In the beginning, as he drifted through the endless void, long before time was a cept, lived a Dragon named Bolomere.

  Bolomere knew nothing of his ins, but the longer he existed, the stronger he became.

  All around him stretched a vast, indifferent void. It her weled nor rejected him; it simply existed without pany. Bolomere wandered alone in that silent nothingness fes until, at st, he decided to act.

  [In my name, I will create a vibrant world teeming with joy and life!]

  Bolomere reached into the darkness and shaped a nd out of nothing. He his new nd Gangnea—a ti floating freely in a ist, safely sheltered from the endless void.

  Bolomere then tasked himself with bringing life, harnessing the Wood Laws of the Void, and densing them into an authority, a seed with limitless vitality.

  Wood of Authority—World Tree!

  He p in the heart of the Gangnea ti, watg with amusement as the World Tree took root. Its vitality began to spread, creating rich forests that sprouted into life.

  The forests flourished, and from the trees and the sunlight, the first people emerged—The Wood Race of Elves!

  The children of the woods, the Elves, lived long lives and remained duty-bound to flourish the nd. Bolomere watched his creation—the Gangnea ti—grow in size as the Elven Race wielded authority over Wood—to create and trol it. They expahe forests, nurtured the trees, deepehe roots, and strengthehe trunks.

  For a million years, the world remained peaceful and steady. Bolomere—the Dragon who had created this world—was satisfied aed for a long time, tent with what he had made. But when he eventually woke, Bolomere saw that Gangnea had grown too vast for the Elves to tend alone.

  [The world needs more hands.]

  From the depths of the voice, Bolomere harhe Metal Laws and fed a thumpi, burying it deep within the Gangnea ti.

  Metal of Authority—Earthe!

  The Earthe thumped with a pulse of its own, slowly ging the soil in its surroundings into metal and imbuing it with the pulse of life. In time, after being granted vitality from the World Tree, the first of these new beings emerged from beh the earth—creatures fed from earth and ore.

  The Metal Race of Dwarves!

  Where the Elves nurtured the world, the Dwarves strengthe. The Dwarves delved deep into mountains, shaping stone aal and making the nd firm and unyielding. Bolomere leased with the strength and bahey brought to his world.

  The Dragon's satisfa knew no bounds as he reached into the void again and again to pull out new essences and form a new life. In this way, he created sixteen races, eae different and each adding something uo Gahe final race he brought forth came from the essence of fire itself—people who were quick, bright, aless.

  The Fire Race of Humans!

  At first, humans were kind and passiohey uood the other races, and even though their lives were short, they were remarkably wise—nearly as wise as the Elves, who had lived for a million years.

  Satisfied, Bolomere felt nothing was undone aered a long era of slumber without any worries.

  But Bolomere was old by then, and he should have knower. The fire ays quiet for long, and a race as restless as humans could without sequences.

  Greed emerged while desire maed itself like a pgue. Wars became frequent, and the Race of Humans exploded with the votility of fire, engulfing everyone in a sea of fmes. They began to see only what they could take instead of what they could give. And that was the beginning of the end.

  —An introductory o the World Lore, The Oldest of the Elven Kind.

  ???????????

  T'Hara Forest!

  The thid choking st of burning wood filled the air. Smoke curled betwee trees, their once-vibrant leaves curling into bck husks. T'Hara Forest, the heart of the Elven homend, was burning.

  Located in the ter of the Gangnea ti, it spanned almost four million square kilometers in area and served as the home to the Elven Race.

  For turies, this nd had been a safe haven, nurtured by the roots of the World Tree, the heart of the Gangnea ti. But now, it was scarred by fire and choked by war. A massive, three-kilometer-wide path of ash cut through the ohriving forest, burned and torn apart by fme. At the end of the path stood the World Tree itself—a t giant stretg 8.8 kilometers into the sky, the very foundation of the Elven Race.

  At its foot was Tthranya, the Elven Capital City, currently afme as an army of humans sauhrough it. Arrows rained upon them, killing a few but mainly fuelling the fire they unched, ing the city.

