crown of self-interest

Under the twilight sky of Xynarith, in a quiet corner of the Verdant Communion, an elder sat by the fire, his voice gentle and melodic. The children gathered around him, their eyes wide with wonder as he began to tell them the ancient tales of their world.

"Ah, little ones, do you know the name of the world we live on?" the elder began, his words rolling with an air of mystery. "Our world is called **Eryndor**, a planet that sits in the cosmic sea, drifting in the shadows of a great galaxy known as the **Vrynn Ascendancy**. Beyond the stars, there are countless other worlds, some so far away we may never reach them. But Eryndor, our world, is very special, for it holds within it ancient powers—some that even the gods once feared."

The children leaned in closer as the elder spoke.

"This world is not alone in the cosmos, oh no. There are other realms, hidden just beyond our reach—places where different species dwell, each with powers and abilities of their own. These realms are like veils draped over our world. They call them the **Veil Realms**, and only the most powerful sorcerers and those who have ascended beyond mortality can travel between them."

One child, her eyes wide with curiosity, raised her hand. "Elder, what do you mean by 'ascended beyond mortality'?"

The elder chuckled softly. "Ah, that is where the greatest mystery lies. You see, when a being in our world grows powerful enough, they don't simply stay here on Eryndor. No, they ascend to a higher plane, a place beyond the stars. Some say the gods of old, those who ruled long before our time, ascended in this way. But this does not happen for everyone. No one knows how long one must wait, or how much power one must hold, to be called to ascend. Perhaps the gods are watching, waiting to see who will prove worthy of joining their ranks."

The elder leaned back, his voice growing softer as the fire crackled before them. "As for gods in this world—there are no gods who walk among us now, but some say that Eryndor was once their cradle. Some believe they still watch over us, but they have long since left this plane, ascending to the realms beyond."

"But what about the cities?" another child asked, her voice timid. "Where we live—are they important too?"

The elder smiled, pleased with the question. "Ah, yes, the cities. You see, the city where **Zaros Valen** resides now, **Xynarith**, is not just an ordinary city. It may seem small and modest at first glance, but its true power lies in its position. Xynarith sits at the heart of the continent called **Iltheria**, a land rich with history and arcane energies. Some say that the very ground beneath Xynarith pulses with magic, and that long ago, this city served as the center of the world’s greatest power. Many kings, rulers, and powerful sorcerers have fought to control Xynarith."

The elder paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But Xynarith is not the only place of power. Eryndor has many continents—**Khorvas**, a land of iron and machines; **Selarion**, a place where the oceans rule; and **Thalios**, the forested realm of ancient spirits. Each land holds its own secrets, and each has its own rulers, waiting to make their move."

The children were silent, captivated by the story.

"And the power system, elder?" a boy asked, his eyes gleaming. "How does it work?"

"Ah, magic on Eryndor is not like the magic you hear in fairy tales," the elder replied. "Here, power flows from a balance—between life and death, creation and destruction, harmony and chaos. It is called the **Arcanum of Essence**. Everything, from the smallest leaf to the mightiest sorcerer, holds essence. Those who learn to control it can bend the world to their will, but it is not without cost. Overuse, you see, leads to corruption. And then there is the **Wheel of Forms**, where emotions shape the magic a sorcerer wields. Only the most disciplined can keep these emotions in check, lest they be consumed by their own power."

The elder’s voice grew somber. "Zaros Valen, the dark one who seeks to ascend, has mastered many of these forms. His power is immense, but even he must respect the laws of balance. He draws from the abyss, from the **Nexus of Bonds**, connecting himself to ancient artifacts and places of power. But if he breaks these bonds, there will be a price to pay."

The children gasped, their imaginations filling with visions of Zaros standing at the edge of destruction, wielding magic beyond their comprehension.

"But elder," a boy asked, "if Zaros grows so powerful, won’t he become a god? Won’t he ascend?"

The elder's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps he will. But even the gods, long ago, had enemies. There are still other forces at play on Eryndor—other factions that seek power. The **Phantom Court**—rulers of the realm beyond death—and the **Chronomancers' Enclave**, who bend time itself. These are the ones who may stand against him, watching from the shadows, waiting for their chance to strike."

The children’s eyes widened as the elder’s words sank in.

"Remember, children," the elder said softly, "Eryndor is a world of balance. If one power grows too strong, others will rise to meet it. There are always secrets, always those who seek to change the world. And somewhere, out there, Zaros Valen is preparing to make his move."