"When the first lights rose, they rose alone."

  Before there were worlds, before oceans, before stars, before life, there were the Pillars.

  They did not speak a language mortals understood.

  They hummed — a deep vibration that shaped reality itself.

  From their hum came six separate universes, each one forged around a Pillar like a sun.

  And then, as ages passed, fragments chipped away from them — shards of divine essence that drifted outward and rooted themselves in each world.

  These shards became what mortals would later worship as:

  ? Old Gods of Man

  ? Old Gods of Elves

  ? Old Gods of Dwarves

  ? Old Gods of Orcs

  ? Old Gods of Demons

  ? Old Gods of Beastmen

  They were not creators.

  They were echoes of creation.

  For five hundred million years, the six worlds grew in isolation:

  ? Humans built empires and machines.

  ? Elves shaped forests with thought alone.

  ? Dwarves carved cities the size of continents deep underground.

  ? Orcs forged a culture of steel, blood, and honor.

  ? Demons ruled through allure, manipulation, and will.

  ? Beastmen lived in balance with nature, guided by their primal spirits.

  Each world was different.

  Each grew powerful.

  None knew the others existed.

  Until the day the sky shattered.

  —

  THE GREAT COLLISION

  No one knows why — not elves, not demons, not even the Old Gods — but the six worlds were ripped from their dimensions and slammed together.

  Continents folded.

  Oceans crashed over alien coastlines.

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  Species found themselves standing face-to-face with creatures they had never imagined.

  The new mega-planet was eleven times the size of Earth.

  Chaos reigned.

  Survival forced alliances.

  Fear fueled hatred.

  And in the anarchy that followed, something new emerged.

  Something powerful.

  Something hunted.

  The Primal Beasts.

  They appeared 1,000 years after the Collision, towering god-like entities with essence structures that resembled Beastmen, yet were utterly unrelated.

  They tried to restore balance.

  Humans and Demons tried to harvest them.

  They succeeded.

  And from their corpses came new weapons, new drugs, new tools — and a new justification to target the Beastmen whose essence vaguely resembled the Primal Beasts’.

  Beastmen were labeled:

  ? “dangerous”

  ? “resources”

  ? “weapons by birth”

  ? “corrupted by essence”

  And soon the hunts began.

  Beastmen were:

  ? enslaved

  ? harvested for essence

  ? used as living batteries

  ? turned into child soldiers

  ? discriminated against

  ? butchered

  Entire villages were wiped out.

  The single-bred Beastmen — lion, wolf, bear, hawk, tiger, ox, serpent, and more — were exterminated completely.

  Only hybrids survived — because their essence was high enough to withstand the harvesting, and strong enough to endure the torture.

  But their survival came with a curse:

  hybrid sickness — a disease that killed most before adulthood.

  This was the darkest age in history.

  And during this darkness… a spark survived.

  THE MAN WHO WALKED INTO THE FOG

  His name became legend later.

  Mu’aar the Blind.

  But before that, he was:

  ? a slave

  ? a healer

  ? a crocodile-hippo hybrid

  ? a protector

  ? and a man burdened with the weakness of caring too much

  He was chained beside Beastmen, Elves, and Dwarves.

  He watched them die.

  He watched children dragged away.

  He watched hope burn.

  Then, one night, he heard a hum.

  A familiar hum.

  The Pillars.

  They called him.

  And Mu’aar — already half-broken, half-starved — obeyed.

  He broke chains that could not be broken.

  He shattered locks that resisted magic.

  He stole the surviving hybrids and a handful of Elven and Dwarven prisoners.

  He ran under the moonlight as soldiers chased them.

  The humans and demons followed.

  Mu’aar led the survivors into a place of death:

  The Fog.

  A living, conscious ocean mist that:

  ? consumes minds,

  ? traps souls,

  ? kills nearly all who enter,

  ? and bends for no one.

  Except the Pillars.

  The moment Mu’aar stepped inside:

  ? illusions parted,

  ? monsters bowed,

  ? the mist grew warm,

  ? the path revealed itself.

  Behind them, their pursuers entered…

  …and the Fog devoured them instantly.

  Screams.

  Silence.

  Nothing left.

  Mu’aar walked until the whispers told him to stop.

  There the Fog opened,

  revealing islands of impossible beauty — pristine jungles, waterfalls, floating stone monoliths,

  and essence-rich soil untouched by corruption.

  Mu’aar led the survivors in.

  This place became their sanctuary.

  The Isles of Mu.

  Mu’aar wandered alone to the heart of the Fog, guided by the Pillars’ hum.

  He surrendered his vision willingly, trading sight for truth.

  He emerged blind…

  …but more alive than ever.

  Mu’aar founded the new culture.

  New clans.

  New laws.

  New training.

  New unity.

  And when the people no longer needed him—

  he passed peacefully,

  his legacy eternal.

  THE ARRIVAL OF GU’URUK THE OPEN

  Two centuries after Mu’aar’s death,

  a young orc stepped into the Fog alone.

  He was no warrior.

  Not violent.

  Not ambitious.

  He was a healer — an arcane anomaly, born once every million generations.

  An orc whose essence pool rivaled elves,

  whose healing magic defied nature itself.

  And like Mu’aar…

  the Pillars whispered to him too.

  The Fog recognized the touch of the ancient hum.

  It opened.

  Gu’uruk walked through unharmed.

  He came as a wandering pacifist.

  He stayed as:

  ? the Isles’ healer

  ? spiritual mentor

  ? keeper of the ancient ways

  ? last follower of the true Way of the Pillars (before it became twisted worldwide)

  When he settled in the Ice Temple high in the mountains,

  the Isles found balance again.

  For a time.

  But destiny had one final gift for them —

  one wrapped in screams and stormlight