A dramatic fantasy landscape with a massive, gnarled tree at the center, its roots plunging into a chasm. The sky above is split by a fiery, lightning-filled crack, with dark, winged creatures flying towards it. Ruined white and red-roofed buildings stand on cracked ground.

Once—before the sky cracked and the world took the name Armageddon—Belthain stood as a crown among nations. Its cities were carved from white stone and living wood, their towers grown as much as built. Its people lived beneath the blessing of the Tree of Life, Ygdrasyl, whose roots drank from the heart of the world itself. Upon the mainland, Ygdrasyl rose higher than mountains, its radiant boughs veiling the land in eternal spring. Rivers were born from its roots, and every oath sworn beneath its leaves carried the weight of fate. In those days, the world was whole, and Belthain was its beating heart. But glory does not endure unchallenged. A prophecy, whispered long before any crown fell, spoke of a wound in the heavens—of a time when the sky would remember how to break. And when that day came, the earth screamed. The sky tore open above Ygdrasyl, splitting like glass beneath a god’s hammer. Light bled where no light should be, and from the great crack poured creatures unbound by mortal law—horrors of shadow, hunger, and screaming stars. The world would come to know this calamity as The Shattering. Kingdoms burned. Seas swallowed coastlines. The sky rained fire. And Belthain was struck at its very core. The lands surrounding Ygdrasyl fractured into broken provinces. Once-fertile realms became chasms and ash plains, haunted by echoes of the dead. Great cities fell and were half-buried, their leaning towers standing like gravestones of an age long gone. Forests burned to Ver mais