The World of Ferand
The Age of Titans and Dragons

The Vastsea Forest sprawled endlessly, drenched in the scorching rays of the blazing sun. The heat was blistering, enough to boil the blood in one's veins.

Suddenly, the sky roared with a thunderous voice, echoing across the heavens and shaking the very earth.
“Arilethos! How dare you steal the authority of thunder?!”

The words exploded like a divine lightning strike, jarring Owen back to his senses. He hadn’t even had time to grasp the situation before a mythical sight unfolded before his eyes.

Two colossal beings towered over the forest like walking gods. One was a titan, over a hundred meters tall, his body wreathed in violet lightning. A strange hide wrapped around his waist, and in his massive hand, he gripped a radiant silver spear, thrumming with destructive thunder. Opposing him was an equally massive creature—a blue thunder dragon, its scales gleaming like steel and crackling with arcs of electric energy.

The clash between them made the world tremble. Earthquakes cracked the ground, the sky was split open by thunderbolts, and the once-mighty trees of the Vastsea Forest were trampled into mulch beneath their titanic feet. Winds howled and carried clouds of dust, howling like the wrath of heaven itself.

Despite his majestic appearance, the dragon was heavily wounded. Blood flowed down his glistening scales, his massive form marred by deep gashes. Yet his will remained unbroken.

He reared his head and roared in fury.
“Atrely! Since when did the titans become lying scoundrels?! The power I wield—the authority I command—is a gift from the world itself to the dragon race!”

The titan known as Atrely, his golden eyes glowing with cold fury, responded with a snarl.
“Hmph. Everything in this world belongs to the divine titan race! You dragons are nothing but thieves!”

“Blasphemous pretenders to divinity—you deserve death!”

With a furious cry, Arilethos surged forward, his massive tail lashing like a thunder whip. Lightning danced along its length as he hurled himself at the titan.

Atrely laughed like a god of war. He raised his spear—hundreds of meters long—and met the dragon's charge head-on.
“We titans wield the power to move mountains and reshape the world. What is wrong with calling ourselves gods?!”

“Absurd!” roared the dragon.

In an instant, the two titanic figures collided once more. Thunder met thunder. Power clashed with power. Their battle darkened the skies and filled the heavens with streaks of electric fury.

Golden blood sprayed from their wounds, showering across the battlefield and dying the ground in divine hues.

But it wasn’t just these two mythic beings fighting. Across the land and sky, countless other races were engaged in mortal combat.

On the earth below, bullkin warriors swung uprooted trees like clubs. Gnomes hurled stones from makeshift slings. Trolls wielded massive stone axes. Stoneborn hurled themselves as living weapons. Goat-horned warriors rammed enemies with crushing headbutts. Centaurs thundered across the plains. Serpentfolk loosed arrows from wooden bows. Dwarves smashed with heavy hammers, and dragonkin rained down death with their fists.

In the sky above, hawkfolk flew in formation, their stone spears gleaming. Two-headed wyverns shrieked as they dove. Phoenix-like firebirds scorched the air. Gryphons slashed with claws and beaks, and thunderhawks sliced through the clouds like winged blades.

It was a battlefield of legend—an epic clash of gods and mortals.

Owen stood among it all, stunned by the apocalyptic sight. He didn’t even realize someone had pushed him from behind.

“Owen! What are you spacing out for? A squad of wyverns is heading this way!”

He turned to see a familiar face—hawk-like and fierce. The one who’d spoken had a humanoid frame, but with the beak of a bird, clawed feet, feathered body, and wide wings on his back. A crude covering of leaves shielded his form, and in his talons he clutched a sharp stone spear.

The voice belonged to his companion—another hawkfolk like himself.

Only then did Owen lower his gaze and realize… he wasn’t human anymore.

His body, too, was feathered. His limbs ended in sharp talons. His torso was wrapped in leaves. He had wings. He was a hawkfolk.

Strangely, even in this chaos, he wasn’t afraid. Some part of him remained calm—even reflective.

But then, the blue dragon Arilethos slashed the titan’s shoulder with his massive claw. A torrent of radiant golden blood burst forth—heading straight for Owen!

“God’s blood! Mortal bodies can’t survive that!”
“It burns the flesh! It must not be touched!”
“Don’t look! Don’t breathe it in!”

Cries of panic erupted around him. Without thinking, Owen shoved the hawkfolk behind him to safety.

A moment later, divine blood rained down on him.

“No! Owen!”

The hawkfolk he'd saved shouted in despair. But Owen couldn’t hear him anymore.

An unbearable heat surged through his entire body, like he was being roasted alive. It was as if he’d been plunged into the heart of the sun, where the fire burned at tens of thousands of degrees.

It was too much to endure. Even with his iron will, the agony overwhelmed him.

And so, Owen fainted.

In the darkness, visions of another life began to surface—memories that weren’t his own.

His name was Owen, a member of a hawkfolk tribe in Savage Heights. The hawkfolk were a vassal race under the rule of the thunder titan Atrely. In this primordial era, titans and dragons battled endlessly for dominion over the heavens and the earth. Their powers were vast. Their war consumed the world.

This time, Atrely had summoned the hawkfolk to war—an assault on the blue dragon’s territory, the Mistlost Forest.

The hawkfolk who had warned him—his childhood companion—was named Alar.

He didn’t know how long he was unconscious.

But at last, he heard faint voices calling his name.
“Owen… Owen… wake up… please wake up!”

He opened his eyes with difficulty. He was lying in a mountain cave. Alar was there, alongside several elderly hawkfolk, all watching him anxiously.

When he awoke, Alar cried out with joy.
“Owen! You’re awake! I thought we lost you…”

“Where am I?” Owen asked hoarsely. “What happened? Did the battle end?”

“It did!” Alar exclaimed. “After you collapsed, the great Atrely defeated the wicked thunder dragon! We brought you back to Savage Heights. You’ve been here ever since.”

“How long was I out?”

An old hawkfolk with wise eyes stepped forward. “Three sunrises have come and gone.”

Owen blinked. “Three days…”

The elder smiled warmly.
“My child, it’s said that mortals cannot touch god’s blood—it burns them to ash. But sometimes… the divine chooses differently.”

“You survived, Owen. You were bathed in divine blood… and lived.”

“You are one touched by the gods!”

The other elders nodded, their eyes shining.

Then, the elder chieftain solemnly announced,
“Owen, we have decided—from this day forth, you shall be the new chieftain of the Savage Heights hawkfolk.”

“Chief? But… I…”

“You are like the rising sun, Owen,” the elder said. “I am old. But you… you will lead our people into the light.”

“Don’t refuse,” Alar urged. “Go outside the cave. Look into the springwater there. See what the god’s blood has made of you.”

Owen stood and walked toward the mouth of the cave.

Warm golden sunlight poured in. He felt a strange energy surging through his limbs, coursing through his feathers and bones.

“I… I really have changed.”

With a thought, a flicker of lightning sparked into existence in his palm.

Tiny as it was, it carried the weight of a thousand storms.