The Age of Lumina
In the golden cradle of a forgotten world, the Luminari flourished—beings of wisdom, creativity, and unity. Having unlocked the full potential of the mind through harmonic resonance, they sculpted a civilization of beauty and peace. Each thought, a tool. Each emotion, a strength. They lived not in conflict, but in collective ascension.
But peace does not feed all hearts.
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The Rise of the Voidborn
There were those among them who saw harmony as weakness. They believed not in balance, but in ascendancy—through might, fear, and control. These were the Voidborn, a name earned through their descent into the other planes—realms beyond thought, where form and purpose dissolved, and only chaos endured.
The Voidborn unlocked power far beyond the mind's natural reach—not just potential, but permission. From these planes, entities whispered promises of strength. In exchange, the Voidborn served as gateways, pulling abominations into the world—monsters that had no right to exist, born from corrupted dreams, rage, and endless hunger.
Each Voidborn who proved their dominance was rewarded. They grew stronger with every summoning. Their bodies mutated, their minds expanded, their power deepened. But unity was not in their nature—each craved supremacy. They warred amongst themselves as often as they did with the Luminari, crafting horrors for siege, slavery, and spectacle.
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The Turning of the Rift-Spawn
The Rift-Spawn, once obedient creations of pain and control—began to act of their own will. As more were summoned, their link to the Void deepened. They began to whisper among themselves, evolve, and revolt.
The Voidborn were consumed by their own weapons.
Amongst the conflict, a single Voidborn rose above all others, the most cunning and ruthless of their kind, discovered a way to bind the abominations, not just command them. He forged a living contract with the Void itself—gaining mastery over every creature and the right to bestow them upon chosen followers
He declared himself the King of the Void and thus the Reign of Ruin began.
After the rise of the King of the Void and the forging of his pact with the outer realms, the world plunged into a nightmare it could not wake from. With the Roft-Spawn bound to his will and entire dimensions bleeding into the mortal realm, he needed no army—he was the army. But his ambition had no ceiling.
He summoned his crown jewel: the God of the Void—an entity so vast, so blasphemous in form, that its existence fractured reason itself.
The God-Beast did not simply kill.
It warped reality.
Entire cities inverted upon themselves—steel and bone fused, time slowed to a crawl while screams echoed endlessly. Oceans boiled under the gaze of its fire-wreathed eyes. Mountains sank as its claws pierced tectonic lines. The wind itself became hostile, whispering promises of agony in forgotten tongues.
This was not conquest. This was performance. The King of the Void orchestrated chaos like a symphony.
He hovered above the battlefield in his throne of bone and black iron, watching as titans he summoned tore through Luminari sanctuaries. Survivors who fled were hunted by airborne Rift-Spawn with blades for wings. Others were branded with marks that ensured they'd dream of their death every night for the rest of their broken lives.
It was said he once pointed at the moon—and it bled.
The God-Beast, ever evolving, adapted to any resistance. If it was wounded, it changed. If it was halted, it split into many. Fire, ice, voidlight, swarm, decay—it wielded all. Its tentacles dragged stars from the sky, and its roar cracked the auroras into flame.
The Luminari knew they could not win the war by force.
Their numbers had thinned. Their cities had fallen. Their champions had perished. But they still possessed knowledge no other being on Earth had dared to seek: The Complete Unlocking of the Mind.
This knowledge, if used with peace and harmony, could elevate humanity to divine understanding, enable them to bend reality without corruption, and wield creation as easily as destruction. But in the wrong hands—like those of the Voidborn—it would spell extinction.
And so, as their sanctuaries were breached, the remaining Luminari retreated into the Deep Veins, caverns beneath the crust of the earth untouched by Rift corruption. There, in a ritual that consumed lifetimes and required the merging of multiple minds into a single will, they forged the stone tablet.
But this was no ordinary object.
It was:
A key, encrypted with layered consciousness, only decipherable by a mind pure enough to resist corruption.
A beacon, set to awaken only when the world was quiet enough to hear it—protected from detection by anyone who has touched the Rifts.
And a last defense—they wove a geospell into the earth itself, binding tectonic plates, mineral veins, and ley-lines around it to create a metaphysical fortress.
The skies turned grey. The sun grew dim. The earth was one breath from death.
That's when it happened
The earth fought back.
Not through soldiers. Not through gods of light or blades of justice.
The planet itself, ancient and watching, unleashed a fury unlike anything the Void had ever known. Some say it was a meteor. Others say it was the planet's consciousness, triggered by the unbearable imbalance. Whatever it was—it tore through the sky like a divine scream.
The Cataclysm split the world open. The God-Beast reeled. The Void King's tower crumbled. Reality snapped back like a rubber band under too much pressure. The monsters were pulled back, sealed, silenced—but not destroyed.
The King vanished into the rift left behind by his own summoning—not dead, but waiting.
In the smoldering center of it all, sat a stone tablet. Glowing with dormant power, surrounded by silence and dust, untouched by the ruin that erased the age itself. Not by accident, But by the Luminari last selfless act before vanishing from the world above.