I don't remember the beginning of my life.
There is no moment I can point to and say, that was my first memory. No warmth, no face, no voice calling my name. Everything before the orphanage exists only as a blur—faded impressions without shape or meaning. The adults say I was found on the outskirts of Okrith, wrapped in torn cloth and left where the roads split. No family markings. No records. No one looking for me.
That was all they ever knew.
So this world—Fantasia Terrae Divisae—is not something I arrived in.
It is simply the world I opened my eyes to.
The name itself sounds grand, almost ceremonial, though I didn't understand it when I first heard it. The caretakers at the orphanage spoke it with the tone reserved for facts too large to question. The Divided Land. A world carved apart not by oceans alone, but by ideals, power, and belief.
Even as a child, I could feel that strangeness in the air.
Fantasia Terrae Divisae is a world where strength is not theoretical. Power is not hidden behind titles or bloodlines alone. It manifests. It breathes. It answers those who reach for it.
People here call it a core.
Every living being is born with one—a crystallization of life force that exists deep within the body, invisible yet undeniable. The core is not a single power, but a convergence. Six great energies reside within it, intertwined like threads in a single knot.
Mana. Aura. Ether. Invocation. Evocation. And Jaki.
All six exist within everyone. No exceptions.
Some people are born with a stronger affinity toward one than the others, but none are ever truly absent. The elders at the orphanage used to say the core was a mirror—it reflects who you are and what you will become, long before you understand either.
I came to think of it simply as life force. Not as six separate things, but as one whole that could be shaped, sharpened, or shattered.
Those who train their cores become something more.
Knights manifest Aura, reinforcing their bodies and blades with sheer force of will. Their strength comes from discipline, repetition, and resolve.
Mages wield Mana, shaping the raw laws of the world into fire, wind, stone, and light.
Spiritualists and priests draw upon Ether, communing with unseen currents that bind souls, memories, and faith.
Invokers borrow power from gods and higher beings—at a cost few ever speak of.
Evokers call to spirits, beasts, and ancient echoes, forging contracts with things that existed long before written history.
And then there is Jaki.
Jaki is not taught.
It is not celebrated.
It is forbidden.
Jaki is the excess—the rot that festers when desire outweighs restraint. Everyone possesses some amount of it, but most never let it surface. Those who do are changed. Corrupted. The more Jaki one draws upon, the less human they become.
Jaki users are criminals. Cultists. Tyrants. Beasts wearing human skin. Entire nations have collapsed under its influence. The world remembers those wounds, and it does not forgive them easily.
Perhaps that is why Fantasia Terrae Divisae remains divided.
There are four great continents, each carving its own path through the chaos of power.
Euphoria, the Land of Dreams, rests in the upper-left of the world. Stories cling to it like mist. They say wishes come true there—though no one can ever explain how. A great tower pierces the sky at its heart, stretching beyond clouds and logic alike. Many legendary figures originate from Euphoria, though few ever return unchanged.
Okrith, the Land of War, lies in the lower-right. That is where I was found. That is where I grew up. Power here is earned through strength, victory, and survival. Territories are contested openly, sometimes brutally. Yet from that chaos rose the Kingdom of Lionhearth, home to the greatest knights the world has ever known. Its current ruler, King Leon IX, governs through authority proven in battle, not ceremony.
Okrith is also home to the Grand Colosseum of Trials, where strength is tested not for sport, but for legacy.
To the upper-right stands Jishu, the land of engineering and advancement. Unlike Okrith's steel and blood, Jishu's power lies in invention. Machines, airships, automated constructs—things that blur the line between magic and mechanism. The infamous Six Unknown Dungeons are said to be hidden within its borders, their origins predating recorded history.
Lastly, in the lower-left, lies Arcana.
The Land of Spirits and Arcane Mysteries.
Arcana feels alive in a way other lands do not. Rivers shimmer with mana. Forests hum softly with Ether. Floating islands drift lazily across the sky, as though gravity itself had been negotiated into compromise. Its people specialize in the higher arts—Ether, Invocation, Evocation—seeking understanding rather than dominance.
Arcana is ruled by the Celestial Conclave, a council of twelve of the strongest mages in the world. They claim neutrality, but their eyes are everywhere. Especially now, as whispers of Jaki spread beyond control.
Scholars, adventurers, and nobles travel to Arcana in search of answers.
Many never return.
This is the world I grew up in.
Not as a chosen hero. Not as a reborn soul. Not as someone who remembered another life.
Just a boy who knew the weight of steel, the silence of unanswered questions, and the feeling that something within his core was waiting to be shaped.
And this—this was only the beginning.