  “Damn Humans!” An Elven soldier, his body ced with glowing veins of green, used his authority to raise a wooden ballista from the ground and fired. The spear of timber skewered four human soldiers before they could react. He barely had time to reload before fire ed him, redug his form to ash.

  The human army marched forward in tight formation, protected by a wall of fire. Arrows that should have cut them down turo ash before they could nd. They outnumbered the Elves forty to one, and the battle was ing the forest, leaving nothing but destru in its wake.

  “You are making a mistake, Humans,” A steady voice resouhrough the battlefield, “A grave one.”

  The Elven King remained motionless on his throne, woven from the living roots of the World Tree. His expression remained posed, but beh them simmered a fury as deep as the earth.

  He had seen the first humans wander into elven nds—lost, awestruck, humbled by the vastness of the forest. He had watched their cities rise, their empires expand, and their wars carve deep wounds into the world. And now, they had e to his doorstep, bearing wrath of fire, poised to strike at the heart of his people’s home.

  Leading them was the Human King, a man in his sixties. His roduced from fmes that burernally. His footsteps echoed as he sauhrough the wooden pace, leaving behind bed scorch marks.

  “A mistake?” He repeated, tilting his head slightly. “No. This was always iable.”

  "The humans have run out of nd to live on, " he tinued, "My people have starved, waiting for salvation that would never e. We have outgrown the nd you have permitted us. We have outgrown your mercy."

  The Elven King snorted, his voice thick with disdain. “Don’t shift the bme onto us,” he said, his eyes dark with turies of frustration. “I warhe Human Race—time and time again—not to let their numbers spiral out of trol. You’ve stripped your nd bare, exhausted your resources, and now you e here to take what isn’t yours. Even when a wise Human King heeds my warnings, it s. The moment the ges hands, the cycle begins anew.”

  The Human King chuckled, unfazed. “You may have a point,” he admitted with a shrug. “But so what?”

  With a flick of his wrist, fmes erupted from his very being, a violent inferno that engulfed the Elven Pastantly.

  “The Elves are no lohe ter of the world,” he decred, his voice ringing over the r fmes. “From now on, humanity will dictate the ws of this world!”

  A branch of wood cut through the fire.

  “Not on my watch.”

  The Elven King emerged from the sea of fmes, and the burn marks vanished in seds as his beed.

  With a flick of his wrist, the grouh them trembled. Thick roots burst from the earth, twisting and stabbing toward the Human King like spears.

  Boom!

  Explosions rippled through the battlefield as the Human King tered, carpeting the ground with firebombs.

  "Hahahaha!" The Human King's ughter echoed through the burning ruins. Fmes thrust out of his legs as he hovered in the sky. He then aimed the fire like a geyser and torched everything on the ground, including the Elven King and his attacks, "You're strong, Elven King. But your wood is no maty fire!"

  The Elven King gritted his teeth. Ginormous wooden structures sprouted from the ground and blocked the geyser of fire. Watg everything burn while hiding underh a dome, the Elven King slumped.

  Pain shot through the Elven King’s body—a raw, searing agony he had not felt iuries. His legs buro the bone and healed spontaneously after. But the relentless fire came surging in, ever increasing.

  It wasn’t enough.

  His trembling hand pressed into the ash beh him. It was warm and soft. The remnants of his people, his home, scattered like dust on the wind.

  A faint touch.

  A thin root tendril, barely alive, curled against his palm.

  He inhaled sharply, his vision blurring. Slowly, reverently, he patted the root, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Five me, Mother.”

  The Elven King took a deep, shuddering breath. His body ached, his spirit wavered, but still, he straightened.

  “I have failed you,” he murmured.

  His pride, so unshakable for turies, now faltered.

  “Your son could not serve you well.”

  His fiightened around the root, feeling its pulse. A final e to the lifeblood of his people. His people were now nothing but embers in the wind.

