Inhevaen pulses like an ancient heart, enveloped by the invisible walls of the Dome, an ancestral force that both protects and imprisons. Its vibrations permeate the earth, shape the tides, whisper to the winds, and engrave symbols upon the mountains. No being lives without feeling it—even those who deny it, even those who fear it.
Beneath its enchanted vastness, seven races coexist, divided between fragile alliances, veiled rivalries, and memories of wars that the elders prefer not to name. And in the shadows of these divisions, two philosophical currents silently wage their own battle—the Rav'Kaal who seek to break free from what they see as a prison, and the Aendharys who guard what they believe is the last barrier against destruction.
The Sylarei, their skin marked by living runes, master the Magic of Words. Their minds are archivists of energy, and their tongues can conjure, repel, or obliterate. They command no armies, but no important decision is made without one of their sentences echoing through the halls of stone. In their crystal towers at Ny'theras, ancient tomes hold secrets that few dare to translate.
The Verithil, hidden in mountain mists, with their golden eyes and alabaster skin, see beyond flesh. Arcane visions and complex, star-like pupils make them feared oracles and invincible spies. They follow their own designs—and many claim they have already seen the end of everything. Their eyes, coveted treasures in forbidden markets, glow in the darkness like beacons of forbidden knowledge.
The Arenya, cold-blooded giants towering over two meters tall, possess bodies forged for war and superhuman regeneration. Their skin can transform to stone as they inhabit the icy peaks and underground labyrinths. Their strength is feared, but their silence is more dangerous: they speak little..., but remember everything. Deep in their subterranean cities lie artifacts from civilizations that existed before the Dome itself.
The Zhyren, shapers of the four elements, live in symbiosis with living volcanoes and steaming forests. Volatile as the nature they command, they appear as ordinary humans until they merge with their elements, becoming both healers and destroyers, unpredictable as fire and profound as the abyss. Their leaders commune with the elements themselves, preserving a balance that outsiders can never truly comprehend.
The Sangor, children of the desert with their dark skin and prominent veins adorned with white ritualistic tattoos, sacrifice themselves to conjure power. Blood magic, they say, demands more than courage—it demands faith. They live among poisons, relics, and forgotten pacts. They respect suffering as others revere gods. Their silver-glowing blood flows through red rivers, powering machines and spells alike in a society divided between donors and the free.
The Naruun, bonded to their Anirû beasts, live the purest connection between being and beast. Monster shepherds, claw riders. Their eyes reflect the instinct of the forest, and their souls pulse in unison with the pack. As they age, they acquire traits of their bonded animals, physical manifestations of a spiritual connection that transcends death itself.
And the Olkhar, at the center of everything, guardians of unity. Fragmented heirs of all gifts, they are born with diverse traits of the other races, like diluted echoes of the greater world. They believe their existence prevents collapse... or perhaps merely postpones the inevitable. Once masters of multiple gifts, their power has been waning over the last century, with fewer and fewer able to awaken more than a single gift.
The Dome, invisible and absolute, keeps everyone under the same moon, but does not prevent conflict. Politicians plot beneath veils of diplomacy. Councils dispute every Shyrr stone as if it contained the last breath of protection. Assassins walk among the emissaries. And alliances are broken with the same whisper with which they are made.
All desire power. All fear rupture.
But no one is prepared for the silence.
Not the silence that comes from unspoken words.
But that which emerges from the zones where even the Dome dares not enter.
There, where magic itself dies, where the Children of Silence stalk their prey.
In these Dead Zones, reality fractures. Corrupted energy seeps through cracks in the Dome's structure, giving birth to monstrosities that should not exist. Fourteen permanent Forbidden Zones stand as warnings across the land, their boundaries marked by the bones of those who ventured too close.
Inhevaen breathes, but something moves beneath its skin.
And when the Dome sings its prophecy of the Bearer, the Word, and the Broken Bond...
It will be impossible to ignore the sound.
For in the heart of Mount Ilhyr, a young man with seven gifts stirs.
In the University of Ny'theras, a woman deciphers words that should remain unspoken.
And in the Great Forest of Naruun, a hunter mourns a bond severed too soon.
The fragments are falling. The cycle begins anew.