Six races ruled the world of Luxariel.
Not in unity.
Not in peace.
But in separation… and growing ambition.
---
The Six Races of Luxariel were;
The Sery — skin like burning embers, red as blood or ash-faded crimson. Their hair ranged from white to black to deep red, like flames frozen in time.
The Elves — graceful and long-lived, with green or fair skin, their hair like sunlight or snow—blonde or pure white.
The Humans — the most varied of all. Fair, brown, or golden-toned skin, with hair of every shade imaginable. Adaptable. Unpredictable.
The Lyron — dark as the night sky itself, their skin absorbing light. Their hair shimmered white or deep blue, like moonlight reflected on still water.
The Dames — blue-skinned and cold-eyed, with white or black hair. Their presence alone carried an unnatural stillness.
The Fay — the most ethereal. Skin of soft green or delicate pink, hair of white, green, or pink. Their beauty was otherworldly… but so was their fate.
Luxariel was divided into three great continents.
The First Continent — home to the Sery, Dames, and Fay.
The Second Continent — ruled by the Lyron, Elves, and Fay.
The Third Continent — where Humans, Elves, and Fay coexisted… uneasily.
For centuries, balance held.
Fragile.
Temporary
In the north of the First Continent, the Sery rose.
Not slowly.
Not subtly.
They devoured.
Kingdom after kingdom fell beneath them—swallowed whole. Resistance meant annihilation.
The First Continent… became something else.
A conquered land.
A single growing power.
A name began to spread in whispers—
Ceris.
In the south of the Second Continent, the Lyron began their march.
Silent.
Precise.
Relentless.
They did not burn like the Sery.
They erased.
Kingdoms vanished into their control, one after another, until resistance fractured and hope thinned.
And then—
The unthinkable.
From opposite ends of the world…
The Sery from the north and the Lyron from the south turned their gaze toward the same place.
The Third Continent.
The Blind Continent.
Refugees came first.
Broken.
Starving.
Terrified.
They crossed borders in secret, slipping through forests, rivers, and mountain passes.
They carried stories.
Of cities burned.
Of armies erased.
Of rulers who bowed… or were crushed.
But the Third Continent did not listen.
Because it was busy destroying itself.
Internal wars.
Petty conflicts.
Power struggles.
Blind.
Completely blind.
Fifteen Years Ago
When Keyla was four years old…
Three events occurred.
Separate.
Unrelated.
Or so it seemed.
First Incident — The Fall of Ludan.
The Kingdom of Ludan stood at the edge of the First Continent.
A Fay kingdom.
Once vibrant.
Now fleeing.
They ran through the forest.
Royalty reduced to prey.
Behind them—
The Sery.
Relentless.
Unstoppable.
Among the fleeing royals was the Third Queen—heavily pregnant, barely able to move.
Beside her, the First Queen, steady despite the terror.
The Second Queen…
Had already fallen.
She had died buying them time.
Saving her seven-year-old son.
They reached a cliff.
Hidden caves carved into stone.
A temporary refuge.
A fragile hope.
"Hide them," the King ordered.
His voice was steady.
But his eyes…
Knew the truth.
He left ten men behind.
Then turned.
Taking his older sons with him.
Running back toward the enemy.
To distract them.
To die, if necessary.
They were chased for two days.
Far from the caves.
Far enough.
And then—
They fell.
Captured.
Taken back.
To a land no longer called home.
To Ceris.
Days later, scouts returned.
"The path is clear, Your Majesties."
The guards knelt.
"We must move."
The Third Queen lowered her gaze.
"…We can no longer live as royals."
A pause.
Then—
"We live as commoners."
The decision was made.
They traveled for three weeks.
Hungry.
Exhausted.
Afraid.
Until they reached Bavaria—a Fay land within the Third Continent.
There—
They disappeared.
They sold everything.
Jewels.
Relics.
Fragments of their former lives.
And bought something simple.
A courtyard.
A home.
A hiding place.
A month later—
Spring came.
Thunder rolled.
Lightning tore through the sky.
And within that small courtyard—
A child was born.
A girl.
Pink-skinned.
Green hair streaked faintly with purple.
Brown eyes.
And on her arm—
A birthmark.
A sword.
They named her Cara.
Blessed.
Because they needed to believe she would be.
-
Second Incident — The Lost Bloodline
A child clung tightly to a man's leg.
Barefoot.
Ragged.
Terrified.
Before them lay the body of a fallen Lyron.
And above it stood the man who killed it.
Broad.
Scarred.
Golden-haired.
Alfur Aragon.
Brother of the Emperor.
Lost.
Stolen.
Sold across continents as a child.
But he remembered.
He never forgot.
The girl had no one.
Her parents had died on the journey.
She had nothing left.
So he lifted her.
Held her close.
And ran.
One hour.
That was all it took to reach the border.
Three more—
And they were safe.
For the first time in years…
Alfur rested.
He hunted.
Fed the child.
Watched her sleep.
The next morning—
He gave her a name.
Alfiva.
And with that—
She became Alfiva Aragon.
And he began the long journey home.
-
Third Incident — The Weapon Called Kahlan
War had no end in the Kingdom of Masffar.
It consumed everything.
People stopped feeling.
Stopped hoping.
Stopped living.
In a blood-stained mansion—
A general held his dead wife.
She had given birth.
But death had claimed her.
He cried.
Until his wounds reopened.
Until he bled.
Until he died beside her.
The King buried them.
Then took the child.
Named her—
Kahlan.
Beauty.
But the people called her something else.
A curse.
A jinx.
A bringer of ruin.
The King believed them.
And so
He broke her.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
He turned her into a weapon.
---
A shaman was summoned.
A curse was demanded.
"To bind her."
"To control her."
"To make her obedient."
But the shaman…
Showed mercy.
The curse was twisted.
Not obedience to a man—
But power tied to something deeper.
Wherever Kahlan called home…
She would gain the strength to protect it.
She fought.
Year after year.
War after war.
Until—
At fourteen—
She became a general.
The youngest in history.
At seventeen—
The kingdom fell.
Two allied nations descended.
Massacre.
Total.
Merciless.
Kahlan survived.
But something inside her…
Did not.
She lost her will.
And with it—
Her power.
She was taken.
Sold.
Reduced.
A weapon without purpose.
---
The Present
Fifteen years later—
Rain fell.
Across the third continent.
And somewhere in the Third Continent—
In a quiet room—
Keyla sat on her bed.
Silent.
Thinking.
Everything had changed.
Something she couldn't name had shifted inside her.
The door opened.
Fredda.
Aldera.
They sat beside her.
Concern written across their faces.
"…I'm fine," Keyla said.
And she smiled.
They didn't believe her.
But they stayed anyway.
Later—
Fredda returned with food.
Aldera helped her wash.
They stayed until she lay down.
Until her breathing steadied.
Until she slept.
Elsewhere—
Eris sat with Sage.
Speaking.
Listening.
Breaking.
Recovering.
The storm outside raged on.
---
But something far greater than rain had begun.
---
The Wheel Turns
Across Luxariel—
Unseen.
Unfelt.
Unstoppable—
The gears of fate began to move.