Beneath the burning eye of the Sun-God Phaethon, the Aethelgard Empire enforces Mandatory Awakening — every citizen infused with volatile solar magic to hold back the Cimmerian Blight, a darkness that devours light and life alike. In the glittering capital of Solhrein, power is measured in lumens and uncontrolled magic brands you a heretic, while merchant guilds grow fat selling suppressants and rebels slip into the darkened forests to whisper prayers to the eclipsed Old Gods.
Fertile heartland of the Empire, crisscrossed by sun-glass roads and watchtower beacons that keep the Blight at bay. Endless golden wheat fields feed the capital's millions.
A vast forest where the Blight has seeped in, dimming the canopy to perpetual twilight. Rebel cells and Old God cultists shelter among its twisted, light-starved oaks.
A jagged mountain range studded with dwarf-holds and sun-glass mines, where raw solar magic bleeds from exposed crystal seams and earth-tremors shake the deep places.
A lone lighthouse-fortress on a rocky isle at the continent's edge, where the Sun-God's Radiant Order tends an eternal flame said to hold the Blight back from the western sea.
The Blight's source — a lightless plane of absolute darkness where the eclipsed Old Gods were cast down, and where the shadow that devours the world gnaws ever outward. Reached only through tears in reality where the Blight has eaten through to the mortal world.
A creeping supernatural darkness that devours light, life, and magic alike. It radiates outward from the Black Throne in the Cimmerian Deep, bleeding through tears in reality to corrupt the mortal world — and it grows a little stronger every time an Awakened citizen's magic flares beyond their control.
Citizens whose Mandatory Awakening went wrong — their solar magic has surged beyond control, turning them into walking magical catastrophes. Some are mad, some are dangerous, and some are simply desperate people hiding from the dawn-courts that would purify them in Phaethon's flame.
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