monster That Lurks Within.
Heavy bags shadowed his striking features, the mark of long, sleepless nights spent pouring over books and tomes.
"But you hint at the more chilling truth... perhaps the monster is all beings."
He looked up, scanning the enormous, empty room. His dusty blonde hair, swept back from his brow in rough, uneven layers, did little to soften the sharp angles of his face. His distinctly pointed ears betrayed the subtly of Elven blood.
"The true horror, the one that makes our blood run cold, is the realization that the capacity for monstrosity resides not in scaled hide or magical powers, but in the very core of what it means to be Alive."
"We are the only creatures who build cathedrals to peace and, in the next breath, engineer systems of unimaginable cruelty. A beast with claws merely follows instinct; we, with our consciousness and free will, choose to create systems of pain."
He stood, commanding a height of six feet six inches. His build was wiry, built for the quickness of a fighter. He was dressed simply in black pants, black boots, and a stark white button up shirt.
"The most terrifying beast of all is the one that looks back at us from the mirror, the one capable of empathy who yet chooses destruction."
Lucan took the book, its final sentence echoing in the stillness, and walked to the towering bookshelf. He slid The Monster That Lurks Within back into its place. His hand lingered, then pulled out another volume, its cover a dark, unadorned leather.
He read the title softly, "The Severing: World History."
Returning to his seat, he opened it to the table of contents. "The First Age, the Second Age, the Third Age," he murmured, the ages before him holding more fascination than the current day. Much of the past was simply lost, consumed by the same chaos that now defined their world.
The world of the First Age was a symphony of natural abundance. Vast, ancient Verdant Seas of forest covered the land, and oceans teemed with life, untouched by scarcity.
Races of all kinds, from the powerful Elven clans to the mountain dwelling Dwarves, lived in harmony with the free flowing energy of the world.
Magic was not a commodity, it was an innate skill. They were the Weavers, drawing raw mana directly into themselves, turning their very bodies into conduits for power. They effortlessly raised glittering cities, shaped landscapes, and waged wars that involved monumental feats of power.
Then came the Doom.
The Doom, also known simply as The Severing, was a destructive, world shattering event. A colossal force erupted from the very foundations of the earth, cracking the planet's shell and violently destabilizing the Aether itself.
Simultaneously, the divine pantheon, the Old High Gods, retreated. For reasons that remain unknown to the surviving races, they simply abandoned the mortal realm, sealing the celestial pathways to their domains and offering no salvation.
The cosmic withdrawal and the planetary fracturing resulted in an immediate, world-spanning apocalypse. The world's natural flow of mana collapsed, and from the deep fissures in the earth, the physical wounds of The Severing, a veil holding creatures of unknown origin tore open. Through these wounds crawled the Magic Beasts.
These were not animals, but concentrations of raw, chaotic elemental energy given monstrous form. In time, the ancient forests combusted into ash, the oceans receded into the earth, and the races of the First Age were almost entirely purged in the ensuing onslaught of beasts and fire.
What remained was a blighted landscape of dust, ruin, and elemental anarchy. History, lore, and lineage were utterly lost in the inferno, leaving the planet dominated by scorching Desert Wastes, Dense Mana infused forests, and monster haunted canyons.
The remnants of civilization survived by erecting massive, magically reinforced Citadels. Domed, enclosed cities that rose from the ash of the old world.
These bastions, located exclusively on the shattered Godspine Continent, were the last habitable places, reliant entirely on salvaged science and the desperate, bloody hunting of Slayers to keep the lights on and the wilderness out.
The ages moved on to the Second Age, an age of surviving and advancement. New technologies were discovered, lands grew in power, and Slayers killed beasts of enormous strength.
Heroes were born and legends were made, and eventually, things started to return to a semblance of normal. The outside was safer thanks to these heroes, and towns started to form outside the Citadels. Pilgrimages were formed, places were settled, but the looming threat of the Magic Beasts was ever present.
A thousand years passed into the Third Age as they knew it today, or what Lucan liked to call it, The Age of Knowledge. This was the age he lived, Industrial revolutions, guns, trains and other technologies were invented.
He sighed, closing the book and leaning his head back.
Footsteps rang out behind him.
"M'Lord? Your Lord father has called for you."