The sun rose over Aurelia like a pale, uncertain witness. Across the continent, the four great human empires — Solvaran, Eryndor, Vardal, and Cindral — trembled beneath the aftershocks of the Scarlet Court's assault. Cities lay broken, forests leveled, and mountains split. Even weeks later, the ground still quaked in scattered pulses — the lingering heartbeat of progenitor power refusing to fade.
The Solvaran Empire
In Solvaran's heart, Emperor Kael Veynor convened his council before dawn. His Legendary aura blazed like molten gold, saturating the throne room with heat and weight.
"They have shattered Solvaran," he said, his voice low but unyielding, "but they are not invincible."
His fingers tightened on the obsidian armrest of his throne, the stone creaking beneath his grip. Maps lay strewn across the floor like fallen soldiers.
"Kaelthar Voidreign and his court," he continued. "A progenitor, a queen, and a duke — they move like gods among men. We must strike before they consolidate further."
The council said nothing. Even his generals, each bearing a Legendary spark of their own, could barely endure the oppressive radiance of their emperor's will.
The Eryndor Empire
Far to the east, Empress Lyra Thane stood in a chamber of mirrored crystal, tracing the continent's ley lines with arcs of lightning that danced from her fingertips. Each pulse of power revealed new fractures — rivers diverted, forests drained, magic itself recoiling in pain.
"This is no ordinary threat," she murmured, her voice quiet yet cutting through the crackle of power. "The Scarlet Court bends nature itself. Entire armies will fall if we underestimate them."
Her generals exchanged wary glances. Lyra's eyes, silver and storm-lit, turned toward the horizon."Send word to Solvaran, Vardal, and Cindral," she commanded. "We stand or fall together."
The Vardal Empire
In the western plains, King Rydan Valehart rode among the ruins of his forward battalions. Tremors had swallowed whole regiments — men, mounts, banners — all gone to the earth.
His Legendary aura burned like a wildfire, but his eyes held the weary clarity of a soldier too long in command.
"We cannot rely on conventional warfare," he said, his voice carrying across the silent field. "They are beyond even our greatest heroes. It's time to summon the Demigod Champions."
Around him, his commanders shifted uneasily. The Demigods had not been called in centuries.
The Cindral Dominion
Across the fractured coasts of Cindral, Admiral Selene Marrow stood at the prow of her flagship, staring into the warped reflection of a sea no longer loyal to her. Islands had cracked open, ports sunk beneath tidal scars, and rivers hissed where Kaelthar's aura had brushed them.
"Even water bends to their presence," she whispered. The air hummed with Mythical energy as she spread her will across her fleet. "This will not be a war of armies — but of essence. We must strike with unity, and precision."
The Pact of the Four
In secret councils scattered across Aurelia, the rulers of men forged a desperate accord:
Each empire would send its most powerful champions — all at least Legendary or Mythical.
Their combined magics would form a continent-spanning lattice of wards, traps, and converging ley points.
Spies and emissaries would move among elves, dwarves, and even demons, gathering whispers of Kaelthar's movements.
And still, unease gnawed at every heart. When the final treaty was sealed, it was Emperor Kael Veynor who spoke the truth none dared to voice:
"Even together, we face a progenitor. His will bends mountains, breaks armies, and rivals the gods. He is beyond our measure… but we fight anyway. Because if we do nothing, Aurelia dies."
The Stirring of the World
Rumors spread faster than any courier could ride. Traders spoke of cities leveled in a single night, of rivers boiling and skies torn open by crimson fire. Some prayed harder; others abandoned faith altogether, knowing no god had answered before.
In the hidden courts of the dragons, the eldest among them stirred."The progenitor wakes," rumbled one with wings older than empires. "If he consolidates, the world itself will kneel. We must observe… and act when the balance tips."
The Scarlet Court
Far beyond mortal reach, in the silent ruin where mountains had once stood, the Scarlet Court watched the world gather against them.
Kaelthar Voidreign, progenitor and architect of ruin, stood at the center of a vast crater. Shadows rippled around him like sentient mist.
"They gather," he said, voice echoing across the void. "They believe unity and numbers can stop us." His eyes, deep as blood and void, gleamed. "Let them try."
Lirae, his queen, let her crimson veil unfurl — a living storm of silk and wrath. "Every step they take, the world bends to us. Their kingdoms, their armies… none can stand before the progenitor and his queen."
Beside them, the Duke of Ashen Vale rested a gauntleted hand on his sword, his aura a perfect harmony of Legendary steel and Mythical flame. "Then we remind them why the Scarlet Court commands the land."
They turned toward the horizon, where lightning split the distant skies of Aurelia. Empires stirred. Armies rose. Yet the night belonged to the Scarlet Court.
And in that breathless stillness before the storm, the continent itself seemed to whisper:
The age of mortals is ending. The age of the progenitor rises.