A Small Universe…
In an outer zone where the common laws of the cosmos seem like forgotten rumors, among shadows and fragments of chaos, a planet stirs—insignificant to the gods, yet vital to those who dare to know it.
Moonridge. The central continent, where mysterious forces and fragile alliances intertwine destinies. At its heart, within an ancient guild, the air is thick like fog before a storm.
Inside the Guild – Round Table
Shrouded figures gather around a massive table, each concealed by their own shadows and secrets. Among them, tension is palpable. Beings of various races—some with horns gleaming in the dim light, others with emerald eyes sparkling like sparks—watch in silence… until someone shatters the stillness with a cold, disinterested voice:
???:
"So… Why are we here?"
A scarred, gray-bearded man snaps his fingers impatiently. His tone is dry, as if others' time were a personal insult.
Irritated Veteran:
"Well, how about the elves' invasion?"
The moment the word "invasion" is spoken, a hoarse laugh echoes through the hall. A serpent-eyed figure smirks, voice dripping with scorn.
Mocking Figure:
"Elven invasion?! Ha! Such hypocrisy."
He crosses his arms, eyes glinting like hidden blades, venom lacing his words. The tension grows. Everyone knows this isn't just about elves—it's about broken alliances, buried secrets, and promises that may have never held weight.
Krisella – The Great Queen of Humanity:
"And if we wait… how long until the elves render our borders meaningless?"
Her voice is cold, yet wrapped in a serene, almost maternal tone. Her hawk-like eyes scan every face at the table, weighing reactions.
An orc at the far end snorts impatiently, his stone-like fists resting on the worn wood.
Distrustful Orc:
"Tch. You want to drag us into another war that isn't ours?"
Krisella offers a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Krisella:
"If you think this is just humanity's war, you're not seeing the full picture."
She lets the words hang like an invisible trap. Silently, her mind races: The orcs aren't eternal enemies. If they fall first, the elves' expansion will target my people… and I won't allow that.
Krisella:
"Unification is inevitable—with or without you, the races must defend themselves. Once the elves gain momentum, stopping them will be impossible."
The hall falls silent. The Queen's wisdom is undeniable, but doubt creeps through the room like poison. No one is foolish enough to believe Krisella acts purely for the races' sake. Few understand, however, that she fights not just for power… but for humanity's survival.
The Shadows Speak
The room is bathed in uneasy gloom, lit only by flickering torches. Around the dark wooden table, figures of various races gather, their presences more implied than revealed. This is Moonridge's heart—a neutral territory where laws belong to neither kings nor empires. Here, no one holds absolute power, and every decision echoes like distant thunder across lands fighting for survival.
A slender, regal silhouette moves with predator-like grace. Her face remains shadowed, but her posture is flawless—carved for leadership.
Slender Silhouette:
"And if we wait… how long do you think it will take for the borders to crumble and the elves to advance unchecked?"
Her voice is smooth, cold, and impossible to ignore. It's not a question—it's a warning.
The burly orc slams his fist on the table, eyes burning like embers.
Distrustful Orc:
"You humans think you can use us as cannon fodder? I won't let my people bleed for a war that isn't ours!"
The hooded figure doesn't flinch. Her gaze remains fixed, patience hinting at a deeper understanding of the game being played.
Slender Silhouette:
"Your war?" She smiles, joyless. "If the elves advance, you'll be the last to fall. You think you'll have time… but the end will be inevitable."
Silence swallows the room. Furtive glances are exchanged.
Slender Silhouette:
"Moonridge's neutrality won't last forever."
The orc growls but doesn't retort. He knows there's truth in her words, even if he distrusts the speaker. In the shadows, invisible alliances begin to form. The true goal of this elegant figure, however, remains veiled—a silent plot woven to save her own nation… at any cost.
Thus, at this table where no nation rules and all races walk uncertain ground, the seed of an unlikely alliance begins to sprout.
Who truly holds control?
The answer lies in silence, veiled words, and hidden intentions—as it always has for the wise.
The Poisoned Silk
The atmosphere is thick as smoke, filled with prolonged silences and sharp glances. Among the figures, a new presence makes itself known—a cloaked silhouette reclining as if chaos were an old friend.
Silhouette B:
"So this is it… Everyone here, worried about an invasion that may never come?"
Their voice slides through the air like poisoned silk, playful yet laced with cutting irony.
The orc bares his teeth in disgust.
Distrustful Orc:
"Tch. The elves talk as if they've already won."
Silhouette B merely smiles, an unsettling glint in the shadows where their eyes should be.
Silhouette B:
"You're all here out of fear."
The smile widens, sharp as a blade.
"Fear that elven unification will finally happen. After all…" A calculated pause. "The only thing stopping their expansion is our division. While you kill each other, we grow stronger."
The slender silhouette doesn't react, watching with the patience of one accustomed to dealing with snakes in disguise.
Silhouette B (softly):
"As for Moonridge… This place belongs to none of you. It must remain neutral—untouched by the wars you insist on waging."
The words land like stones in still water. Moonridge's neutrality is fragile, and this meeting only hastens its unraveling.
The Dwarf's Fear
A short, broad figure shifts nervously. Their hands—strong but trembling—twist beneath the table.
Silhouette C (voice shaking):
"Easy for you, elf, to say Moonridge should stay out of this."
No venom, just poorly concealed fear.
"But when your unification happens… my kingdom will be the first to fall."
The accusation hangs heavy. The dwarf leans forward, fingers gripping the table as if clinging to stability.
Silhouette C:
"Moonridge has an agreement. Have you forgotten?"
Their invisible eyes scan the table for hesitation.
"If the dwarves request troops, you're bound to act. That was the promise when we supplied your weapons."
The orc grunts but stays silent. The slender silhouette observes, calculating.
The hooded elven prince merely smirks.
Silhouette B (mocking):
"Ah, promises… So fragile."
The dwarf clenches his fists. He knows the truth is on his side—but trust is scarce at this table. In war, promises are cheap, and alliances are deadly games of convenience.
Then—the world shakes.
A powerful tremor rips through Moonridge, rattling the fortress's ancient stones. Glasses clatter; a deep, mournful groan echoes through the air. The torchlight flickers as if darkness itself has stirred.
Everyone stiffens. This is no ordinary quake.
Something—or someone—has entered this world… and the earth itself weeps at their arrival.
Silhouette B (hissing):
"This… This is your doing!"
Without waiting, he vanishes into the night, suspicion and rage in his wake.
SILHOUETTE A (commanding):
"Wait! There's no need for rash—"
But their voice falters. The tremor has shaken more than stone—it's shaken their certainty.
Krisella's mind races.
(This wasn't part of the plan…)
The dwarf king stumbles to his feet, face twisted in terror.
Silhouette C (gasping):
"We… we're doomed…"
He flees, nearly collapsing in his haste.
Chaos consumes the meeting. The once-orderly discussion shatters as figures scatter like leaves in a storm.
The carefully orchestrated gathering lies in ruins.
And as shadows swallow Moonridge's halls, one truth remains:
Something powerful—something unforeseen—has entered the game.
And all carefully laid plans… begin to crumble.