The Age of Starvation (0 A.Ss. to 2500)

'When the skies burned and the world turned to ashes, hope seemed lost. The War of the Suns, as it became known, had ended the grand age of civilizations, reducing continents to radioactive craters and wiping out nearly 80% of life on the planet. What remained were shadows of empires, scattered among ruins and poisoned deserts.

But then, something awakened.

Just as the last cities succumbed to relentless cold and desperate hunger, the precursor structures, long untouched and misunderstood, opened. These were colossal constructs of metal and stone, cathedrals from an unknown era, scattered across the planet. Some lay hidden beneath the earth, rising amid the ruins; others, already exposed, began to glow with a spectral light, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed to echo the planet’s own heartbeat.

At first, fear kept people away. But hunger and desperation always outweighed fear. The first bold souls entered. Few returned.

However, what they reported forever changed the fate of what remained of humanity. Inside the Bastions, as they came to be called, were endless corridors, mechanisms that tested the explorers' bodies and minds, and creatures seemingly molded by the structures’ own will. But for those who survived, the rewards were incalculable: impossible artifacts, technological relics, weapons, and secrets that defied the very understanding of reality.

That same year, the climate began to heal. Forests, once reduced to blackened charcoal, slowly reemerged. Lakes, previously poisoned by radiation, turned crystalline. The eternal cold of the nuclear winter waned, giving way to an unstable yet promising climate. Nature was reborn, and the Bastions were the cause.

However, this rebirth did not bring peace. With the planet's resources exhausted, the survivors formed the Gray Fiefs, enclaves of power built on strength and technological control. The few who possessed knowledge of the past ruled with iron fists, keeping their populations on the edge of starvation while vying for territories and access to the Bastions.

The Age of Starvation had begun. A world where only the strongest and most cunning would survive, where the Bastions were both hope and condemnation, and where the past still rose among the ruins to judge the remnants of a civilization that had once dared to play god.

"It was not the awakening of the great structures that ended the Age of the Gray Fiefs, but rather the insatiable desire of those who ventured into them. From hunger and struggle, empires were born, and from the steel of the fallen, rose banners that still flutter today." — Primary Archivist of Lora, Treatise on the Order of Nations.

The End of the Fiefs and the Awakening of Nations (Year 0 A.Ss. – Year 300 A.Ss.)

The Age of Starvation persisted, but the political and social landscape of the world changed irreversibly. During the first centuries after the awakening of the Sleeping Bastions, climate stability and the renewed flow of technology redefined the surviving domains. The old feudal system, sustained by brute force and misery, began to crumble as new power centers emerged from the wreckage of the past.

The continent of Laurexian was the first to reorganize. The small duchies and kingdoms, once isolated islands of power, began consolidating their forces, breaking the chains of old feudalism. Walled cities expanded, connected by rebuilt roads and new trade posts. Hictia and Irlem, which were once mere territories of belligerent lords, transformed into structured kingdoms, their rulers claiming not just lands but a common identity. The very idea of a “nation” was born in this period, grounded less in lineages and more in loyalty to a collective ideal.

But while Laurexian raised its kingdoms, other lands walked distinct paths, shaped by the realities of their own legacies.

The Divergent Fates of the Peoples

On the other side of the world, Cirus, an empire that grew from pillage and forced unification, extended its claws over deserts and valleys, absorbing remaining fiefs into a brutal and pragmatic state machine. The emperor did not rule only with ordinary armies but also with the strength of Past Weapons — artifacts obtained in the ruins of the Bastions, whose operation defied known natural laws. Among them, war machines that moved without mounts, vibrating blades that cut steel effortlessly, and relics that conjured destruction with a simple thought.

Turus, in contrast, abandoned territorial struggle and turned to faith. The Bastions were considered sacred, and those who extracted artifacts without permission were condemned as thieves of gods. Rulers were chosen not by strength but by the interpretation of ancient texts discovered during incursions. This dogma, however, did not prevent Turus from engaging in geopolitics — the hidden knowledge of the Bastions was as valuable a currency as iron and blood.

Small coastal states were reborn through intercontinental trade. Merchants from Florem and Lora created routes connecting distant kingdoms, selling not only grains and metals but past technology obtained illegally from incursions. These cities became zones of intrigue and innovation, where different peoples and cultures mixed, and where swords and firearms could be seen side by side, while words of peace and conspiracies crossed in the same taverns.

While some sought to rebuild civilizations, others only wanted to dominate through technological supremacy. Some surviving fiefs, armed with weapons from forgotten eras, became true forge-kingdoms, where everything was decided by the number of artifacts a lord possessed. These Artifact Wars shaped the fate of many lands, as the possession of a single ultra-technological weapon could determine control over a vast territory.

The peculiarity of this era lay in the coexistence of different technological eras in the same space. While kingdoms like Hítia still depended on steel and cavalry, Cirus's armies already marched alongside pilotless machines. In some places, gunpowder and projectiles reigned supreme, while in others, sorcery and ultra-precursor technology decided the fate of battles. Isolated peoples, who had not seen foreigners for centuries, came into contact with nations that possessed the light of the Bastions. Some were absorbed, others resisted to the end. This chaotic coexistence of eras and mentalities made diplomacy a difficult art. Any treaty could be broken by the discovery of a single powerful artifact. Today's alliance could be tomorrow's war.

At the end of three centuries of this unbridled growth, the balance of power began to stabilize. The weaker nations were assimilated, the great empires consolidated their borders, and a precarious geopolitical balance formed. Conflicts did not cease but took new forms: battles for influence, commercial disputes, and, above all, a silent race for lost knowledge and technology. The world was still a tapestry of mixed times, a battlefield where feudal lords wielded relics that could rival gods, and where empires rose and fell not just by steel but by understanding the hidden forces that shaped reality. The Age of Starvation continued, but now the hungry mouths longed for more than just food: power, glory, and a place in history.'

'Do not blame me for removing this excerpt from the incredible book Treatise on the Order of Nations. Unfortunately, we do not know who this great writer was, as the Feudal territories to the north of Gaetia were authoritarian and, perhaps, the author took precautions to avoid persecution. This amazing author also wrote about everything that happened before the War of the Suns... He was someone ancient, who lived through all of this and decided to record it in this remarkable book, which I highly recommend reading. His last contribution was in 2386, when he is said to have migrated to Laurexia and disappeared.'

"And thus, these pages come to an end, but my journey does not. The words engraved in these tomes are but echoes of a greater story, one that cannot be confined within leather covers or restricted to fragile paper. I have seen empires rise and fall, witnessed the ascension and demise of kings, observed the dance of centuries like tides that carve the shore. But now, I cease to be only the one who observes and writes. I depart to shape, to leave my mark not just on parchment, but on the very fabric of reality.

I do not know when, or if, I shall ever return to this role of chronicler, for there are things to be done, destinies to be traced, worlds to be built, and others to be challenged. My quill rests, but my will does not. For if history is the testimony of times, then I choose to be one of its authors.

Goodbye, but not a hollow goodbye, rather one laden with promise. What comes next will be felt for generations. The wind will carry my name, the earth will guard my steps, and the dawn will rise under the shadow of my legacy. For if all I lived was to understand this world, then now, finally, it is my turn to shape it. Apph, Archivist of the golden plains."