In a faraway galaxy, one that shimered like a mirror to our own, life began.
It was not so different from the life we know—creatures rose, air flowed, waters moved—but there was something special in this galaxy. Something alive in the very wind, the soil, and the sky.
An energy.
A light unseen, yet deeply felt.
It pulsed in the heart of the world like a quiet heartbeat no ear could hear, yet all living things could feel.
They called it Mana.
Unlike any power known to man, Mana was the union of soul and body.
It flowed through every creature, every plant, and even in stones deep beneath the ground.
It strengthened muscles, sharpened senses, and awakened the sleeping parts of the mind.
It was the blood of the world. The breath of all things.
In this realm, Mana was not just a gift—it was life itself.
On one small but vibrant planet, where trees danced in golden winds and mountains touched the stars, life took root.
The planet's air was clean and rich.
The temperature was warm and generous.
Its lands were fertile and vast.
To the eye, it was much like Earth.
But the difference was profound.
Here, every creature—every leaf, beast, and drop of water—held a spark of Mana from the moment it was born.
Because of this strange power, evolution moved along a path not found on Earth.
Dragons rose in the skies, vast and proud, their wings painted with flame and shadow.
Their roars were like thunder, and their breath could burn forests to ash.
Other beasts followed, growing mighty and wise, learning to bend Mana as if it were part of their bodies.
They ran faster.
Struck harder.
Lived longer.
In time, they grew so strong and mysterious that lesser creatures began to call them gods.
But nothing in nature is truly free.
These "gods" and ancient beasts devoured Mana endlessly.
The stronger they became, the more Mana they needed.
They drained the world like a thirsty flame drinks oil.
Slowly, the balance broke.
The planet, once glowing with Mana, began to dim.
The rivers of energy weakened.
Forests withered.
Storms grew cruel.
And without Mana, even the mightiest creatures began to fall.
A great extinction swept across the world like a cold breath in the night.
Many of the strongest races vanished—not because they were slain in war, but because they could no longer survive.
They had burned too bright, and the fuel was gone.
But the world did not end.
Smaller creatures—those who used little Mana—managed to survive.
They scurried through trees, hunted in packs, and drank from quiet streams.
Among them were clever creatures with long arms and sharp eyes: monkeys.
They were not strong, but they were quick and clever.
They used teamwork to survive.
They climbed high when danger came, and learned to share what they found.
Slowly, over thousands of seasons, they changed.
And then one day, the first spark of humanity appeared.
These early humans made tools from stone.
They hunted beasts much stronger than themselves.
They gathered into small groups and formed tribes.
In every tribe, the leader was always the one with the most Mana—
For Mana brought strength.
And strength brought power.
But not all humans were strong.
Many were weak, but they had something else: curiosity.
They observed the stars.
Listened to the wind.
Used fire.
They studied how to make better tools, and how to shape the world around them.
In time, they stopped wandering and began to build.
Villages rose beside rivers, protected by wooden walls.
People no longer chased food—they grew it.
They tamed animals and stored grains for the cold months.
They hunted the dangerous beasts near their homes, and the land grew safer.
Because they no longer had to run, their families grew.
Soon, villages became towns.
Towns became cities.
Cities became kingdoms.
And kingdoms—greedy and proud—began to conquer.
Humans, once prey, became rulers.
They marched across the land with spears and spells, defeating other races.
Dragons fell.
Giants crumbled.
Beastkin were driven from their homes.
In time, humans controlled nearly one-tenth of the entire world.
Their cities towered into the sky.
Their magic carved paths through mountains.
But the more they ruled, the more they fought.
The kingdoms of men turned against one another.
Brothers became enemies.
Neighbors raised swords.
Pride, fear, and the thirst for power spread like wildfire.
While they battled, the old races—
Elves hidden in silver forests,
Dwarves deep in stone halls,
And orcs in wild, broken lands—
Began to breathe once more.
The world, once ruled by one race, became many again.
This was now a world of swords and magic,
Where Mana flowed through every spell, every weapon, every battle, and every life.
But not all were blessed.
Among humans, some were born without Mana.
They were the unlucky.
The empty.
The forgotten.
They could not fight like warriors or cast spells like mages.
They were mocked.
Pushed to the edges of society.
Treated like shadows in a world of light.
Yet even shadows can grow deep.
In hidden places, far from cities and kingdoms, a secret kingdom was born.
Created by the powerless, for the powerless.
Its name was never written in books.
Its halls were deep underground, hidden beneath the roots of the world.
They called themselves The Bloodless.
They were silent, patient, and angry.
While the world rose in glory, they studied in silence.
For four hundred years, they searched for a way to rise—
Something that could make them equal to the Mana-born.
But they found nothing.
Every path led to failure.
Hope faded.
Their kingdom crumbled into a forgotten organization of whispers and dust.
Still, a few never gave up.
A few believed there must be another way.
And then—finally—it happened.
In a moment of quiet thought, a truth was uncovered.
So simple, yet so powerful, it changed everything.
Why are swords so powerful?
Why do the finest weapons last so long?
