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

Laughter in the War Camp

The air in Ixtiel's command tent was thick with the lingering scent of smoke and iron, the distant fires from Val'katl's strike still smoldering at the edges of his fortifications.

Yet inside the war camp, there was no fear.

Ixtiel stood at the center of the tent, his grin wide, his voice echoing against the steel walls. His generals roared with him, some slapping their armored legs, others shaking their heads in disbelief. Maclar stood silent, arms folded beneath his crimson cape, yet even behind his steel mask, there was a sense of amusement.

Ixtiel exhaled, shaking his head. "He thinks he can demand my surrender."

Another laugh, deeper this time. "After five years of hiding in his trenches, Val'katl suddenly believes he is the master of the battlefield?"

His generals chuckled among themselves.

But before the laughter could settle, the air hummed with static.

A sharp, blue holographic light cut through the room, forming into the towering figure of Chieftain Cosmus.

The Will of the Defiance Vanguard

Cosmus' presence silenced the tent immediately. Where Ixtiel was chaos and fire, Cosmus was ice—calm, unshaken, absolute. Even through the flickering hologram, his voice carried the weight of command that could not be ignored.

Ixtiel straightened, smirking slightly. "Val'katl fired on our outer defenses. No casualties. Nothing more than a tantrum."

Cosmus' expression did not change.

"And his demands?"

The smirk widened. "He demanded surrender. It was adorable."

Maclar, standing in the shadows, finally spoke. "He is not afraid of us. That, in itself, is new."

Cosmus exhaled, folding his arms. "Then remind him why he should be."

His holographic gaze shifted toward Ixtiel, unblinking.

"Line up every available force in front of your defensive lines. Now."

The Formation of an Army

Outside the tent, the war camp roared to life.

Warriors rushed into formation, hover-platforms activated, ground squads assembled in perfect ranks. Ixtiel's forces, long accustomed to their leader's relentless tactics, moved with efficiency and precision.

Ixtiel grinned as he climbed into his Formicron, his generals following suit into their own machines. His cockpit interface synced with battlefield visuals, the Defiance Vanguard's presence flickering in his HUD like a silent overseer.

From his new vantage point, he watched his army take position, a dark wave stretching across the marshy plains.

Then he saw it—Val'katl's forces, barely visible.

They were already in their Formicrons, but they lay low, their presence nearly hidden, their strategy unclear.

The March to Battle

His forces moved forward, a vast, coordinated surge toward Val'katl's hidden line.

He did not expect a prolonged battle—not like before.

Not like the last five years of defensive posturing, skirmishes, and retreats.

Val'katl had never engaged in full warfare before.

So Ixtiel was certain: this battle would be over quickly.

His Formicron strode behind the advancing forces, waiting.

Waiting for Cosmus' command.

Waiting for Val'katl's mistake.

Waiting for the war to end in his favor.

A Warlord’s Defiance