harsh_9238

In the verdant empire of Gaialen, a bastard boy named Lucien Valis grows up on the edge of legend and obscurity — the unwanted son of a noble house, cursed with strange dreams and a magic that defies order. To the world, he is nothing more than a forgotten name in a forgotten branch of the imperial tree.

But blood never forgets.

Born of Seraphina of the House of Light and Kael of the Shadowborn, Lucien carries a lineage the gods themselves swore to erase. A child of forbidden union — one whose soul could unmake the balance between light and dark. To prevent it, the gods sealed within him a power far older than any empire: the God of Twilight, long buried by divine war and divine fear.

Now, as kingdoms fracture, old magic stirs, and omens blacken the skies, Lucien begins to hear a voice — not of madness, but of memory. A voice that whispers of forgotten truths, of betrayal, and of a destiny born at the hour between day and night.

He is not just a boy.
He is a vessel.
He is the key.
And when the seal breaks, the gods will tremble.

GODBORN:SAGA OF TWILIGHT

In the first light, there were three:Solinar, who cast away darkness;Umbraeth, who cloaked the stars;And Neroth, who walked between.

Together, they spun the Cycle — day into night, night into dawn.But mortals, in fear, sought absolutes.They prayed to the light. They bargained with shadow.And they forgot the dusk.

Betrayed by his brothers, Neroth was sealed at the edge of time.Not slain — for no god may kill another —But bound in silence, in twilight, in memory.

Yet prophecy speaks of one who will bear all three:Blood of light, breath of shadow, heart of earth.

When the sun sets thrice in a single hour,And the stars fall without sound,Then shall the Twilight walk again

The world is not divided merely by borders or the ambitions of kings — it is carved by the hands of the divine, forged in the crucible of the First Aeon. In that age of shaping, the primordial gods wove the realms according to their essence, breathing into the land their will, their pride, and their design. From this divine rift sprang the four great domains, each echoing the heart of its patron god. Though ages have passed, and mortal empires have risen and crumbled, the gods' domains endure, sacred and immutable, veined with magic as old as creation itself.

To the east lies Gaialen, the Verdant Domain, realm of the Earthmother Gia. It is a land of wild rivers and ancient forests, of whispering groves and stone-hewn temples cradled by mountain roots. Here, nature is not tamed but revered, and the rhythm of life beats to the slow, sacred pulse of the land itself. Druids tend to living monoliths, beastkin roam in kinship with spirits of wood and rock, and the harmony of growth is law. At its heart lies Viridion, capital of the Verdant Empire, where branches grow through palace halls and the throne is carved from the heartwood of an elder tree.

To the west, basking in ever-golden light, stands Solmira, the Luminous Domain, ruled by Solinar, the radiant God of Light. Order, truth, and divine justice reign supreme in this empire of polished marble and burning skies. Aurion, the capital, glows with celestial fire; its spires scrape the clouds and its streets shine with runes of sunsteel. Paladins clad in gold serve as both sword and shield of the divine order, while skyfire mages call down righteous flame upon the wicked. The Empire of Light is a beacon of civilization to its faithful — and a tyrant of purity to its enemies.

Far to the north lies the shadowed expanse of Noctherion, the Umbral Domain, cloaked in eternal dusk beneath storm-churned skies. This is the realm of Umbraeth, the God of Shadows, where truth hides behind veils and power is whispered, not shown. In the obsidian towers of Vareth-Khul, spies and assassins are trained from youth, their arts both delicate and deadly. The Empire of Shadow thrives in secrets and silence, valuing cunning over strength and knowledge over honor. It is a place where oaths are blood-bound and every ally is watched.

And then there is the forgotten land: Aethra, the Abandoned Domain, once ruled by Neroth, the God of Twilight. It is a broken realm, sealed off by divine decree after the Sundering. Day and night shift without rhythm; ruins float above shattered ground; time itself bends unnaturally. It is a place of lost knowledge and haunting beauty, feared by all — for it is whispered that in Duskspire, the fallen capital now in ruin, the God of Twilight's breath still lingers. No empire claims it. None dare map it. It is known only as the Twilight Waste, and those who enter rarely return whole.

The Three Flames