  “I know you have the power,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Our ways—our loy-bouence—will never overe the releide of the Humans. They are fleeting, yet they burn brighter than we ever could.”

  He bowed his head, forehead pressing into the ashen ground.

  “So… I beseech you. Only fire fight fire.”

  Silence.

  And then—

  A voice.

  Vast. A. Patient. It echoed within him, threading through his very Soul.

  [I hear you, My Child.]

  The Elven King's words stirred the World Tree. The roots of the World Tree dug deeper into the Gangnea ti. A siendril expanded outward and slithered through the voids, eventually reag a blue po su the souls of every deceased human.

  Ba Tthranya, the World Tree responded.

  Translut sacks grew from its branches, each holding a baby Elf floating in a strange liquid. These pods took twenty years to fully form before a child could be born.

  But one sack was different.

  A stolen soul ced ihe liquid rippled. The Elf iwitched.

  His eyes snapped open.

  The first thing he saw was fire.

  Beyond the pod’s barrier, fmes burhrough the ruins. And in the ter of it all, an Elf stood—his body charring, healing, and burning again, over and over.

  The Elven King would soon turn to ash.

  'Is this a…dream? I remember having dinner with my family…' The baby Elf thought in a daze, feeling like it was in a nightmare as it watched the Elf King burnilessly.

  [You have died, my Child. I will now reinate you as my Child, an Elf!]

  'Wait! Wait! WAIT!' The baby Elf thought in a flurry, 'I died? What nonsense is that? I was having dinner with my family just moments ago…!'

  As if ign its cries, the World Tree's words tio echo in the Soul's sciousness.

  [In this world, the Authority of every Race be expressed numerically. It will serve you well since, appearance-wise, it resembles the status window you're familiar with.]

  'Hello? Is this a prank? Hey!' The baby Elf cried out loud, trying to speak but uo. Its body didn't move, forced to helplessly listen to the World Tree's voice, 'How do I even know this voice is the World Tree's? Shit! Nothing makes sense!'

  [Dark times await the Elven Race, my Child. Fight and regain our honor. Do so, and I'll reinate you oh and grant one wish of yours.]

  'What kind of… sick joke is this?' The baby Elf stared bnkly, rage surging through its being as it withe Elven King burn nonstop for three days, swarmed by an army of humans before he colpsed as a charred corpse.

  'I feel tired…I should get some sleep…!' The baby Elf thought, 'This is just a nightmare. I probably drank too much yesterday. Everything will be back to usual once I am awake.'

  ???????????

  Year 0 marked the Elven Race's downfall and the Human Race's rise. All dars were rewritten from that moment to ter around humanity, erasing the old records.

  Tthranya, ohe proud capital of the Elves, fell under human trol. The history of the Elven people was burheir survivors executed, and their once-great legacy wiped from existenewborn Elves were taken as sves, raised under human rule, and domesticated for various purposes. What followed was an era of brutal ge—one defined by bloodshed and oppression.

  The Gangnea ti’s dar was based on the Moons in the sky. Each year began with a single Moon, marking the first month. As time passed, more Moons appeared, reag a peak of eight before fading again. Each month sted forty-two days, shaping the rhythm of life in this new age.

  Year 19—34th Day of the 8th Moon!

  The air was thick with the st of wet wood and decay. A team of human soldiers climbed the spiraling wooden staircase ed around the colossal trunk of the World Tree, their boots thudding against the aged pnks.

  One by ohey stopped beside the hanging sacks—translut cos where newborn Elves incubated. Their dull glow pulsed faintly as if resisting the iable.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Gloved hands rapped against the sacks in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The hollow knocks echoed in the silence, swallowed by the dense forest.

  And then—

  [Time to wake up, my Child. Pinaka.]

  The voice rippled through the sack, reverberating deep within the mind of the one inside.

  The membrane ruptured.

  A sharp inhale reverberated as a small, lean body tumbled onto the stairs, coated iinous fluid that had sustained him for years. Olive-green hair g to his damp skin, his pointed ears twitg as the cold air sent a shiver down his spine.

