Epilogue
"When flame forgets the warmth it gave,
And balance breaks to still the brave,
When gold turns blind beneath the sun,
And roots arise where bloodlines run,
When stars dissolve in glass and dust,
And ink unbinds remembered trust,
When crowns are cracked and silence speaks,
The Seven wake from slumbered peaks.
They broke what once they swore to keep—
Their truth undone in shadows deep.
Now signs shall mark their veiled return,
As worlds ignite and colours burn."*
That is the prophecy of the Spectrum, a song passed from one age to another, often whispered more as legend than warning. Most call it fiction—a tale crafted by dreamers and ancient poets.
Yet two thousand years ago, everything changed.
On that day, the Veil thinned, and the Fractured Gates opened—portals to a realm of broken things, the failed creations once abandoned by the very gods they served. That day, humanity awoke to power. Some called it a blessing. Others, a curse. Magic poured into the world like rain, and with it came creatures twisted by memory and fear: the Falseborns.
They were led by beings called the Remembered Wrong—twisted echoes of the gods, reshaped by flawed worship and corrupted myth. Not the Seven themselves, but what mortals imagined them to be. Wrong names. Wrong faces. Wrong truths.
In answer to this threat, three ancient Orders rose once again—guardians from the earliest age. They trained those with the gift of magic, guided by memory, time, and bond. Each generation, they prepare a new line of defenders. Some say they await the return of the true Spectrum.
For in the sacred texts of the Orders, it is said: when the world remembers rightly—when the gods are remembered not with worship, but understanding—they will return. Not to rule. Not to destroy. But to restore the Covenant broken by their own hands.
And when they do, all colours shall rise.
Not as salvation.
Not as punishment.
But as truth made whole.