The Tale of The Fallen Primordial

 In the dusk of all things, when the yawning void first quivered with the stirrings of life, there emerged a presence—not of name, nor form, but of sheer, boundless will. This entity, whose power transcended even the wildest dreams of the yet-unborn, reached into the blank expanse and, from the silence, wove the first threads of existence. From the nothingness came the Cosmos, vast and infinite, filled with potential and dread alike. 

From this primordial tapestry, Five realms took shape—each a reflection of the entity's grand and cryptic design: Life, where souls breathed and resided, Death, where shadows claimed their due and silence reigned, Ascension, the unreachable height sought by the worthy, Peace, a tranquil dream only the pure would ever know, and the Unknown, a realm untouched, feared, and eternal. 

But these were not creations of harmony, nor were they born out of love for balance. Each was a piece of an ever-expanding game, a divine puzzle designed to entertain The Creator in its eternal restlessness. As eons passed, slipping like sand through time's indifferent hands, even the Creator, almighty as it was, grew weary of its creation. The spectacle, so grand at first, now dulled in its eyes. 

It was then that the Creator reached deeper into the folds of existence. With hands that bent the marrow of reality, it carved out ten new spaces—multiverses of vast complexity. Each was a space of this reality itself, a cluster of universes, galaxies, and voids, varying in number from each multiverse. To govern these realms, the Creator birthed eleven deities from the sinew of its own being. These were beings of unimaginable majesty, each one brimming with hunger and divine will. Ten were given dominion over their own multiverse. 

But to Nyros, the eleventh, the Creator gave nothing. 

The gods were unbound by law, free to shape their realms as they wished, without interference from the Creator. Their only decree: if a force arose that even the Creator could not foresee, it would return to intervene. 

Satisfied with its grand design, the Creator withdrew to the Reality of Ascension, a realm so far from the mortal coil that no one could even fathom its light. From there, it watched the game it had set into motion unfold—an endless play of creation, destruction, and rebirth. 

For an age beyond counting, the gods flourished in their separate dominions. They molded their multiverses as they saw fit, building and breaking, breathing life into suns and stars, and undoing them at a whim. But peace among the gods was always an illusion—a delicate balance teetering on the edge of collapse. 

From within their ranks, it was Nyros—denied a realm of his own—who dared to crave more. Jealousy, sharp as a dagger, cut through his soul. In his hunger for dominion, Nyros ventured into the Realm of Death, a domain of cold silence where no light dared shine. There, he carved out his kingdom: Hell, a citadel of misery and despair, where pain reigned as king and the terror of the lost stalked every shadow. His new realm thrived on suffering, the souls of the damned drawn to his abyss like moths to a flame. 

He was no longer just Nyros—he had become Nyros, Keeper of the Abyss. 

While Nyros reveled in his dominion, the other gods turned their gaze away, still lost in the endless beauty of their own creations. They continued to weave new worlds, filling the multiverses with mortal races, lesser gods, and cosmic wonders. But beneath their splendor, the balance of power had already begun to fracture. 

Unbeknownst to them, their unchecked divine might began to swirl in the depths of the multiverse, coalescing into something both ancient and new. From the marrow of existence itself, a being of terrible grandeur was born: The Star Dragon. Colossal and majestic, it drifted between realms, a child of both chaos and order, bound to neither. 

The Star Dragon had no purpose, no desire, only an innate pull toward creation. For eons, it floated through the void, contemplating its place in the cosmic tapestry. But at last, driven by some unknown impulse, it began its own creation: the Eleventh Multiverse, a realm shaped by its own will, born from the Star Dragon's very essence, although that was not his only creations, alongside the multiverse he created two beings that he called his brothers, giving powers equal to his own to each of them, the Star Dragon tore from its own might, creating : Shiro, the Dragon of Light, whose radiance could outshine the very cosmos, and Noir, the Dragon of Darkness, whose presence devoured even the fabric of reality. 

The multiverses grew vast, sprawling and unknowable. Yet in the farthest, darkest corners of the Unknown, something older than the gods stirred. A malevolent force, awakened from the depths of the primordial dark. This ancient evil, unseen even by the Creator, slithered forth, and with it came the Legion of Valthor—abominations, grotesque beasts of nightmare whose only desire was to corrupt the Reality of Life, to twist it into a realm of eternal despair. 

The gods, for all their power, were caught off guard. They rallied their forces, casting their divine light against the horrors that swept through the multiverses. But every strike they made, every spell cast in desperation, shattered uselessly against the nightmarish tide. These creatures were beyond the gods' understanding—born of something far older than creation itself. 

Galaxies burned. Suns collapsed into the black, snuffed out by the onslaught of terror. Entire worlds were consumed by the darkness, and the multiverses trembled on the edge of collapse. 

In this dark hour, the Star Dragon descended from the cosmic heights, flanked by its brothers, Shiro and Noir. Where they stepped, the very fabric of reality bent and warped—time, space, and matter quivering beneath their presence. They sought out the leader of the horde—a monstrosity of such immense power that even the gods trembled in its wake. Its breath alone tore planets from their orbits, and its gaze, filled with cosmic malice, could snuff out suns. 