  His mouth opened—a cry of fusion, of panic—but before he could process what was happening, rough hands grabbed him.

  “Sack it.”

  The and was short. Absolute.

  Strong hands yanked his arms. A burp sack swallowed him whole, plunging him into muffled darkness.

  Then—light.

  The sack was torn open, and his body was dragged out, feet slipping against cold stone. A bucket of water shed on the body.

  Crack!

  A whip shed across his back, burning white-hot pain into his flesh.

  He gasped and stumbled.

  “Run.”

  He ran.

  "Teach that little brat some discipline, Mahnaka! If it’s not obedient by dawn, you’ll take the shes instead!" A harsh, arrogant voice rang out from the corridor.

  The Elven child skidded to a stop when it saw another elf walking towards it. It was slightly taller, probably a few years older. One of its eyes was missing, and an X-shaped scar stretched across the bridge of its nose.

  It held out its right hand—missing a thumb. "Wele to hell, little brother. Name’s Mahnaka, the resident sve of this pce."

  The newborn Elven child’s head pounded, a wave of memories hitting him all at once. His breath hitched as realization struck. ‘This isn't a dream? Fuck!’

  Mahnaka waited patiently, his hand still outstretched. "Did the World Tree give you a name?"

  "Pinaka," the Child muttered, hesitantly gripping Mahnaka’s arm as he pulled himself up. His gaze drifted to Mahnaka’s missing thumb, and curiosity got the better of him. "What…happened?"

  Mahnaka’s eyes softened as he stared at Pinaka’s intact thumb. "It’s beautiful," he murmured. "Yoing to be a great archer one day—I tell just by looking at it." His voice grew thick with emotion. "Cherish it while you still . Because…"

  “AARGHHH!”

  An hour ter, Pinaka was strapped tightly to a cold stoable, a gag stuffed in his mouth. A middle-aged man wearing a stained apron raised a heavy cleaver above his head. With a siing force, he brought it down.

  The right thumb flew off.

  “A sve doesn’t need a bow,” the man muttered, fshing his gold-rimmed buck teeth as he chuckled. He grabbed Pinaka’s left hand, fiwitg iaightening the strap, he pressed the bde against the skin and—

  “Don’t be scared now,” he cooed, f the thumb back, ready to slice. “Just think of it like pulling out a strand of hair…”

  "GAHHHH!"

  “GAHHHH!”

  TCH!

  Pinaka flinched, jerking the table. The cleaver slipped, making the man miss his mark.

  "Now look what you’ve done," he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  He studied the half-severed thumb, clig his tongue. "I have to cut it again," he sighed, shaking his head. Then, reassuringly, he tinued, "Now, don’t move this time. Good… harhat fear… stay still… That’s it… that’s… IT!"

  G!

  Pinaka’s vision blurred as waves of pain crashed into him. Blood poured freely, turning his world hazy. His breath hitched. His mind screamed.

  ‘This is… hell!’

  His thoughts spiraled as his body trembled from blood loss.

  ‘Fug HELL!’

  I wao believe this was a dream… fuck that—a nightmare.

  His tired eyes locked onto the middle-aged man, who casually picked up the severed thumbs and dropped them into a gss jar. He swirled the tainer, admiring his work like a fine spe.

  Pinaka’s lips twitched.

  A twisted smile stretched across his face.

  ‘Elf? World Tree? Fate?’

  ‘I don’t give a damn!’

  His fingers curled into weak fists, his bloodied hands shaking.

  ‘You took my thumbs?’

  ‘Now, it’s personal.’

  1

  Gangnea Daily – Article #1

  The World Tree stands at a staggering 8.8 kilometers i (5.468 Freedom Units for the Bald Eagles out there), with its roots plunging to an average depth of 74 kilometers (or 46 miles for our imperial-measuring overlords).

  Gangnea Daily never misses a day—so hit that subscribe button for more essential world knowledge and tree facts! ???