Phew.
Darian let out a tired sigh after another grueling training session. Though he had spent countless hours refining his skills, his body still protested, reminding him that mastery was a long and arduous path.
"Darian, get a hold of it."
Muttering words of encouragement to himself, he made his way to the royal library, as he often did. Normally, his evenings were spent poring over books on swordsmanship and magic, honing both mind and body for the battles to come.
But today was different. Instead of combat manuals, his gaze settled on an old tome titled The Chronicles of Nyvaris.
The World of Nyvaris
Nyvaris—a vast and ancient world shaped by time, magic, and war. Its lands stretched beyond the horizon, each continent a realm of its own, home to beings as different as night and day. Empires rose, kingdoms fell, and in the shadows of power, ambition festered.
Darian leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly on the leather-bound cover of The Chronicles of Nyvaris. He had now spent several days perfecting his swordplay, memorizing battle strategies, and pushing his body beyond its limits. But power wasn't just forged on the battlefield—it was rooted in knowledge.
"If I am to claim my future, I must understand the world beyond Eldrosia."
Darian had learned much about Eldrosia and the empire that ruled it, but that knowledge alone wouldn't suffice if he were to carve his own path in this unpredictable world.
With that thought, he turned the page.
The Continents of Nyvaris
Far to the west, beneath the stone-carved peaks of Durnholm, the dwarves dwelled in their underground fortresses, crafting weapons and artifacts that had shaped history itself. Their hammers struck iron and gold, their halls echoed with the songs of ancestors long gone.
"Dwarves… stubborn, relentless, and masters of war-forging. If not for their isolation, they could rival any human empire."
To the east lay Sylvarion, a land untouched by time, where towering trees whispered secrets of the past. The elves, bound to nature and magic, lived in harmony with their enchanted forests, their mastery of the arcane unmatched by any other.
"Elves and their magic... If they ever stopped hiding behind their trees, they'd be a true threat."
Beyond the raging seas, Lykandros stood as a continent of endless conflict. Under the glow of twin moons, werewolf clans battled for dominance, their primal instincts dictating an eternal struggle for supremacy.
Darian smirked. "Savages, fighting for the sake of fighting. They'd make excellent mercenaries if they weren't so unpredictable."
In the south, where the very earth bled fire, lay Inferis—a land of smoke and shadow, home to demons who thrived in chaos and destruction. Their kingdom was one of blood pacts and dark sorcery, their ambitions reaching beyond their scorched lands.
"Demons... If they ever turned their gaze to Eldrosia, would even the Empire survive?"
Above them all, drifting beyond mortal grasp, was Celestara—a continent that floated in the sky, shrouded in divine light. Here, angels and celestial beings watched over Nyvaris, untouched by the wars below, their presence felt but rarely seen.
Darian scoffed. "Gods among men, yet they do nothing. If they exist, they are either too arrogant or too afraid to act."
Then there was Draconis, the land of dragons. A continent of jagged peaks and burning skies, where ancient and powerful dragons ruled over vast territories. Some slumbered in their lairs, dreaming of ages past, while others soared across the heavens, their roars shaking the very earth.
He paused, eyes narrowing. "If even half the stories of Draconis are true, then the creatures of legend are real. If dragons ever take interest in our wars… gods help us all."
But of all the lands in Nyvaris, none had shaped its history more than Eldrosia.
The Continent of Eldrosia
A land of kings and conquest, where steel and sorcery dictated the fate of nations. At its heart stood the Solmara Empire, the greatest force on the continent, ruling over five vassal kingdoms:
Vandoria – The empire's military stronghold, home to disciplined legions and unyielding fortresses.
Thalmyris – A kingdom where magic reigned supreme, its scholars delving into the mysteries of the arcane.
Drakholm – A land of fire and iron, its wealth built upon vast mines and legendary blacksmiths.
Lytheria – The empire's breadbasket, its rolling fields ensuring the armies never marched on empty stomachs.
Velmora – A coastal kingdom whose fleets dominated the seas, securing the empire's trade and power.
Yet, there was one kingdom the empire did not rule—Ashthorn. Unlike the others, it remained untouched by Solmara's might, its independence safeguarded by the mysterious Treaty of Ashfrey. The terms of this pact were known only to a select few, but one truth was undeniable: for all the empire's power, it dared not break the treaty.
Darian shut the book, staring at the flickering candlelight. "Ashthorn. Why does the empire fear this treaty? What secret could possibly keep even Solmara at bay?"
The questions gnawed at him. But if history had taught him anything, it was this: knowledge was power, and power was the key to survival.
And in this land of ambition, betrayal, and bloodshed, Darian was determined to carve his place—one way or another.