The Genesis Sundering.

Before the stars had fully settled in the heavens, before the first worlds had even cooled from the forge of creation, a fracture rippled through the endless abyss of the cosmos a wound torn from something beyond mortal comprehension.

It was the moment when a fragment, a scale of Xelthoryn, the Celestial Warden, separated from its infinite body. This was no ordinary event, no gradual formation of land and sky. It was an eruption of unfathomable power and chaos. The severing of the fragment sent shockwaves through the fabric of reality itself. Stars trembled, galaxies shifted, and the shard was violently cast into the void.

Drifting through the endless expanse, the fragment radiated raw, unbridled energy—the energy of creation itself. Wherever it passed, space and time distorted. Matter clung to its surface, drawn by the overwhelming force of its celestial essence. Gravity bent in strange patterns, and the void itself twisted as it struggled to comprehend the impossibility of what had occurred. The first echoes of land, sea, and sky were born in its wake.

In the aftermath of what would be known as the Genesis Sundering, the fragment of Xelthoryn found its place among the stars. From the swirling chaos, a planet coalesced around it a world unlike any other. Xeloria. But this was no ordinary world. It was not shaped by natural forces nor molded by the slow hand of time. It was a world birthed from a fragment of the Celestial Warden itself, and as such, it pulsed with untamed, ancient power. Magic was woven into its very foundation, seeping into its mountains, rivers, and skies. The land shimmered with energy, a living echo of its divine origins.

Few in Xeloria could conceive of the being from which their world had been born. Xelthoryn was no mere creature of flesh and bone but a cosmic entity, a force beyond mortal comprehension.

Its form stretched across the heavens, a vast, serpentine warden whose body shimmered with the light of dying stars. Scales of silver and violet reflected the nebulae that surrounded it, each plate etched with the patterns of creation itself. Its eyes, twin spheres of molten gold, held within them the birth and death of countless worlds.

Wings, composed not of matter but of raw celestial energy, unfurled through the void, shifting space and time with each movement. Where Xelthoryn's presence touched, galaxies formed and crumbled in a breath. It was ancient beyond measure, a guardian of balance in the universe.

Yet, for all its vastness and might, Xelthoryn did not seek dominion or control. It roamed the galaxies in silent contemplation, drifting through the endless void, watching as stars were born and extinguished, as civilizations rose and fell. It did not interfere, nor did it seek to reclaim what was lost.

And yet, it knew.

It knew of Xeloria. It knew of the fragment that still pulsed beneath the planet's surface, whispering its dormant power into the land. It knew of those who had come to call Xeloria home, of the legends that had formed around the great sundering. Xelthoryn did not act, but it watched. Patient. Eternal. Knowing that one day, the fragment would stir once more.

And yet, this was merely the beginning.

Though the inhabitants of Xeloria would one day forget the truth of their world's creation, the cosmos would never forget. The Genesis Sundering was not merely the birth of a world it was the start of a story yet to be completed. And far beyond the distant constellations, in the silent reaches of space, Xelthoryn still lingered. Watching. Waiting. Knowing that one day, the fragment would call to it once more.

To most, the tale of Xelthoryn was nothing more than a myth a legend passed down through the ages, its truth lost in the shifting sands of time. But there was one family who knew otherwise.

The Xaldris family.

It was whispered that they alone possessed the last remnant of the Celestial Warden a small shard of the scale that had birthed Xeloria itself. This shard, no larger than a man's palm, was said to be the source of the planet's boundless magic. And yet, it carried with it a terrible cost.

For generations, the Xaldris family had been both blessed and cursed by their sacred inheritance. The bearer of the shard would wield its power, but fate decreed that no male heir of Xaldris would ever possess its magic. Instead, the men of the bloodline were gifted with unmatched intellect minds sharper than any blade, capable of unraveling the deepest mysteries of existence. Yet, alongside their intellect, the family was also known for their incredible strength. The warriors of Xaldris, though unable to wield magic, possessed a physical prowess that bordered on the divine able to shatter stone with their fists and bend steel as if it were mere clay.

So the shard was passed from successor to successor, carried through the ages by the lineage of Xaldris. And as history turned its endless wheel, the power of the fragment remained hidden waiting for the day when its slumber would end and Xelthoryn would rise once more.

The story had not ended. It had only just begun.