Veil of the Forgotten: Prologue

"Strike thy blow, O usurper—but know this: with my blood, thou shalt awaken a darkness no sword may slay."

These were the final words uttered by the last king of the Mahava Dynasty as the rebel leader Muztek drove a spear through his chest. With his death, a thousand-year reign—one that had transformed a nameless hamlet into a sprawling, globe-spanning empire—was brought to a brutal end.

The people, weary of the king's tyranny and decadence, rejoiced at the fall of the once-revered line. But not all shared in the revelry. Loyalists to the crown—nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike—mourned the king's demise, clinging to the legacy of a kingdom that once stood for order, glory, and conquest. Their grief, however, was short-lived. Muztek's forces scoured the land, hunting down every last sympathizer. The king's remaining supporters were rooted out, silenced, and either buried in shallow graves or burned atop pyres, their loyalty reduced to ash.

With the empire shattered, the continent fractured into war-torn territories. Muztek claimed the capital and the fertile lands surrounding it, declaring himself steward of a new age. To the north, the frigid mountain ranges fell under the dominion of the Snow Clade, a hardened warrior clan untouched by the politics of the lowlands. The eastern woodlands, long oppressed by imperial decree, reclaimed their independence, establishing native rule for the first time in centuries. The western deserts, vast and barren, became a land of lawlessness, where only the strongest dared dream of kingship. And in the south, with the imperial navy in disarray, pirate fleets swept through the coastal cities, raising their black sails over once-prosperous ports.

For a brief moment, hope stirred. The war was over. The tyrant had fallen. Perhaps, at last, peace might find its place among the ruins.

But peace was a fragile illusion.

It began with Muztek's disappearance. One moment he stood triumphant at the heart of the capital, hailed as the liberator of the realm. The next, he was gone—vanished without a trace. Whispers of betrayal and sorcery filled the streets, but no answers came. In his place rose a shadowy order clad in black robes: the Haznek.

They moved with eerie purpose, seizing control of the capital with silent precision. Their banners bore no sigils, their leaders no names. Rumors spoke of forbidden rites, of blood sacrifices in the old catacombs beneath the palace, and of an ancient power long thought buried with the dead kings of Mahava.

The empire had died by fire and steel. But what rose from its ashes would be something far darker—an age not of men, but of shadows.

And the continent, still healing from war, would soon learn that true evil does not fall with empires. It rises in their wake.