The Fall of Eldric, the Starborn
In the age before the current kingdoms rose and fell, there was a hero whose name was whispered in reverence: Eldric, the Starborn. His origin was as mysterious as the stars themselves. Some said he was not of this world, a child of celestial beings sent to the mortal realms. Others claimed that Eldric was born of a comet’s fall—his mother, a village maiden who found the burning star’s remnant and discovered a babe, glowing with unearthly light, within its hollowed core. No matter the tale, Eldric’s fate was intertwined with the cosmos from the very moment he drew his first breath.
From a young age, Eldric demonstrated powers far beyond any mortal’s comprehension. He could bend light and space, summon meteors from the heavens, and manipulate the energies of the celestial bodies. His powers were a gift—and a curse. For while he wielded the forces of creation, the weight of the universe bore heavily upon his soul. In time, Eldric grew into a champion of the realms, battling the eldritch horrors that emerged from the void between stars, and sealing away ancient terrors whose names have been long forgotten.
The people worshipped him, building monuments and temples in his honor. He became a symbol of hope, a protector whose brilliance could pierce even the darkest night. Yet, no one could have foreseen that his greatest battle would be against his own ambition. The prophecy that surrounded Eldric warned of a catastrophic end—the moment when the cosmic powers he harnessed would turn against him. But Eldric, confident in his mastery, chose to ignore it.
As his fame grew, so too did his desire to reshape the world. He dreamed of creating a utopia, a place where pain and suffering would be eradicated. To achieve this, Eldric sought to open a gateway to the heart of a dying star—a source of limitless energy. With it, he believed he could ascend to godhood, bringing forth a golden age for all.
But the heart of a star is no mere jewel to be plucked. As Eldric chanted the forbidden incantations and drew the symbols of power in the skies, reality began to fracture. He tore open a rift, not to the dying star he sought, but to a realm of pure entropy—a place where matter and energy ceased to exist in harmony, dissolving into chaotic oblivion.
Eldric fought desperately to close the rift, but the energies he had unleashed were beyond even his control. The rift expanded, consuming entire cities, its maw a swirling void that threatened to annihilate the world itself. Seeing the devastation he had wrought, Eldric made a final, terrible decision. Drawing upon every ounce of his celestial power, he offered his life as a catalyst to seal the rift. His body dissolved into pure energy, merging with the void and sealing it shut.
The land was saved, but at a great cost. Where the rift once stood, there now lies a vast, barren wasteland, known as the Astral Scar—a place where time and space seem twisted, and strange creatures lurk. Eldric’s name, once sung with praise, is now spoken with a mixture of sorrow and awe.
The Tale of Selene, the Moon Weaver
In a time when the moon’s light was believed to be the very thread of destiny itself, there existed a being known as Selene, the Moon Weaver. She was neither mortal nor goddess, but something in between—a keeper of fate and guardian of the night’s secrets. Her beauty was said to rival that of the moon at its fullest, her skin shimmering like moonlight on still water, her hair cascading like the midnight sky filled with stars. But it was her eyes that were truly mesmerizing—silver orbs that reflected the fates of those who gazed into them.
Selene lived in a palace woven from the moon’s beams, perched high above the mortal world. From her abode, she spun the threads of fate, using the delicate strands of moonlight to guide the destinies of mortals and immortals alike. Each night, she would weave the tapestry of life, adjusting the strands here and there to nudge events in the right direction. Wars were averted, lovers were united, and rulers were humbled—all by her hand.
But such power never goes unnoticed. A dark cabal, known only as the Shadowed Ones, coveted Selene’s ability to control fate. They believed that with it, they could reshape the world to suit their own twisted desires. One night, under a blood-red moon, they attacked her palace, their magic severing the delicate threads she had so carefully woven. Without Selene’s guidance, the world began to spiral into chaos. Wars erupted where there had been peace. Families were torn apart. The balance of power shifted uncontrollably, and the very fabric of reality began to unravel.
Selene, though grievously wounded by the assault, did not give in to despair. Instead, she devised a plan to restore the balance—a plan that would require the ultimate sacrifice. Drawing upon her remaining strength, she began to weave a new tapestry, one that would include herself within its threads. This grand tapestry would become a map of destiny, its patterns showing the way to restore harmony to those who could decipher it.
As she wove, her essence flowed into the tapestry, her very being becoming one with it. In a final act of will, Selene sealed herself within the weave, ensuring that her wisdom and power would guide the world even in her absence. From that day forth, whenever a full moon rose in the sky, those with pure hearts and true intentions could glimpse the shimmering patterns in its light and find the guidance they sought.
