They called it the Waking World, though none could say when it had truly awakened. Long before the first mortal took breath, before the first mountains clawed the sky, there was only the realm of the Original Gods beings so ancient that even time seemed to bow in their presence. Yet to these eternal sovereigns, the Waking World was nothing more than a refuse heap. A place where broken creations, failed experiments, and discarded amusements were cast away.
The Spirit Shrine stood at the heart of this forsaken land not a temple of worship, but a monument of mockery. Here, the gods came not to bless, but to watch. The shrine was a grand stage to their eyes, a place to relieve the crushing weight of immortality through the suffering, struggles, and fleeting triumphs of those below. To the gods, it was entertainment. To mortals, it was the cruel center of all existence.
Four vast empires sprawled across this land, each ruled by a demi-god or semi-deity — remnants of divine blood left behind in the gods' endless games. The Empire of Night, cloaked in eternal dusk, where moonlight silvered the cities and shadows whispered in the streets. The Empire of Day, a blazing expanse where the sun's radiance never waned and its rulers wielded light like a blade. The Empire of Weather, where storms were born and the skies shifted at a ruler's whim, and thunder was as common as breath. And the Empire of Elements, where fire, water, earth, and air coiled in endless rivalry, shaping the very bones of the land.
The people of these empires lived under the demi-gods' rule not as equals, but as pieces in a game they could never win. Wars were fought not for survival, but for the gods' amusement. Peace, when it came, was not mercy but boredom from above. And yet, in this land of cruel purpose, whispers persisted of beings who did not belong to the gods' design. Anomalies. Strangers. Those who existed outside the written script.
One such being was said to have been there before the first sunrise a presence older than the empires themselves. A wandering shadow whose true name was lost, known only as Kuk. To some, he was a harbinger of hope, a figure whose authority could one day rival even the Absolute One. To others, he was simply… wrong, as if reality itself rejected his existence. His mind was a fractured mirror, his many selves each holding powers and purposes alien to mortal and god alike. His greatest strength lay in the bonds he forged a connection so deep that even air, even the smallest pebble, could become a weapon in his hands if it were dear to someone.
In a world abandoned by its makers and ruled by their castoffs, the gods still looked down from the heights of the Spirit Shrine, smiling at the chaos below. They believed all was still their game.
But there were pieces on the board they had not placed.
And one day, the game would no longer be theirs to play.