It was night in Atlas.
The soft flames of a small square forge crackled at the center of an improvised campsite near a clearing. The sound was constant, rhythmic, comforting. The greenish ore inside slowly melted, its edges vibrating from the intense heat, and the vivid glow of the molten metal lit the surroundings with emerald reflections.
In front of the forge, Skaryss the calm-faced orc with a firm body—hammered the glowing metal with uncommon grace. Her skin dripped with sweat, her armor removed and folded beside her, revealing green skin flushed by the heat of the fire.
Her black hair was tied in a simple bun, yet strands still clung to her neck from the perspiration.
The sound of metal echoed, interrupted only by the distant song of nocturnal birds. The stars were alive in the sky, and three silver moons cast a dreamlike glow over the camp. The breeze was cold, in contrast to the forge's heat a magical, almost spiritual atmosphere.
Drakk, on the other hand, was lying a few meters away, sprawled out on an improvised mattress barely large enough to hold his colossal frame. He looked like a bronze statue tossed onto a cushion of leaves and hastily stitched fabrics. His black marble case, still and imposing, lay beside him untouched, resting on the ground like a legendary tombstone.
Everything could have been a perfect painting… if it weren't for Skaryss's irritated voice.
"Do you have any idea what you did, Master?! That ship was a high-end vessel from the Church! Reinforced hull, sacred shields, protective runes, double-layered spiritual oak, and a keel forged from metal alloy!" Her voice was sharp and clear, in sync with her hammer strikes, as if venting her frustration was part of the forging ritual.
Drakk yawned, lazily turning over on the mattress.
"It was just a boat," he replied with a half-smile. "People are worth more than wood, don't you think?"
"They are, yes!" she grumbled, turning the half-molded axe for another strike. "But now… because of you, no one wants to ferry us downriver anymore. Do you have any idea how many gold coins that ship cost? Tens of thousands! And the Church's mages are saying you attract those underwater abominations."
"Oh... really?" Drakk chuckled with a deep growl, rubbing his belly. "Maybe even abyssal monsters can't resist my charm."
"Or the stench of precious metals soaked into your skin, sweat, and unbalanced prana!" she snapped, hammering harder than necessary. "That's why we had to walk seven days to get here—to the edge of demon territory. Seven! All because a certain blacksmith decided to swing a hammer bigger than the damn ship."
Drakk let out a deep laugh that made the ground tremble beneath him.
"Seven days of walking are good for the spirit. And for your calves. Inspiration can come at any moment."
Skaryss snorted, her eyes still fixed on the metal, now beginning to take on the perfect shape of a war axe.
"Let's hope it does, because the way things are going, we'll have to swim next time a monster shows up."
Drakk turned his gaze to the starry sky, smiling with half-closed eyes.
"Skaryss… the problem with those creatures isn't that I attract them. It's that they don't know how to respect someone who's in the middle of contemplating."
She replied with a dry hammer strike. And though she grumbled, a faint smile escaped her lips.
**
Drakk and Skaryss rested in silence just a few kilometers from one of the most feared and respected places on the entire continent of Atlas: the boundary between human and demon territories, marked by a vast and formidable mountain range known as the Extinction Zone.
The pair had walked the entire day, and though they had the strength and stamina to keep going, they chose to camp before the crossing.
Not out of weakness, but prudence: the gates between the realms only opened at very specific times, determined by higher powers and ancient political and mystical agreements that had bound the two powers for centuries. Entering without formal authorization could mean instant death—not at the hands of monsters, but of the sentinels who upheld the balance of the frontier.
Ahead, the world looked as though it were split by an invisible wall. On this side, a clear and serene starry sky. On the other, the firmament bled in deep crimson tones, as if breathing in agony. The shift was so abrupt, so palpable, that it caused vertigo in any unprepared traveler. It was like watching the fabric of the world being stitched together by two needles of clashing realities.
The mountains, endless as the sins of the gods, stretched far to both horizons, with jagged peaks and glowing cracks in strange hues. From there, every now and then, fissures would open and exhale a power both ancient and malevolent. Dungeons. Thousands of them. Fractures in reality clustered like tumors in the world's bowels.
And even from afar, Drakk could see the movements.