The Shadowed Ones, deprived of their prize, were cursed to wander the earth as shadowy specters, never able to touch the world they had sought to control. Selene’s sacrifice saved the realms, but her presence was forever lost. Only the light of the moon, with its subtle, shifting patterns, remains as a testament to her love for the world and her unyielding commitment to the balance of fate.
The Myth of Ilyana, the Dreamweaver
The Dreamweaver, Ilyana, was a being of enigmatic grace, born from the fusion of dreams and reality. She was said to have emerged from the first dream ever dreamt, her form both solid and ethereal, shifting like mist caught between sunbeams. Ilyana’s touch could soothe the most troubled mind, guiding lost souls through the labyrinths of their own fears and desires.
Her realm was the Dreamscape, a place where the thoughts and fantasies of all beings converged. It was a land of endless possibilities, where the impossible became reality, and reality became malleable. Within this realm, Ilyana was both queen and guardian, crafting dreams of hope and joy while banishing the nightmares that threatened to consume the minds of the vulnerable.
But even the Dreamscape was not immune to darkness. An ancient curse, born of envy and spite, seeped into Ilyana’s realm, warping dreams into twisted horrors. The curse spread like a blight, infecting every corner of the Dreamscape and turning it into a nightmarish landscape of fear and madness. No longer a place of solace, the Dreamscape became a prison of the mind, trapping its victims in endless loops of terror.
Desperate to save her realm, Ilyana ventured into the darkest depths of the Dreamscape, where the curse’s influence was strongest. There, she confronted the source of the corruption—an entity of pure despair, known only as the Nameless One. This being, once banished from the realm of dreams, had returned, seeking to claim the Dreamscape as its own and plunge the waking world into eternal night.
The battle between Ilyana and the Nameless One was unlike any other. They fought not with swords or spells, but with the very fabric of dreams themselves, shaping and reshaping reality around them. Mountains rose and crumbled, oceans boiled and froze, entire worlds were born and died in the span of moments. In the end, Ilyana prevailed, but at a terrible cost. To banish the Nameless One, she had to weave herself into the very essence of the Dreamscape, binding her soul to its core.
Now, Ilyana exists as a spectral presence, a whisper on the edge of consciousness. She appears only to those truly in need, guiding them through the darkness of their own minds. But she can no longer return to the waking world. Her form, once radiant and whole, is now a ghostly silhouette, fading in and out like a dream on the verge of being forgotten.
The Saga of Raxus, the Time Warden
Raxus was not born, but forged—created from the very essence of time itself. His existence was a paradox, for he had always been and yet had never truly begun. The Time Warden, as he was called, appeared in the moments when history teetered on the brink of collapse, his presence a ripple in the temporal stream that only those attuned to the flow of time could perceive.
Raxus’s purpose was singular: to safeguard the timeline, ensuring that the events which shaped the universe occurred as they were meant to. He had the ability to move through time as easily as a fish swims through water. He could pause, rewind, or fast-forward the flow of events, each motion altering the course of history. Yet, with such power came immense responsibility, for even the slightest deviation could have catastrophic consequences.
The legends say that Raxus once intervened in a great war between two powerful kingdoms, each vying for control over a relic that could reshape reality. He appeared on the battlefield at the critical moment, a towering figure clad in armor that shimmered with the colors of the shifting seasons. With a gesture, he froze time, silencing the clash of swords and the cries of the wounded.
Raxus spoke to the leaders of both armies, showing them visions of what would come to pass if the war continued—visions of desolation, suffering, and the unraveling of the very fabric of existence. Humbled by what they saw, the leaders agreed to a truce, and Raxus resumed the flow of time, allowing the future to settle into a new, peaceful pattern.
But there were those who resented the Time Warden’s interference. A secretive sect, known as the Chronomancers, sought to manipulate time for their own ends. They viewed Raxus as an obstacle to be removed, a relic of an age when the timeline was inviolate. Using forbidden magic, they created a temporal paradox—a rift that threatened to erase Raxus from existence entirely.
Caught within the paradox, Raxus found himself battling his own memories, each one an echo of the countless events he had witnessed and altered. In a final, desperate act, he used his own essence to stabilize the rift, sealing it and himself within a pocket of time outside the known flow. There, he remains—a warden without a timeline, a guardian who can no longer protect what he once did.
Some say that Raxus still watches over the timeline, a silent observer waiting for the day when the temporal flow is threatened once more. Others believe that he has become one with time itself, his essence spread throughout the ages, guiding events in subtle, imperceptible ways.