Long before time had a name, hidden deep within the cradle of towering mountains, there lay a village unlike any other. It was not built by human hands but by those whose very existence shimmered with magic. They called it The Blessing, a sanctuary where wizards, witches, dwarfs, goblins, centaurs, fairies, and other enchanted beings lived in harmony. Yet, the land’s peace had been carved from a history of bloodshed and bitter conflict.
Ages ago, war raged across the mountains. The helpless dwarfs, too small to fight alone, allied with stronger factions as devastation swept the land. Wizards and witches hurled spells that twisted the sky into storms of fire and ice, while goblins, masters of steel, forged weapons that gleamed like bottled lightning. Centaurs, swift as the wind, rained down arrows blessed with unerring precision, and fairies—peaceful by nature—cast shields of light, protecting what they could. But even the strongest magic could not prevent the slow unraveling of their world.
The fairies, with their gift of foresight, saw the inevitable—if war continued, magic itself would fade, lost to the abyss of time. Desperate to stop this fate, they proposed a truce, but such an agreement needed more than words. It needed permanence, something indestructible to bind it.
The goblins forged a ring of unbreakable metal, enchanted to carry the essence of peace itself. But the ring required twin gems—Lunar Prism Crystals, of which only two existed. One lay in goblin hands; the other was lost to a realm no one had ever returned from.
With no way to complete the ring, the fairies turned instead to the land, blessing the very mountains with their magic, ensuring the village would forever remain a sanctuary. Over time, each race found its purpose—centaurs became the village’s defenders, wizards its healers, goblins its craftsmen, dwarfs its miners, and fairies its wise rulers. Harmony flourished.
Then came Ambrus.
Born to the centaurs, Ambrus was destined for greatness. Diligent and sharp-minded, he rose to become General of the centaur army. But fate has a way of playing cruel tricks.
One day, on a routine patrol, Ambrus discovered something strange—a decrepit hut where there had never been one before. Its wooden bones sagged with decay, and the air around it pulsed with something ancient, something wrong.
Curiosity, stronger than reason, pulled him inside.
Dust swirled in the dim light, revealing a tattered rug, a sofa spilling its stuffing, and a lone table, fragile as an old man’s sigh. Upon it rested a wooden chest, its carvings intricate and mesmerizing. A whispering greed coiled around his heart as he reached out, lifting the lid.
Inside, bathed in shadow, lay a silver ring crowned with a luminous gem.
Ambrus picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. But as he attempted to slip it on, the ring fell, striking the ground with a sharp crack! The gemstone shattered, and from its core, golden dust spiraled into the air.
Then the wind howled.
A storm rose like a beast awakening from slumber. The sky blackened, gales shrieked through the village, and the mountains trembled. Ambrus bolted outside, his breath stolen by the sight before him—clouds roiled like an angry sea, pressing against the peaks as if trying to crush them. But then, from the very bones of the mountains, a radiant light erupted, casting a protective barrier over the village.
Relief flickered in his chest—until realization struck.
The Blessing. The fairies’ ancient magic still lived, woven into the land itself. But if the mountains had been forced to act…
His eyes dropped to the shattered gem.
A single artifact had sealed the ancient truce. A single artifact had held together the fragile peace.
And he had just broken it.
Panic clawed at him. A chime rang through the village—the call for an urgent council meeting. Heart pounding, Ambrus galloped toward the fairy palace.
There, chaos erupted. The fairies and goblins confirmed the grim truth—the only force capable of breaking the protective magic was the destruction of the ring. When Ambrus confessed, fury ignited the room. Goblins, their eyes blazing, turned on him. Wizards and witches leapt to his defense. Accusations became shouts, and shouts turned into a maelstrom of clashing magic. In the end, the goblins, seething with rage, stormed out, their battle cry chilling the air:
“War!”
The witches and wizards prepared for battle, but the fairies remained calm. They had a plan. While the spellcasters defended the village, a team of fairies and centaurs would set out to find the lost Lunar Prism Crystal, the only hope of forging a new ring and preventing war.
So, under the cloak of night, Ambrus and his companions rode into the Forbidden Expanse—a land where time had unraveled, where whispers clung to the air like mist. The very earth seemed to watch them, waiting.
Then, the ground trembled.
A voice, neither human nor beast, rasped through the wind: Turn back.
They did not.
Guided by a map pulsing with silver light, they pressed onward. The ground split before them, revealing a jagged abyss from which dark tendrils of mist slithered, forming a towering figure with eyes like molten gold.
“Who dares seek the Lunar Prism Crystal?” the Keeper’s voice rumbled.
Ambrus stepped forward. “We seek to restore peace,” he declared.
The Keeper studied him, then raised three glowing symbols—a sword, a heart, and an eye.
“Choose your trial.”
Ambrus met the Keeper’s gaze, his voice unwavering. “The Trial of the Sword.”
The earth shuddered. The mists churned. Before them rose an arena, and within it, a Guardian clad in black armor, its jagged blade humming with ancient power.
The battle began.
Blows struck like thunder. Magic crackled through the air. The Guardian’s armor repelled every strike—until Ambrus noticed the runes flickering on its chest.
“The runes!” he shouted. “They’re its weakness!”
The fairies cast a blinding pulse of light, shattering the runes. The Guardian reeled, and Ambrus, with one final strike, drove his blade through its heart. The beast dissolved into mist.
The arena crumbled, revealing the pedestal at its center.
Upon it, glowing with ethereal silver light, lay the Lunar Prism Crystal.
But as Ambrus reached for it, a shadow moved in the distance.
Something—or someone—was watching them.
He grabbed the crystal. The earth shook in protest. They ran, darkness clawing at their heels, until at last, the mountains of The Blessing welcomed them home.
They had succeeded.
But as Ambrus stood at the village’s edge, he turned sharply, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the figure approaching. It was a lone goblin, walking slowly from the shadows. The other goblins were nowhere to be seen, but there was something unsettling in the way the goblin moved. His steps were measured, deliberate, as if he knew something the others didn’t.
Ambrus’s muscles tensed. “What do you want, goblin?” he asked, his hand tightening around the crystal. He wasn’t sure if it was the goblins’ anger or the dark energy still lingering from the Forbidden Expanse, but his instincts were on edge.
The goblin stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you have,” he said. “And I know what you’ve done.”
Ambrus raised an eyebrow, trying to read the goblin’s expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The goblin chuckled darkly. “The shattering of the first ring—it wasn’t just a mistake, was it? The breaking of that bond awakened something ancient… something none of us are prepared for.”
“What are you talking about?” Ambrus demanded, but the goblin ignored him, his gaze flickering to the crystal in Ambrus’s hands.
“That crystal,” the goblin said softly. “It’s more than just a key to restore the ring. It’s the catalyst for something far worse. The balance of power is shifting. And now that you’ve chosen the trial of the sword… it’s too late to stop it.”
A chill ran through Ambrus. “What do you mean?”
The goblin’s eyes flickered to the horizon, where the last remnants of the storm clouds had begun to form once more. The air hummed with an ominous energy.
“You’ve triggered the awakening of the old gods,” the goblin said. “The ones that existed before time itself. And they’re coming for everything you hold dear.”…