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'The Dark Shadow Sovereign of the obsidian night...
The roaring tempest heeds the summons—
Radiance ascends the firmament, the gale akin to a solemn invocation...
And each supplication... the birth of mageia.'
— The Ancient Inscriptions of Arkstorm: The Lost Cantos of Destiny
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Within a fragment of spacetime, upon a great continent of mageia, a realm never vacant of flickering embers and the iron armaments stacked beneath the weight of the Great Demon War...
The indigo aurora skies shimmered like a perpetual twilight. Obsidian stormclouds expanded, veiling the entire horizon. The rain fell with the weight of a collapsing world. A tempest lashed across the jewel hills and the surrounding forests.
Amidst the climate's fury, the roar of nature surged like a cataclysm attempting to shatter the earth. A multitude of sounds gradually permeated the senses of one who had slumbered beneath the throne of darkness for aeons. The ears of the young man slowly perceived the external world, sharpening with every passing second.
The roar of the torrential downpour.
The roar of the violent thunder cleaving the air.
The roar of the stormcloud's thunderous upheaval.
The roar of the wind, tearing like a chorus of howling souls.
The roar of the gale, battering against the citadel of mageia.
Droplets of rain reflected a shimmering radiance against the twilight sky, resembling a veil draped between the world and the heavens.
Seraph struggled to force his eyes open. At last, consciousness returned. The young man swept his gaze across his surroundings. Dark mists coiled about him. He knew not what had transpired, nor where he remained. He knew not how he had arrived in this alien circumstance and unfamiliar domain.
As the young man strained to adjust his vision to the gloom, he discovered himself reclining upon an infirmary bed. The pungent scent of medicinal remedies and herbal potions drifted throughout the chamber. Every object bore the seamless integration of a mageia era.
Around him stretched a vast Infirmary Hall. Dozens of vacant beds lined the space. The pristine white walls clearly marked this as a sanctum dedicated to the healing arts. Numerous windows lined the room, offering a sense of openness and ventilation.
Through an open window, the violent storm outside remained visible. The wind howled with such ferocity that the great trees bent, nearly yielding to the earth.
"Where... where am I?—Cough!!" Seraph wheezed, his breath hitching as a violent tremor racked his lungs.
The moment sound left his throat, the young man sensed the internal trauma ravaging his vessel. Agony radiated from his chest. A mere whisper ignited a searing heat as if his flesh were being flayed by embers. Every breath forced his ribs to grind in torment. He felt the ache of a thousand bruises, a systemic resonance of pain.
Looking down, he discovered his torso swathed in bandages. The young man could scarcely believe his eyes. His wide gaze fixed upon the grievous wound. He marveled at his own predicament, unable to discern the cause. He began to trace his memories, questioning whether this was a mere dream or a harsh reality.
"What's… what's happened to me?" Seraph croaked through the searing agony.
Suddenly, agony lanced through his cranium. A deluge of memories surged into his mind like a tsunami. It was a vision of a certain individual's life, from childhood through the years of a young man. He was forced to witness the entire lifespan of a growing child within the span of a heartbeat.
The tidal wave of recollection arrived with a torture that felt as if a million needles were piercing his brain. It was a descent into an executioner's pit. His skull threatened to fracture. The suffering was beyond the threshold of human endurance.
The young man clutched his temples and unleashed a primal scream.
[Vwoom!]
Faint ripples of mageia radiated outward. His cry emanated a mysterious force, a wave of energy that surged gently yet firmly. The force manifested a thin, translucent barrier in a spherical radius around him. Objects within the chamber drifted upward, hoisted by invisible hands.
Seraph felt the burning torture. He understood nothing of his condition. He knew not the source of this affliction. His brain felt as if it were being boiled alive. The young man had known illness before, but this torment was entirely alien. It felt as if his mind were being scorched, as if his human soul were being directly flayed.
Sometimes he felt as if he were being incinerated.
Sometimes he felt as if he were being frozen.
Sometimes he felt as if he were being electrocuted.
Sometimes he felt as if he were being pierced by infinitesimal needles.
The young man felt as if he had fallen into a world of absolute darkness, utterly alone. All sensations cycled incessantly. The entirety of the torment proceeded without a single sound escaping, and with no one to perceive it.
The more Seraph screamed, the more the rainstorm lashed down. Lightning struck the treetops until it erupted in explosions.
[Boom!]
The force of the lightning strikes sent violent vibrations outward, momentarily deafening the denizens. The thunderous roar of the sky completely drowned out the young man's screams.
After a short while, the pain gradually subsided. The agonizing sensations slowly dissipated. His mind became clearer than ever before. It was as if the previous moment had been nothing more than a nightmare.
As the suffering began to wane, Seraph started to regain contact with the outside world once more. The young man felt his entire body burning as if a flamus embers blazed within. His throat was flushed crimson from the intensity of his shrieks. Sweat drenched his face. His whole body was soaked with droplets. The bed was as wet as if the rain had surged into the room.
Once his consciousness returned, the vision before him became sharp. His thoughts had shifted entirely. It was not that the world in his eyes had changed, but rather the memories.
"Laurasia… The continent of Laurasia," Seraph breathed, his voice barely a rasp. He stared at his youthful palms as the truth settled in. "To think... a world of mageia. It's all real, then."
Before Seraph had faced that torment, new memories had interlaced within his mind. It was the remembrance of two human souls from two different and distant dimensions merging into one. His brain was like a sacred vessel, forging the two souls into a single entity.
One was merely an outlander from a dimension far beyond.
One was an acomage of the Sanctus Sanctum.
Currently, Seraph resided within the Kingdom of Arkflame of Laurasia. This continent was the land situated at the very heart of the world. The social fabric and the daily lives of the folk in this era were within the age of mageia arts. The implements of existence were fused with energia engineering until they became an indivisible whole.
The way of life in Laurasia was largely bound to the tilling of earth and the rearing of livestock. Beyond its borders and across the distant seas lay the dark continents and mystical realms awaiting exploration and new discovery.
Originally, Laurasia was a vast continental expanse where various races dwelled in tranquility. Myriad cities and villages were scattered across the entirety of the continent. Many small towns had unified to form kingdoms.
The perimeters of these cities were often surrounded by great forests and beast dens, where occasionally powerful and ferocious beasts would slip into the city walls. The primary occupations of most folk were those of the farmer and the forest hunter.
However, approximately one hundred years ago, the Demon Legion invaded Laurasia. The demon swarms assaulted the continent where humanity resided for the sole purpose of slaughter. They spread across all of Laurasia to consume every forest and meadow, transmuting them into dark demonic domains. The lands usurped by the Demon Legion were transformed into a hell of death, filled only with skeletons and carcasses.