JVMenjivar

Astashica: Eternal Starborn Dominion

"Listen well, child of the twin suns. The land speaks, the winds whisper, and the rivers carry old songs. But there is one voice that does not sing, one truth that sleeps beneath your feet. The world you stand upon is not what you believe it to be."

The Xothek Galaxy is gone, consumed by its own hunger for power. The Asemeri once shaped the stars, bending light and void to their will. Their greatest creation, the Formicrons, built empires that stood for millennia.  

But Xothek fell—not to time, nor to gods, but to its own arrogance.  

The Azurevat fire erased them. Cities vanished. Kingdoms dissolved into the abyss. And the last Asemeri fled aboard the Defiance Vanguard, a warship of lost power, its runes still pulsing with ancient knowledge. They sought refuge. They found Astashica.  

A world of twin suns. A world veiled in Light. A world that does not belong to them.  

For three hundred cycles, the Asemeri ruled. They carved their names into the mountains, built their towers over rivers, but Astashica is awake. It watches. It remembers.  

Now, the shadow returns.  

Cosmus has returned. The exile. The usurper. The last remnant of a dead empire. His fleet blackens the sky. His armies rise from the abyss. And in his grasp? The final Azurevat missile—the fire that once shattered the heavens.  

And in the path of destruction, one man stands.  

Tlandar. Son of two worlds. A man of soil and harvest. A man who should have lived his days in peace.  

But war does not ask who you wish to be. It demands who you must become.  

Flee, and the twin suns will set forever.  
Stand, and awaken the Light once more.  

He takes the blade. He spills the blood. He walks the path of no return.  

The Defiance Vanguard looms overhead.  
The Azurevat fire waits in silence.  
The Formicrons stir beneath the sands.  
The ancient Asemeri cores pulse in the dark.  

But beneath it all—beneath the ruins, beneath the rivers, beneath the very bones of this world—there is something older than the Asemeri.  

Something forgotten.  
Something that was never meant to wake.  

This is not a war for land. This is not a war for power.  

This is a war for the right to exist.  

And so I ask, child of the twin suns—will you fight for the Light, or will you let the darkness take it?"

ASTASHICA: Eternal Starborn Dominion

A Warrior's Worth

Tlandar stood firm in the Hall of Warriors, the weight of Val'katl's gaze upon him.

"You speak with certainty," the chieftain had said. "But words do not decide battles. War does."

Tlandar had to prove himself.

Val'katl raised his hand, and the warriors in the room fell into silence.

Then, he pointed downward.

Beneath the hall, embedded into the stockade's lower levels, was a circular earth pit—a hardened battle ring worn smooth by countless contests of strength and skill.

A raised stone platform encircled the pit, fenced with thick barriers, allowing warriors to watch without the risk of falling in. Above it, the banners of Val'katl's warlords hung like ancient relics, watching over the fights that had shaped generations of warriors.

Tlandar could see fresh marks in the earth below, scars from past warriors who had fought here before him.

The Valiant Contest.

A trial not just of skill, but of honor.

The warriors in the room grinned knowingly, some chuckling, others slapping their knees in amusement.

"Finally! A fight worth watching!" one called.

Another banged his gauntleted fist against the fence. "Let's see if the boy has real strength or just words!"

Val'katl turned to his warriors.

"Activate the alarm. Call the others."

At once, a deep, resonant alarm sounded through Boulderkeep—not a warning of danger, but a call to arms for all who wished to witness the battle.

Warriors from across the stronghold poured in, pilots and strategists abandoned their stations, and within minutes, the viewing platform was packed with dozens of armored warriors, all eager to witness whether the Protector of Astashica was worthy of the name.

Val'katl turned back to Tlandar, his scarred features unreadable.

He extended his hand toward the pit below.

"Step down. Prove your worth."

Tlandar inhaled deeply, then walked forward.

As he descended into the pit, the crowd above erupted in cheers and shouts.

"Don't fall too fast, Salgaran!"

"Make it a fight worth remembering!"

"Boulderkeep warriors don't go easy!"

At the far end of the pit, a massive iron gate creaked open.

And from the darkness emerged Val'katl's eight best warriors.

The Eight of Boulderkeep

Tlandar studied the warriors as they entered the pit, their heavy footfalls kicking up dust, their expressions grim yet determined.

Each bore the sigil of Val'katl's finest fighters—a mark not just of strength, but of unbreakable discipline.

These were not mere brawlers.

They were warriors trained for war.

A warrior with a twin-bladed staff spun his weapon in his grip, smirking.

Another, his fists wrapped in metal-plated gauntlets, cracked his knuckles.

A third, a towering fighter with a spiked shoulder plate, simply nodded toward Tlandar, acknowledging the battle to come.

"The rules are simple," he announced. His voice carried through the stockade, reaching every warrior present.

"You will fight my eight warriors. You must defeat them all—but you may not kill. That is forbidden."

The crowd cheered in approval, some mocking disappointment at the rule against killing, but knowing the challenge was still brutal.

Val'katl smirked slightly. "And remember—if you fall, you are not worthy."

And the battle for Tlandar's place in history began.