Long ago, when the stars still sang and the earth pulsed with untamed magic, the Codex was forged. Not as a book, nor a blade, but as a promise—a binding thread woven by the First Ones to hold the world's chaos in check. Its pages were starlight, its words the heartbeat of creation. For centuries, it rested in the cradle of Valthorne, guarded by those who understood its power and feared its truth.
But greed is a patient thief. The mortal kingdoms grew bold, their hands reaching for what was never theirs. In their arrogance, they shattered the Codex, believing they could wield its fragments like crowns. The world screamed as the bindings tore. Storms swallowed cities, shadows bled from the earth, and the stars fell silent.
The fragments were scattered, lost to time, each piece a wound that festered in the world's soul. Some say they were hidden by the last guardians, others that they were stolen by those hungry for power. Whispers of the Codex became legends, then myths, fading like ink on weathered parchment.
Yet the ruins of Valthorne still stand, their stones humming with echoes of the old promise. The world teeters, its cracks widening with every passing year. And now, new hands reach into the dark—some to heal, others to destroy.
The Codex waits. Broken, but not gone. Silent, but not voiceless.