This day was ordained to be singular.

The players had descended upon the Starlit Realm.

The gears of fate creaked into motion, grinding slowly toward destiny!

Yet, a shadow lingered, subtle and wrong.

For reasons veiled,

Across the Dominion of the Celestials, those within mighty factions felt an unseen weight crush their hearts,

Their pulses stuttered, breath caught beneath an oppressive dread.

Solspire City, the radiant heart of the Hissarion Empire.

Though twilight cloaked the world, the city blazed eternal, its nights aglow with splendor.

Magical gems, gleaming like stars, adorned the towering walls, banishing darkness while proclaiming the grandeur of this sovereign human realm.

“Cass, when will these otherworldly strangers arrive?”

“No clue! All I know is guarding this gate is a soul-draining chore!”

At the city’s majestic portal, two armored sentinels, clad in steel and gripping halberds, lounged in boredom, trading weary glances.

Then,

“Gentlemen, might I pass into the city?”

A voice, smooth as velvet, stirred their ears.

The guards froze, their gazes snapping toward the sound.

Unseen until that moment, a man stood before the gate.

A singular figure.

Tall and lithe, with raven locks and eyes of obsidian, his countenance striking, his gaze an abyss of depth.

He was clad in flowing ebon robes, embroidered with intricate, arcane sigils—subtle yet majestic, a perfect mirror to his presence.

By his features, he seemed a young lord, yet to be seasoned by the ways of the world.

Yet, an ancient weight clung to him, the weathered aura of one who had endured eons, as if he had beheld the rise and ruin of empires, a sage who had plumbed the depths of mortal folly.

A living paradox.

The guards, hardened by years at their post, had witnessed countless souls pass through.

Yet never had they beheld one such as he.

Still,

This was no man to trifle with.

“Y-Yes, my lord, entry requires a toll of one silver coin!”

The guards, jarred from their stupor, rallied. One, shrinking slightly, addressed the stranger.

“I carry no coin.”

The man, draped in opulence, shook his head with startling candor.

“Er, this…”

Sir, garbed in such finery, you claim no coin?

At least don roughspun cloth to play the pauper!

Entry tolls are the law of the land!

A figure of your stature—spare us lowly guards this trouble!

Exasperation gnawed at them.

“But this—will it do?”

They braced to pay the toll themselves.

Yet the man, his presence ethereal, offered a gentle smile and produced a fiery crimson crystal, dangling it before their eyes.

“This…”

Their pupils contracted, breath seizing as they stood transfixed.

In that instant,

Their world narrowed to the crystal in his hand.

A small, radiant stone, a flame dancing within, pulsing with rings of pristine fire magic.

An Emberheart Crystal?

A treasure forged in the searing perils of the Far South Forbidden Expanse!

Brimming with pure fire magic, it was the obsession of every fire mage.

Its worth was beyond measure—

A single stone could claim an entire avenue of Solspire’s grandest shops.

Rarer still, it was a prize no market could sate.

All knew of the treasures buried in the Far South,

But that was a forbidden realm.

Countless avaricious souls had perished there, their bones bleaching in its merciless sands.

To seize such a prize was one feat; to escape that crucible was another.

And now, this marvel gleamed before them.

Though humble, the guards were not ignorant.

Their vision swam with disbelief.

“My lord… this, this… we cannot make change for such a treasure!”

One guard, swallowing hard, stammered.

No answer came.

In a fleeting shimmer, the figure vanished.

Only the crimson crystal remained, resting silently on the earth, a testament to his passage.

“My lord?”

“Cass… Cass… did he mean… no need for change?”

Their gazes locked on the stone, hearts pounding.

A surge of exhilaration left them dizzy.

“That… that must be his intent…”

“Then…”

They shared a glance, their eyes blazing with unspoken fervor.

“Aaron, I’ll guard this gate until my dying day!”

…

“Tch… so this is the grandest city of this realm?”

“Intriguing!”

Even as night enveloped the world,

Magic lanterns flickered, casting a radiant glow. Folk of every race and garb hastened through the streets.

Though wholly unlike the steel-and-concrete sprawl of modernity,

The pulse of society beat as one.

Great cities thrived in the dark.

And today, a young man, faintly alien to this bustle, joined their ranks.

He gazed about like a rustic, eyes wide with childlike wonder at every sight.

Yet his otherworldly grace drew the eyes of passersby, none daring to mock.

This was Draven Zorathar.

He could bestow the power of Formshift upon his followers; naturally, he wielded such magic with ease!

A trifling feat.

The game had only begun; he had no desire to reveal his true form and unleash pandemonium.

Thus, he donned a human guise, slipping through the gates to wander the Hissarion Empire’s shining jewel.

The players yet tarried in their Havens of Beginnings. He would first explore this human bastion, weaving the threads of his grand design.

As for the Emberheart Crystal,

A treasure that set mortal hearts aflame with desire,

To him?

A mere bauble, worthless as dust.

His slumbering lair brimmed with such trinkets, scattered like pebbles. With a flicker of his will, he could conjure mountains of them.

They were too coarse to grace his repose.

Though he wielded unrivaled power, the harbinger of world’s end, he had no wish to vex those who were, to him, but fleeting motes.

Such pettiness was beneath his grandeur!

A matter of vision and magnanimity.

Once, he too had dwelt among them, lost in the mundane mire of mortal life.

But should any mote dare bare its fangs, that was a different reckoning.

“Seize her! Catch her! That wretched Dusk Elf—a thief!”

As Draven strolled leisurely through the vibrant streets,

A tumult erupted ahead, cries piercing the throng.

Amid the chaos, a shadow darted forth, hurtling straight toward him.