Why are the strongest building materials taken from deep within the earth?
For centuries, the world thought it was because those materials created Mana.
But that was wrong.
The truth was this:
Over millions of years, these materials had absorbed Mana.
The deeper you went into the earth, the more Mana was buried in metal and stone.
Iron.
Steel.
Obsidian.
Ancient crystal—
They had been soaking in Mana for ages.
This was the secret.
This was the path to victory.
Now that the Bloodless had found the path, more began to join their side.
While the kingdoms and empires clashed in endless war, the Bloodless remained hidden—
Passing their knowledge from one generation to the next.
And at last, after many long years, they succeeded.
They created an armor filled with Mana—
One that could be controlled by the mind alone.
And felt like controlling your own legs and arms.
But this was not the end.
Once the Bloodless awakened the armor, they knew a truth:
Silence could not last forever.
The secret was too powerful.
The dream too bright.
Whispers grew louder.
The Bloodless—once content to hide—began preparing to move.
Their warriors—once fragile and mocked—now stood tall, clad in armor forged from the bones of the world.
Guided by thought.
Unbound by Mana.
They began to arm themselves.
Each suit was rare.
Each blade a treasure.
But with every year, more were made.
Their soldiers trained not just in body, but in mind—
Learning to move with clarity,
To strike with intention,
To master stillness as a weapon.
The world above had changed in their silence.
The outside was not blind.
Somewhere, eyes watched—eyes that belonged to one of the greatest empires still standing in the ash of the old world:
The Alvetus Empire.
Ruled by an iron-fisted line of emperors that had survived every fall, every storm, Alvetus had grown paranoid and hungry.
Perhaps it was spies.
Perhaps the wind carried tales.
But somehow, they saw.
They noticed the quiet footsteps of the Bloodless.
They struck first.
Long before the Bloodless could fully rise, Alvetus forces ambushed them.
Their soldiers were not magicians—but they were war-hardened, cruel, and ruthless.
The surprise was brutal.
Yet the Bloodless did not fall easily.
Though outnumbered, though their minds had only just begun to shape this new path, they fought like people with nothing left to lose.
Their armored warriors crushed enemies five times their number.
Their blades cut through Mana-born champions like fire through dry grass.
But it was not enough.
For all their courage and brilliance, the Bloodless were still few.
And one day, a battle was lost—
Not in bodies,
But in secrets.
A piece of their knowledge,
A blueprint of power,
A half-finished design of the Mindbound Armor—
Fell into the hands of Emperor Alvetus XI.
He was no ordinary king.
Alvetus XI was cold and cunning.
A ruler who saw no value in peace.
He read the stolen knowledge not as a threat—
But as a promise.
If the powerless could build power…
Then the powerful could build dominion.
He summoned his scientists.
His smiths.
His seers.
He locked them behind doors of stone and iron.
And gave them a command:
Finish what the Bloodless began.
Make it stronger.
Make it deadly.
Make it mine.
And so began the Second Age of Iron.
For two hundred and forty years, the descendants of Alvetus XI labored in secret labs beneath burning cities.
They experimented with alloys soaked in Mana,
Circuits carved into bones,
And minds wired to machines.
Finally, they succeeded.
They created the first true Mana-Fused Weapon—
Massive, metal beasts with thunder in their chests and fire in their mouths.
They were the first tanks.
They rolled across the land on wheels as thick as tree trunks.
Their armor pulsed with stolen Mana.
Each tank required a dozen men to operate, but their firepower could slay a hundred in seconds.
The world trembled again.
But Alvetus did not stop.
For two more centuries, they pushed forward.
Machines grew bigger.
Faster.
More terrible.
And then—the first Mechas were born.
They were crude.
Hulking things of bolts and smoke, piloted by men trained to sync their thoughts with steel.
They lacked the grace of the Bloodless armor.
But they did not need grace.
They had brutality.
A single Mecha could slay fifty Mana warriors before falling.
Some said they were demons of iron.
Others called them the new gods of war.
And behind them stood
a single name—Emperor Alvetus the Uniter.
A descendant of kings.
A genius of conquest.
The first to pilot a Mecha that did not break beneath its own power.
With his black-steel Mecha, he led armies of machines and men across the world.
He crushed every remaining human kingdom beneath his feet.
He did not negotiate.
He did not forgive.
He conquered.
One by one, every banner fell.
Every human nation bowed—or was wiped from memory.
The elves, dwarves, and beastkin?
Gone.
Destroyed in the long wars.
Their forests burned.
Mountains shattered.
Spirits turned to legend.
Only wild beasts remained.
And Alvetus the Uniter saw them
not as foes—But as resources.
He gathered them.
Bred them.
Twisted them.
All were bound to machines of war.
And with this, a new Era began.
An Era not of Mana.
Not of sword and spell—But of metal and mind.
The Unified Alvetus Empire ruled the entire world.
Cities were rebuilt in towers of glass and steel.
Machines replaced magic.
Mana became fuel, not spirit.
Factories sang with fire and steam.
The ancient ways were forgotten.
And for the first time in history—Humanity looked up.
Toward the stars.