𝐀𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲

Introduction

In the cosmic expanse, an enigmatic entity named Axiel roamed, seeking the ideal canvas for its creative endeavors. Its origins remained shrouded in mystery, yet its power resonated across the void. Amidst the celestial tapestry, Axiel's gaze settled upon a realm known as Shruvan'rai

Shruvan Ra'i danced with vibrant hues, and Axiel harmonized with the energies that pulsed through this corner of existence. Every crevice and curve beckoned exploration, each promising hidden wonders. Amidst the cosmic symphony, Axiel encountered a singular force—an anomaly of breathtaking color. It swirled amidst the cosmic spectrum, a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Axiel christened it Su'Cran.

With purpose crystallized, Axiel embarked on creation. Eight worlds sprang forth, each a testament to Axiel's boundless imagination. Yet it was the eighth—the distant domain known as the Aherent Reach—that bore the seeds of our tale.

The Adherent Reach defied singularity; it merged two realms into one harmonious whole: Salaria and Ulumbria. These twin worlds coexisted on separate planes, their destinies intertwined. From celestial heights, observers witnessed a perpetual ballet—the rotating field that encircled the Adherent Reach. With each celestial pass, the veil lifted, revealing Salaria's luminescent beauty and Ulumbria's shadowed depths. Light and darkness danced, their delicate balance echoing across the eight realms.

And so, within this cosmic embrace, our saga unfolds—a tale of dualities, cosmic forces, and the delicate equilibrium that binds all existence. 

In the mystical realm of Salaria, there thrives a lineage of beings, the Gongorians, whose valor and might are the stuff of legends. Deemed the guardians of Salaria by the celestial Axiel, their tale is woven into the very fabric of the cosmos. Yet, whispers of doubt echo among the other races, casting these claims as mere fables born of envy. The truth remains shrouded in mystery, guarded by the Gongorians' hallowed vow to carry their secrets to the grave, to the very halls of the underworld deity.

An elder rises, his mane of alabaster and skin kissed by the sun's last golden rays, shimmering with the sheen of exertion. Born with the semblance of the feline—claws and fangs just beneath the surface, yet bearing a humanoid grace—he gazes upon the youth before him, his smile a silent promise. "In time, you shall ascend the throne, young Tiberius. And on that day, may the sagas I've imparted and the wisdom I've bestowed guide you. For you must glean from a lifetime of my teachings, as did your sire and his forebears."

Amidst the glow of ember light, where fire's breath wanes, the chamber holds a regal air, adorned with gold and gemstones. The patriarch approaches a tome-laden shelf, bestowing upon it a volume that finds its home among its brethren. "Heed this well, Tiberius," he intones, "the Creaven is an eternal scribe, etching your deeds into the annals of time." The boy, with reverence in his voice, replies, "Yes, grandfather. I shall uphold my father's legacy, ruling with equity and honor over my kin." The Creaven, a chronicle without end, records history in its ceaseless script, dwelling in a realm apart from Gongoria. Every century, its keeper crosses into Salaria and Ulumbria, inscribing fresh pages into the heart of Gongoria.

Dawn ushers in warmth over the twin lands, where quartets of suns reign supreme, and darkness is but a sorcerer's creation or the dense forest's eternal shroud. The capital, Nev'rene, awakens to the clarion call of trumpets, its streets bustling with the daily toil of its denizens. This day, however, is marked by fate, for Tiberius, scion of the king, is to confront the God of the dead, to gaze into the eyes of destiny itself.

The town square, a vibrant mosaic of life, overflows with the city's denizens. The air vibrates with the sonorous call of trumpets, their notes rising to the heavens. All eyes are drawn upward to the towering spire, a silent sentinel against the sky, where King Athdar is to make his grand entrance.

Amidst the expectant hush, a figure of regal bearing, garbed in the finest linen, steps forth onto the balcony. This Gongorian, a vision of elegance, clears his throat and his voice unfurls over the crowd. "Today," he proclaims, "is unparalleled in our history, for King Athdar will lead his son, Tiberius, to a hallowed ground where destiny beckons, as ordained by the ancient Creaven."

With a flourish, the speaker retreats, and in the wake of his words, King Athdar emerges. He is the epitome of majesty, swathed in the most exquisite linen, his form adorned with furs soft as whispers and jewels that capture the very essence of light. His gaze sweeps over the sea of faces that flood the central courtyard, each one a story, each one a thread in the fabric of his realm.

"My beloved Gongorians," King Athdar's voice is a resonant tide, "I am honored by your presence. This day marks a turning point for my son, Tiberius. He stands on the cusp of an encounter with Tarum, the deity who reigns over the afterlife. Tiberius is the beacon of our future, as I am the guardian of our present. The wisdom he shall glean will steer us toward a destiny of greatness, for all the eras yet to unfold."

Turning, King Athdar extends a hand, a silent summons to his son. With a voice that could stir the very stones of the city, he declares, "PRINCE TIBERIUS, MY SON, YOUR FUTURE!" The words cascade over the populace, a clarion call of what is to come.

A chariot, resplendent as the dawn, rolls into the open courtyard, its presence a testament to the moment's gravity. Prince Tiberius, with solemn grace, entrusts his sacred cloak to his father. King Athdar's touch upon his shoulder is a benediction, a silent message of pride and hope. He leans close, his whisper for Tiberius alone. "This day heralds a new chapter, not just for you, but for all of Gongor. May the shadows of my past never cloud your path, my son."

Tiberius, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and concern, seeks clarity. "Father, this is the day I was born for. My destiny is clear. What force could possibly wrest it from my grasp?" King Athdar draws a deep, weary breath, the weight of unspoken truths heavy in his chest. "There are deeds, my son, deeds from the depths of my reign that may rise like specters. For this, I bear sorrow. The Creaven remains mute, the elders' wisdom sealing its lips."

With a final, poignant glance, Prince Tiberius is ushered to the waiting chariot. He sets forth toward the rising sun, his journey to Neyrub stretching before him like a promise. There, the custodians of Tarum's shrine await. Three days' ride through the tapestry of the land, under vigilant guard, the prince ventures toward his fate.