The battle between the Star Dragon and this abomination was a clash that defied the very laws of existence. Shiro's light flared with the fury of a thousand stars, while Noir's shadow devoured legions of horrors in silence. But no matter how fiercely they fought, the beast endured. It was not of this reality—it was something older. 

Realizing that destruction was impossible, the Star Dragon devised a final, desperate plan—not to destroy the abomination, but to bind it. 

From the essence of the multiverses, the Star Dragon forged the Seven Orbs of Catastrophe, each a vessel of unimaginable power, capable of bending reality itself. With a final, perilous act, the Star Dragon fused two of these orbs, unleashing a cataclysmic force that shook the foundations of existence. The abomination was bound, imprisoned within a colossal orb—a prison-world so vast, it dwarfed entire galaxies. 

But the cost was unimaginable. The multiverses trembled, their very foundations cracked and weakened by the strain. As the monstrous king was dragged into the abyss, its voice echoed through all creation: 

"You have merely slowed the inevitable, this reality would crumble beneath me!" 

A silence fell over the Cosmos—not a silence of peace, but of dread. The gods, once so sure of their dominion, now knew the truth: this was not an end. It was merely a pause. The darkness would rise again, and when it did, not even the brightest light could hold it back. 

The realms, forever altered, waited with bated breath, for something worse than death now lingered on the horizon—watching, waiting... in the depths where light dared not tread. 

In the aftermath of the great battle, the cosmic silence that followed was broken only by the distant echoes of the Star Dragon's decree. Shiro, the Dragon of Light, was given a solemn task—to stand eternal watch over the Orb of Catastrophe, the prison that held within it a malevolence so vast, even the gods trembled at its name. For eons, Shiro remained vigilant, the radiant guardian of the orb, his very presence keeping the ancient evil contained. 

Yet, as time flowed like rivers in a forgotten world, Shiro could not ignore the festering resentment that stirred within him. The aura of the beast locked deep within the orb's core whispered into the very essence of his being, a dark and ceaseless hum that corroded his peace. Shiro, a being of light and life, could not abide by the shadowed power that pulsed beneath his watch. And so, on a fateful day, his resolve hardened. 

Shiro descended upon the Orb. 

He stood before the immense prison, its surface cold and lifeless, still throbbing with the remnants of the primordial struggle. With a surge of his divine power, Shiro made a decision that would echo through the ages—he would cover the darkness within with the brilliance of life. 

His wings flared wide, erupting with blinding light as his magic coursed through the orb. In an instant, desolate wastelands were transformed. Mountains soared toward the heavens, their peaks gleaming with eternal snow. Oceans swelled, vast and uncharted, teeming with magic-infused waters. Forests and hills stretched far beyond the horizon, infused with life and boundless potential. This orb, once a barren prison, became a colossal world—a living seal—that dwarfed any other, a world with both beauty and purpose. 

But Shiro did not stop there. He infused the orb with magic and vast resources, creating a realm that was vibrant and self-sustaining. From the dust of creation, he forged races, each designed with care and intent. He breathed life into humans, versatile and resilient, destined to dominate the plains and valleys. He carved the vampires from the shadows, alluring yet cursed with a thirst for eternal life. Giants roamed the towering peaks, their strength a reflection of the mountains themselves. Elves emerged as stewards of nature, while the dwarfs delved deep into the earth, mining the veins of magic that coursed through the world's core. 

The beastmen, primal and untamed, thrived in the wild, while the Seraphians, angelic beings of light, took to the skies, tasked with guarding the heavens above. In the deep caverns of the world, Shiro created the Myrmidons, hive-minded insectoids, relentless in their unity and cunning. And then there were the Necraliths, pale, ghost-like specters existing between life and death, feared for their command over the dead. 

But despite Shiro's efforts to smother the darkness beneath layers of light and life, it seeped through. The influence of the malevolence imprisoned at the orb's core manifested in twisted forms—the Felborn. Dark, corrupted creatures, born from the residual evil that lingered deep within the world, they were vile beasts of cunning and malice. They roamed the lands in secret, hidden from Shiro's sight, and wherever they went, ruin followed. 

Their presence angered Shiro. This world was meant to be his sanctuary of light. 

Determined to rid his creation of the Felborn's blight, Shiro sought them out, but they were elusive, always vanishing into the shadows. Enraged, he descended into the heart of the orb—into the very core where the darkness pulsed—and there, he forged a powerful seal, a final barrier to bind the Felborn within the earth itself. 

With a thunderous voice that reverberated through the realms, Shiro unleashed his spell: 

"Lumen Arcana: Chains of Aether! Bound thou art, by the light of my being! I shackle thee to the abyss; the sun shall be forever hidden from thine accursed gaze!" 

Chains of radiant light surged into the ground, wrapping the darkness in an unbreakable grip, imprinting the very ground with a gate. To safeguard the seal, Shiro constructed an intricate gate hidden from all, its entrance known only to him. For a time, his mind was at peace, believing the darkness had been locked away, unable to corrupt the world further. 

