AGNIKHAAT EMPIRE, the land of eternal flames. This domain claims one-fifth of the continent, stretching from the rugged northern plateaus to the lush southern desert forests. It expands from the fertile western banks of the Amilan River to the scorched eastern Lyra Desert and the vast, shimmering Golden Desert at its heart—a diverse landscape baked under a relentless sun. Here, the people revere fire as the primal element of creation and purity, adhering to the Seven Ways of Fire as they offer prayers to the seven fire spirits:
Oris – The fire of creation
Arson – The fire of destruction
Nyra – The fire of life
Tejas – The fire of purity
Hyrun – The fire of truth
Maijin – The fire of might
Aevis – The fire of eternity
It stands as the strongest, largest, and wealthiest realm in all of Amilanga.
Year 1394, the 6th of Nole (the fourth month). A black and red locomotive, propelled by ancient magic, surges across the boundless red sands, leaving a trail of crackling sparks in its wake. Ahead, a massive metropolis rises where the desert meets the sea: Solaren, the capital of Agnikhaat. As the train pierces the city limits, a young girl presses against the glass to look outside. The streets are alive with joy, as citizens decorate their homes and avenues for the fast-approaching Summer Festival.
As the train thunders past the central market, she slides the window open. The air is heavy with the richness of exotic spices; merchants hawk every imaginable ware as the festivities draw near. The tracks lead past the Great Colosseum, where a small army of workers is busy renovating the stone tiers, painting the structure in vibrant shades of crimson for the festival games. Finally, the train slows to a halt at the station.
Station Announcer: "joming city to Solaren Hyper-Express has arrived on platform thirteen. All passengers are requested to prepare for disembarkation."
As the girl steps onto the platform, her eyes alight with wonder and unspoken dreams,
Unknown Voice: "Excuse me, Miss? Could you make way, please?"
The voice belonged to a young man dressed in a crisp white shirt and a loose-fitting white hooded jacket, accented with black border stripes.
Mira: "Oh! Uh... I'm so sorry! It's my first time here. I was just... mesmerized."
Young Man: "It's alright. I was exactly the same when I first arrived from Joming."
Mira: "So you're from Joming, huh? It must be nice living in a city like that. I'm from a small village near Nooljet."
The young man raised an eyebrow, looking her over. "From Nooljet? That's strange. I've never seen the Point-to-Point Hyper Express make a stop at a village station. Who are you, exactly?"
Mira: "Oh! That's because I'm a First-Class Beast Manalogist from Tysle Magic Science University," she said, her voice tinged with a bit of pride. "My name is Lyra Lues. I was invited by the Solaren Royal Science University to host a guest lecture. I suppose I'm getting the VIP treatment."
Osmian: "A bit of a big shot, eh?" He gave a lopsided grin. "The name's Osmian. Just Osmian."
Mira: "It's a pleasure. Judging by your uniform, are you a student at the Joming Cadet Academy?"
Osmian's face went pale as the realization hit him. "Ah! I totally forgot! I missed my class train and I'm already two days late! My instructor is going to nag me to death! Bye, Lyra!"
Before she could even blink, Osmian vanished. He moved with such explosive speed that he covered several meters in a heartbeat, racing toward the station entrance.
Mira: "Wow... look at that speed. A nineteen-year-old Grand Master? What a monster..."
High above the bustling station, a mysterious girl sat perched on the roof of a nearby building, casually eating a chicken wrap. She watched the chaos below with sharp, observant eyes.
"Hmm," she murmured to herself, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Seems like it won't be boring this year after all."
Meanwhile...
In North Solaren, a unit of city guards patrolled the streets. Their armor glimmered with a slight orange hue, bearing the bright red logo of the Maijin Fire Way, draped in cloaks of red silk. They walked with an undeniable sense of honor, the pride for their land written clearly across their faces. But as they chatted cheerfully, a sharp alarm chirped from the captain's wrist-device.
