Much like Earth, Zeerians willingly relinquished their rights without fully understanding the devastating consequences it would bring. Centuries of peace and prosperity reigned among the land, so giving up a little freedom here and there seemed to be a safe and even prudent course. And for a long time, it was. The people flourished under the illusion of stability, comfortable in the belief that their rulers had everything under control. They believed their lives would continue on this peaceful trajectory forever, unaware of the looming darkness waiting to consume them.

After much bloodshed over a desirable island between two powerful kingdoms, King Guillemot of Zeer and neighboring King Fulco of Odoris forged an agreement. The island would remain a neutral territory to maintain peace, allowing both kingdoms to receive merchant and trade ships. They named it Eden Island, and it quickly became a popular destination—a place of rest for weary travelers and traders. The island’s serene shores were a welcoming refuge for those seeking respite, and its vibrant markets buzzed with trade, bringing prosperity to both kingdoms. It was a symbol of unity, where differences were set aside for the sake of mutual benefit.

A few generations later, however, that peace was shattered. A dark ship, its sails black as night and its timbers carved with strange, ancient symbols, appeared on the horizon. The ship sailed without a captain, drifting aimlessly until it came to a rest just off the shore of Eden Island. Weeks passed, no one had rowed ashore, and no one greeted her. The island’s usually welcoming atmosphere grew tense with the arrival of the mysterious ship, and rumors began to spread, growing darker with each telling. Whispers of curses, of forbidden magic, of something terrible lurking in the depths of the ship, reached the docks.

Curiosity and fear mingled in the hearts of the people, and a few fishermen, determined to uncover the truth, boarded a small yawl to investigate. They approached the dark vessel with caution, their eyes scanning the deck for signs of life, but found none. Some on shore watched, holding their breath, as the fishermen reached the ship and climbed the rope ladder that had been dropped over the side. What happened next was never fully understood. The men who went aboard never returned the same. They came back with hollow eyes, their faces still recognizable but twisted by a darkness that seeped into their very souls. They had become soulless creatures, and from that moment on, they were driven by an unquenchable thirst for power—specifically, the power of the dark arts.

In a short time, Eden Island transformed from a place of rest to a breeding ground for evil. Ships and boats of all kinds filled the shores, their crews never seen again. The people of Zeer were horrified as reports of strange, twisted creatures and dark magic began to spread like wildfire. No one who dared dock at the island ever returned, and soon, the once-thriving place became a place of whispers and fear. The darkness that had taken root there began to spread across the land.

The most susceptible to this new force were the witches and warlocks—those already skilled in the magic of the world. They could not resist the temptation when they encountered this new power. In exchange for their souls, the dark entity promised them things they had never imagined: greater power, control over life and death, the ability to shape reality itself. Most of these great creators and scholars, hungry for more, fell victim to the dark force the moment they sealed their contracts with blood. They became agents of destruction, merciless in their pursuit of power.

The more they enslaved, plundered, and murdered, the more they were rewarded with dark magic—power that seemed to never run dry. It was a corrupting force that fed on greed and malice, making them ever more dangerous and ever more hungry for destruction. The greatest rewards were granted to those who were able to turn others to the darkness, to convert the innocent into agents of evil. A single lie told by an innocent soul was considered a great victory, a small seed that could eventually grow into something far more destructive.

The royal family, realizing the magnitude of the threat, ordered a mass slaughtering of all those who practiced dark magic. Anyone caught dabbling in it or harboring someone who did was to be put to death, no exceptions. The royal forces moved swiftly, determined to rid their kingdom of the growing evil. But it was too late. The darkness had already taken root too deeply. Every effort to protect Zeer was met with failure. The people were powerless against it.

King Westly, the great-grandson of King Guillemot, realized that the only way to keep his people safe was to control their movement, to segregate them into their clans and restrict their freedoms. It was a desperate measure, one that would ultimately come to define his reign. But even this couldn’t stop the spread of the darkness. Creatures of shadow and malice began to appear all over Zeer—catoblepas, cyclops, wendigo, goblins, orcs, and more. These monsters ravaged the land, spreading fear wherever they went. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the people themselves began to divide. The clans split, their loyalties torn between light and darkness.

One of the most devastating casualties of this divide was the Elven realm. Once a bastion of purity and goodness, the Elven people were torn apart by the darkness. The once-unified realm became two distinct factions: the Ljósálfar, the Light Elves, and the Dökkálfar, the Dark Elves. It was a heartbreaking fracture that shattered the heart of Zeer, and it was only the beginning. Many other great houses and clans soon fell to the same fate, either consumed by the darkness or forced to take sides.

The agents of darkness worked tirelessly to spread lies, convincing the people of Zeer that they had been oppressed, enslaved, and terrorized by their neighbors. The people believed these lies, and soon it was easy for the darkness to convince them that the only way to escape their suffering was to embrace it. The collection of souls grew at an alarming rate, and the darkness continued to spread unchecked. When it finally made itself known, showing itself openly to the world, the Zeerians were too weak to fight back. Their magic had been forgotten, their will to resist shattered.

King Westly, fearing for the loyalty of his people, began to offer them safety—safety that came with strings attached. As long as they remained faithful subjects, they were promised protection. But whenever the people began to show signs of rebellion, he would distract them with rumors of war or extravagant games. Fear and excitement were his tools, keeping the people too preoccupied to think for themselves. They clung to the illusion of safety, even as their world fell apart.

The clans, broken and divided, no longer had the strength to resist the darkness. They had been taught for so long that they were helpless without their leaders, that their safety depended on their obedience, that they believed it. They defended their chains with passion, convinced they were in the right, convinced that they were safe. But they were far from safe.

As the darkness spread, the Zeerians turned on one another. They sold each other into slavery, committed murder and theft without a second thought, and watched as families were torn apart. Children were ripped from their mothers’ arms, and homes were burned to the ground. Fear gripped the hearts of the people, and most did nothing to stop the horrors around them. To do so would paint a target on their backs, and they knew better than to attract attention.

Once a land filled with magic, beauty, and wonder, Zeer had been bled nearly to its core. The light had all but faded, and the darkness reigned supreme. Evil had become good, and good had become evil. Those who had once fought for purity were now hunted like animals, their powers exploited for the benefit of the dark forces. Loyalists and creatures of light were dragged into the service of the malevolent power that now ruled.

But even in the face of such overwhelming darkness, there were still those who resisted. They held fast to the ancient prophecy, one that had been passed down by the Elders for generations. It foretold the rise of an orphaned king, one who would wield an unseen light, and who would come from a distant world to restore balance to Mythandria. The liberator would gather an army of warriors, and together they would overthrow the forces of darkness.

Time passed, and hope grew thin. Many had stopped believing in the prophecy, dismissing it as nothing more than a fairytale. But there were still those who refused to give in to despair. They clung to the belief that one day, the orphaned king would come. They refused to fall victim to the lie that all was lost.