In this newfound tranquility, Shiro turned to creation once more. He felt an emptiness, a longing, and thus, he shaped for himself a consort—The Seraphian Queen. She was a being of radiant beauty, her wings shimmering with celestial light. Their union was destined to birth a race of unparalleled potential: the Dragonoids. 

The Dragonoids were Shiro's greatest creation. Humanoid in form, they possessed skin that glowed with an inner light, their bodies adorned with small, shimmering scales along their arms and legs. Their fangs and claws were sharp, a reflection of their draconic ancestry, yet their true potential was hidden within—the power of Awakening. 

When a Dragonoid Awakened, their transformation was both magnificent and terrifying. They sprouted wings of immense strength, horns of obsidian, and their scales spread across their bodies in brilliant, intricate patterns. Their senses sharpened beyond mortal comprehension, and their mastery over the elements became absolute—some wielding fire, others storms, ice, or shadow. The Awakened Dragonoids were gods among their kind, capable of reshaping the world itself. 

Yet with such power came a price. The Dragonoids' strength grew without end, and as they aged, it became harder to control. If they failed to master their power, they risked succumbing to the primal fury within, devolving into mindless beasts driven only by rage, because unlike the dragons, they were not perfect, and unlike the Seraphians they were not handmade. So, the Dragonoids relied on ancient techniques of meditation, restraint, and discipline—methods passed down to them by Shiro himself. 

For millennia, Shiro lived among his creations, guiding them, loving them as his own. The Dragonoids flourished, their wisdom and strength unmatched by any race. 

As time passed, the ever-growing power of the Dragons proved to be both a gift and a curse, cause the power kept the monsters sealed but it also could be drawn by the monsters and so instead of dwelling in the Realm of Life, they left to the Realm of Ascension. Before they departed, they hid away their immense power in sacred artifacts and tomes, preserving their knowledge for those who would one day need it, and giving enough energy to the seal. These treasures were entrusted to the Dragonoids, who swore to keep them hidden until the time of great need arrived. 

And so, the Dragons disappeared from the Realm, leaving behind only their wisdom, their legends, and the echoes of their greatness. 

Shiro too withdrew, watching from afar as the world he had forged continued to grow and evolve. But beneath the mountains, the forests, and the seas, the darkness stirred once more, waiting for the day it would rise again. 

Eons passed since the departure of the dragons, and the world flourished in their absence. Civilizations rose from the earth like mighty trees, with each race claiming their dominion across the vast landscapes of the world. 

The Humans settled near the edges of the Forest of Kain, using its towering canopy as a natural barrier against invaders.

The Elves, masters of the woodland realms, spread across the three great forests—Kain, Jace, and Nate—their hidden cities blending seamlessly with the trees.

The Seraphians crafted magnificent citadels in the skies, built upon clouds, far removed from the affairs of the world below.

The Giants claimed the mighty Mountains of Gale, their cities carved into the clouds themselves, a kingdom in the skies. 

The Beastmen, divided into tribes, made their homes in the wilds, living in harmony with the forests and coasts. Beneath the mountains,

the Dwarves carved vast subterranean kingdoms, their vast halls hidden from the prying eyes of the surface dwellers.

The Vampires, thirsting for blood and eternal night, built their kingdoms in the shadows, hiding in caves or the ruins of forgotten cities. At one time, they even seized control of a human kingdom, making it their own under the guise of nobility.

The elusive Necraliths, pale, spectral beings, were rarely seen—rumors placed them within the haunted Valley of the Unending Mists.

Meanwhile, the Myrmidons, the hive-minded insectoids, remained hidden beneath the earth and near the ocean's edge, rarely stepping into the light. 

But towering above them all in both power and splendor were the Dragonoids, the heirs of Shiro's divine legacy. They made their home in Ryūjin No Sumai, a land of unparalleled majesty. Towering mountains brushed the heavens, while ancient forests teemed with life, and rivers shimmered like liquid magic. Their capital, Draekoria, was a city of crystalline spires, their tips reaching toward the clouds, wrapped in winds whispered with the stories of old. 

The great nations stood tall, with their capitals embodying their people's strength: 

Aetherion – A kingdom ruled with celestial wisdom by the Elves. 

Draekoria – Home of the Dragonoids, mighty and revered. 

Vul'Zathar – A city born of diverse nature, ruled by the beastmen deep within the thick network of trees within the deep forests. 

Elysira – The floating city of the Seraphians.

Thal'Meris – The kingdom beneath the waves, home to the Myrmidons. 

Nekrosyndra – Realm of the Necraliths, where death lingers. 

Vermyssia – Domain of the vampires, a city of shadows. 

Solis Imperium – The blazing heart of the human empire. 

Khar'Nath – The stronghold of the giants. 

Luminthar – A place where the magic of Dwarfs flows like water, known only in legend. 

Thus, a New Tale began, a Tale of the Descendants