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

Flight Toward the Frontlines

The engines of two hundred Formicrons roared to life, shaking the ground beneath Boulderkeep Stockade. The Salgaran warriors inside them, encased in their cockpit interfaces, felt the familiar pulse of synchronized energy as they lifted off into the gray sky, heading toward the Plains of Leipira.

Tlandar, seated in the cockpit of his superior Formicron, activated his command interface, his visor illuminating the holographic battlefield projection ahead. His pilots' voices filled the comms channel, each of them commenting, not with fear, but with battle-worn eagerness.

"Finally, we enter the war."

"The trenches stretch for miles—Val'katl's warriors held them for five years. We stand beside them now."

Tlandar let them speak, let them voice their thoughts, but he knew the moment demanded more.

With a firm tone, he activated his broadcast signal and spoke into the helmets of his warriors.

"We fight not for ourselves, but for Astashica. We do not surrender. We do not falter. We do not let fear take us."

He paused, letting his words take root.

A chorus of warrior voices echoed through the comms.

A View of the Battlefield

As they soared over the marshlands, the full expanse of Val'katl's defenses came into view.

The trenches stretched endlessly, carved into the land like the paths of ancient rivers, woven together like the intricate tunnels of a vast insect colony. Defensive platforms and watchtowers lined the edges, standing as monuments of a war long fought but never concluded.

The Plains of Leipira were a wasteland of war—torn by conflict, scarred by years of battle. The land had transformed into a labyrinth of mud, steel, and the silent remains of fallen warriors.

One of Tlandar's pilots whistled over the comms.

"Look at that… an army lived here. An army died here."

Another voice followed, more solemn.

"And we are about to change everything."

Tlandar's grip on his controls tightened.

Then, they saw it.

A strange distortion in the air, near the center of Ixtiel's encampment.

It pulsed—a swirling, shifting mass of something that should not exist.

The Salgaran pilots went silent, all eyes locked onto the unnatural presence.

Tlandar exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He had seen battlefields, trenches, warships, and ruins—but never this.

One of his pilots muttered, "What in the name of Astashica is that?"

Another voice, more cautious, answered. "I don't know. But I don't like it."

Whatever it was, Val'katl and Akashma had already seen it.

"There it is," another pilot said, focusing on Ixtiel's encampment, the true battleground ahead.

The war had already begun.

Descending to War

The Salgaran Formicrons descended in perfect order, approaching Val'katl's encampment, where trenches, barricades, and war machines stood ready for battle.

Below, Val'katl and Akashma stepped out of the command post, both watching as the Salgaran force touched down in seamless synchronization.

Akashma's red cloak rippled against the wind, her battle plate and chain armor catching the dim sunlight.

Val'katl remained silent, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Tlandar's approaching Formicron.

The warriors of Salgar had arrived.

And now, the real battle was about to begin.

The Skyward March to War