the unspoken history

For nearly a thousand years, the continent of Eldoria stood as a jewel of civilization, a land of towering citadels, flourishing trade, and an empire that had withstood the tests of time. Though the smallest of the seven continents, it held a legacy grander than most. The Indrath Empire, a dynasty of rulers who had carved their names into history with steel and wisdom, had maintained dominion over Eldoria for a millennium—unshaken, unbroken.

Yet, despite its rich history and unwavering rule, Eldoria's fate was never truly its own.

The continent existed in a precarious position—trapped between two giants, a land that separated yet connected its much larger neighbors. And among them, none loomed closer than Drakmir.

Drakmir, a land of ever-expanding empires and relentless conquest, cast a long, ominous shadow over Eldoria. Its rulers changed, its borders shifted, its banners burned and rose anew—but one thing never changed: its hunger.

And Eldoria, positioned so dangerously close, had always been in its path.

The geography of these lands dictated an inescapable truth—Eldoria was both a bridge and a barrier, a prize and a pawn, a kingdom forever caught between ambitions far greater than its own.

It was a land whose fate would never be decided by its people alone.

In the annals of history, there existed a continent divided not just by land but by blood, ambition, and war. Drakmir, a vast expanse of ever-clashing kingdoms, stood as a testament to centuries of feudal strife and shattered alliances. A land where kings were made and unmade within a single lifetime, where empires crumbled before they could etch their names into eternity.

For generations, the continent was ruled by warring monarchs, each claiming dominion over fractured territories, forever engaged in an endless cycle of betrayal and bloodshed. The only thing certain in Drakmir was war.

But then came Brian D. Zenithara.

A man whose name would become synonymous with conquest.

Seven hundred years ago, when the continent was still split into a hundred feuding kingdoms, Brian D. Zenithara rose like a tempest from the east, a warrior-king whose mere presence commanded fear and devotion alike. He was not born of divine lineage, nor did he inherit an empire—he forged one through steel and fire.

With a blade in one hand and destiny in the other, he swept through the eastern lands of Drakmir like an unrelenting storm.

He did not simply defeat his enemies—he erased them.

Kingdom after kingdom fell before him, their rulers forced to kneel or be buried beneath the ruins of their own castles. His war banners, emblazoned with the sigil of Zenithara, became the only symbol that mattered.

Some whispered that his ruthlessness rivaled that of demons, that he did not merely seek dominion but absolute submission. Cities that resisted burned for days, their ashes scattering into the winds as a warning to those who would stand against him.

And so, after years of relentless warfare, the eastern half of Drakmir—once a land of chaos—became an empire.

The Zenithara Dynasty was born.

For seven hundred years, the empire stood unchallenged in the east. Borders were fortified, laws were written in iron and blood, and the Zenithara name became synonymous with power that could not be opposed.

Yet, beyond the empire's dominion, across the great rivers and war-torn valleys, the western lands of Drakmir remained untouched, unyielding, untamed.

For centuries, the geography of the continent remained unchanged, not because no ruler desired conquest but because none dared to attempt it.

The western lands were known for their own indomitable kings, warriors whose bloodlines traced back to ancient warlords and forgotten gods. To conquer such a land was a dream even the most ambitious emperors of Zenithara did not dare to entertain.

But history remembers only those who do what others fear to do.

And then came Baek D. Zenithara.

The Tyrant Who Broke the West

If Brian D. Zenithara was the man who forged the empire, then Baek D. Zenithara was the man who proved that even legends had limits he could surpass.

Where past emperors were content ruling the east, Baek D. Zenithara was not.

Where past rulers hesitated, he acted.

And where his ancestors saw an impossible conquest, he saw a land waiting to kneel.

Baek D. Zenithara was no reckless warmonger. He did not charge blindly into the western lands—he studied them, learned their weaknesses, exploited their divisions.

He gathered an army unlike any the world had ever seen—a force so vast and disciplined that even the battle-hardened warlords of the west trembled at its approach. His generals were tacticians of unmatched brilliance, his soldiers trained to perfection, his strategies calculated with ruthless precision.

And then, like a storm that had been gathering for years, he struck.

The first kingdoms fell swiftly, their rulers crushed beneath the overwhelming might of the Zenithara war machine.

The fortified cities of the west, which had stood for centuries, crumbled one by one, their defenders realizing too late that no walls were high enough to stop the tide of conquest.

Some tried to resist, gathering their forces for one final stand against the empire. They failed.

Baek D. Zenithara was not merely a conqueror; he was a force of nature, a ruler whose presence alone commanded victory.

Every battle was a lesson in his supremacy.

Every surrender was a reminder that his will was absolute.

The war that many had believed would last decades ended in mere years.

And when the last of the western kings finally knelt before the throne of Zenithara, Drakmir was whole for the first time in history.

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For the first time in history, Drakmir was united under a single banner—not through alliances, not through diplomacy, but through the sheer, unyielding force of Baek D. Zenithara.

A ruler unlike any before him.

A conqueror unlike any to ever exist again.