THE WORLD OF ETERNA

Eterna is an ancient world. Its inhabitants, the children of the veil, people of warm blood and brief lives, circulate through labyrinthine tunnels carved in rock, between chambers populated by silent ruins. For long, empires rise upon corpses and, inevitably, collapse upon their own bones; and it's hard not to wonder if the power that elevates them is the same that condemns them.

In this world, necromancers and opaques coexist, but never in peace. The necromancers, capable of shaping the energy of death as one breathes, command. The opaques, blind to this flow, serve as raw material: manipulated, sacrificed, reanimated, they sustain the gears of endless wars, flesh that never rests.

On the continent of Auroria, two empires occupy the extremes: Zimarod and Blutmont. No one knows if they were born from the same diaspora or if they always inhabited opposite shores. While Zimarod erects cities upon fertile volcanic lands, warmed by living ashes and shallow magma, Blutmont slips through deep tunnels beneath swamps, deserts and mountain ranges never mapped, converting its own absence from maps into armor.

The confrontation becomes inevitable. Lunovka, situated between the two empires, offers noble wood, generous shallow tides rich in marine animals full of fat and white sand, valuable for fusing into perfect crystals. These crystals feed orbs that ignite vortices of light and countless other necromantic artifacts. There, in the heart of this corridor of riches, the armies collide.

Blutmont does not invest with brute force. It spies, studies, waits. It knows routes, names and fissures. When it moves, it corrodes from within: assassinates leaders, sabotages roads, spreads panic. Zimarod begins to crumble, not from one blow, but from a thousand cuts.

The last pillar is the legendary general Borets. In the siege of Dorogov, maddened by grief for his wife, he offers his own life and invokes an abyssal entity, launching his army into an unbridled frenzy. Blutmont retreats, Lunovka resists, and the cost falls like the torrential rains of the Sublime, weighing on everyone's backs.

Both bleed. Wounded, Blutmont returns to the shadows and resumes the needle war: surgical, precise, fatal attacks. Zimarod, orphaned of generals and with its necromancers becoming scarce, trembles from within. The empire that seemed eternal now trembles.

Between Emberis and Zarya, silence weighs heavy. Tension grows, and the question burns: who will attack first? When the dust settles, will there still remain something worthy of being called an empire?