Prolouge

In the beginning, there was only the silent void. From that nothingness, God sculpted His first children:

“The ancient beasts”

They were creatures of pure instinct, their existence defined by a singular, brutal rhythm—to hunt, to kill, to devour.

For eons, this was the only truth. But eternity breeds boredom, and the Creator soon grew weary of this simple, violent cycle.

He yearned for something more, a life form of greater complexity.

And so, He created “Humans”.

They were a marvel, a species blessed with keen intellect and a boundless capacity for creation.

They built cities that scraped the heavens and forged bonds of love that were, for a time, a source of wonder for their Maker.

But within these brilliant souls, darker seeds took root. They discovered the intoxicating burn of rage, the gnawing hunger of lust, the cold poison of ego, and the bitter fire of hatred.

Love, once a pure and simple thing, became a reason to wage war—a justification for violence enacted to protect their own, or simply to satisfy the hollow ambitions of their hearts.

They learned to destroy as skillfully as they created.

And through it all, God stood as a silent, detached observer. He did not intervene. He did not guide.

He simply watched the conflicts unfold, fascinated by the beautiful, terrible evolution born from their suffering.

To Him, their pain was merely a catalyst for growth.

But not all of heaven shared this cold philosophy. One did not see growth;

he saw needless cruelty.

One archangel, whose compassion for the fledgling race outweighed his fear, dared to defy the almighty.

The rebellion was an act of love, but it was doomed from the start.

The archangel and his followers were vastly outnumbered, and their passionate defiance was ultimately broken against the unyielding might of the Creator’s loyalists.

The celestial war was brief, but the consequences were absolute.

The clash between the Divine Blades—heavenly weapons of unimaginable power—tore the very fabric of reality.

In the final, cataclysmic exchange, two of the three blades, Justice and Death, shattered.

Their divine essence, a torrent of raw potential, rained down upon the mortal realm. This event, The Shattering, was the genesis of magic.

The third blade, forged for Punishment, fell alongside them, scarred but whole.

The world, now known as Ayla, was irrevocably changed.

The divine energy bled into the very soil, altering the nature of life itself. Mundane animals and ancient beasts were twisted into magical monstrosities, their old instincts now amplified by supernatural power.

But this power did not bless humanity.

In the children of men, magic became a rare and terrifying affliction.

Those born with it were not celebrated, they were feared, hunted down like animals, and dragged away to dark rooms for cruel experiments, their bodies and souls broken upon the anvils of fear and envy.

Midst this new and dangerous world, one of the fallen Divine Blades was discovered.

Upon its singular power, a kingdom was founded, and a line of kings was established, their rule an iron fist passed down through generations of descendants.

Thus began the Age of Man, an era built on a foundation of divine wreckage and whispered fears.