Voice (via comms): "This is Patrol Unit 41A. Members from the Cinders and Celyns clans are at it again on Mithran Street. We request immediate backup!"
Guard Captain: "Shit... those guys are making a mess earlier than usual this year. Hurry up!"
Mithran Street
A man went flying through the air, crashing into a stone wall as remnants of fire magic flickered around his body. Dozens of men from both the Cinders and Celyns clans were locked in a brutal brawl, the street turning into a chaotic blur of sparks and shouting.
From one side, a tall, muscular old man with a bald head and a whitish-green beard stepped forward, leading his kin. From the opposite side, an old man with long white hair, a flowing mustache, and a deep blue overcoat marched toward him, flanked by his own men.
Both leaders screamed simultaneously: "Bastards!" / "Fools!"
Cinders Elder (Bald): "We are here to see His Majesty the Second Prince and attend the ceremony of our Young Master! Do not stand in our way!"
Celyns Elder (Long Hair): "Then why are you fighting here like small children, destroying the roads and walls?"
Together: "It shouldn't be like this!"
In an instant, the two elders closed the distance. Their fists, enhanced by concentrated Fire Magic, collided with a deafening roar. The resulting shockwave rippled through the air, cracking the pavement and shattering windows for blocks around. Seeing their leaders clash, the rest of the clan members joined the fray, turning the street into a small-scale battlefield.
The city guards, huddled in nearby alleyways, could only watch in terror. "Why the hell are Profound Heaven Stage elders fighting in the middle of the street?" one murmured, clutching his spear.
Suddenly, the violence ceased. Every man on the street froze, their heads turning in the same direction as a heavy silence fell.
City Guard: "Captain... what's happening?" Guard Captain (shaking): "It's... it's his aura."
A man clad in city guard armor, distinguished by a magnificent golden cape, entered the street. His mere presence sent shivers of primal fear through the crowd, yet it was balanced by a strange sense of joy and admiration from the citizens. This was the Commander of the Solaren City Guards: Melvin Hawns, an Ethereal Stage powerhouse.
Melvin: "Elders of the Cinders and Celyns clans, greetings. I request that you both return to your respective clan quarters and rest without causing further trouble. I trust you understand my meaning?"
The two elders, previously so arrogant, bowed their heads immediately.
Elders: "Yes, Commander Melvin."
Meanwhile...
Deep within the Royal Palace, tucked away in the West Tower, was a room of striking modesty. It was a space unfitting for the grandeur of the palace, yet it was the home of the Royal Advisor to the Ignis bloodline: Anjan Meril.
Anjan sat by a small lamp, his eyes tracing the ancient records of the Third War of Fall. He didn't look up as a presence entered the room.
"Has everyone arrived?" Anjan asked, his voice calm but heavy.
"Most have," Melvin Hawns replied, standing near the doorway, his golden cape now still. "Only Ashes Academy from Fostan City has yet to arrive. It seems their train was delayed; a migration path of Infernal Bulls intercepted the tracks."
Anjan sighed, finally closing the heavy tome. "The Master of the Spirit Temple... his health has deteriorated once again. It seems he won't live past this summer."
Melvin's expression darkened. "Then it seems this will be the last summer of our peaceful era."
"It appears so," Anjan agreed. "With his passing, the four-hundred-year treaty will expire. The peace we have known will end with his final breath."
Melvin looked at the book on the desk. "Why do you spend your time reading about those dark times, Advisor?"
Anjan looked at the flickering flame of the lamp. "Melvin, our First Queen built this land out of the darkness. Our Founding Emperor made it stronger during the dark times. The world is always cold and dark, but it is the flame within us that has kept it bright. In the near future, that darkness will push forward once again. When it does, we must be prepared to burn even fiercer than before."
Melvin stood tall, striking his fist against his chest in a formal salute. "Yes, Advisor. We may die, but the flames are eternal."
Anjan nodded slowly, staring into the fire. "The flames are eternal."