Elite groups from both sides of the border worked to contain the portals, each protecting their side. Specialist mages, alchemist-knights, and many others performed vital roles in maintaining balance and order. All worked tirelessly to keep the abominations sealed.
Colossal containment instruments could be seen on the human side—structures of living metal, banners with pulsing runes, and prisms anchored to the ground, scattered like stakes across a battlefield frozen in time.
And at the center of it all stood the Colossal Crimson Gate.
Forged from vivid red material, smooth as obsidian and hard as a god's soul, the gate was a monumental structure hundreds of meters tall and wide. Its center bore living inscriptions, twisting gently as if being rewritten by reality itself. It was the only official entrance between the two realms, and its opening followed strict schedules, carefully coordinated between demon and human authorities.
Skaryss sat beside the extinguished forge, arms crossed, staring at the scarlet sky.
"It's hard to believe the same world carries two completely different atmospheres. It looks like the sky is rotting over there..." she murmured, her voice laced with restrained awe.
Drakk, seated on a massive stone, silently watched the dividing line on the horizon. The red sky reflecting on the mountain ridges made his pupils glow with a distinct intensity.
"To me, that's the price of power," he replied, his voice deep. "The place where worlds collide is also where monsters are born."
"Now I get why they call it the Extinction Zone… even the air feels different," said Skaryss. "There's no way I'm getting any decent sleep tonight."
Drakk nodded, folding his arms. His once relaxed expression now carried a weight older than himself.
**
The next dawn arrived beneath a divided sky, where the clear blue of the human territories met the pulsating red of the demon realm. Drakk and Skaryss walked steadily toward the immense Crimson Gate, its titanic structure resting like a sleeping god between the mountain ridges. The morning light painted the scarlet veins of the gate, making it seem as if it pulsed like a living heart.
Ahead of them, a line of just over ten merchant caravans waited their turn to cross. Reinforced wagons, private guards, family-crested banners, and rune-sealed crates—everything pointed to wealth and importance. Trade between humans and demons might not be friendly, but it was vital.
In Atlas, neither wars nor alliances had ever stopped the flow of goods. Demonic ores, exotic hides, herbs with unique properties, and mysterious artifacts were traded for technology, food, refined clothing, and books. A fragile balance, yet a necessary one. However, not everyone could take part in this system. A double license, approved by both realms, was required—and only a tiny fraction of merchants possessed it.
Drakk and Skaryss were not among those caravans.
Their steps drew attention as they walked along the side, ignoring the line of caravans. The merchants subtly stepped aside as they passed—some out of respect for the legendary blacksmith, others out of fear for his unpredictable record.
As they approached the main gate, a human soldier was already waiting for them, clad in white armor with golden accents and a polished helmet that reflected the morning light.
"Sir Drakk, Miss Skaryss, we've been expecting you. The official gate opening will still take some time," he said with a slight bow. "But as instructed, you're free to proceed ahead if you prefer not to wait with the merchants."
He gestured toward a small, thick door discreetly embedded in the lower left corner of the colossal crimson structure. It looked modest next to the massive gate, but its aura was just as oppressive. This was no ordinary entrance—it was a diplomatic passage, opened only to authorized figures.
Without wasting time, the pair stepped through the passage.
Inside was a tall, narrow corridor over ten meters long, with reddish stone walls and a smooth, almost polished floor. The atmosphere was dense, charged with an invisible watchfulness. No sound echoed except Drakk's heavy footsteps and the lighter ones of Skaryss.
On the other side, the world changed.
As soon as they crossed the door, they were met by rows of demon soldiers, all clad in black armor trimmed with crimson. Their helmets bore horns, and their presence radiated strength and authority. Watchful eyes turned to the two visitors. No one spoke—until one of the front-line guards stepped forward.
"Identify yourselves and state the purpose of your visit to the territory of Chaos."
Drakk was about to answer, but a deep, firm, and commanding voice filled the space before he could utter a word.
"Leave them to me."
The words cut through the silence like a blade of command.
The soldiers immediately stepped aside, striking their fists to their chests in salute. Emerging from the shadows of the wall, with steady steps and an unmistakable bearing, came General Noctis.