The world was vast—larger and crueler than most knew. This was the realm of Thalor, a world of fractured histories and endless ambition, where magic clashed along with steel and empires rose on the backs of the forgotten. Its skies bore the memory of shattered stars, and its lands pulsed with wild mana. To rise within it, Caelan would need more than ambition. He would need understanding.
The known world of Thalor was divided into four massive continents, each shaped by ancient forces and primal bloodlines:
Orvene – The western continent, immense in scope and divided by powerful kingdoms and empires. It was a land of ever-burning wars and endless desire for conquest. Among its most formidable realms was the Draconic Empire of Vyrazan, a towering force ruled by dragon-blooded sovereigns, whose power stirred with ancient ley lines. Castles floated, volcanoes breathed mana, and the air shimmered with the threat of scale and flame.
Kyrrhyn – A massive eastern continent battered by primal storms and dominated by raw, untamed nature. It was home to diverse beastfolk tribes and scattered, desperate human settlements. The two races lived in constant tension, bound by grudges older than empires. Dense jungles, storm plains, and ravaged coastlines marked this continent, where harmony was fleeting, and every day was a battle for survival.
Noctyra – The vast southern continent, perpetually shrouded in twilight and veiled in layers of danger and secrecy. It was dominated by dark empires—vampires, demons, and nocturnal races that ruled beneath the stars. Ruined citadels, blackened forests, and shadow-ridden kingdoms dotted its breadth. Noctyra was immense and largely uncharted, its dangers discouraging all but the boldest explorers.
Valdaran – The northern continent, a land of unforgiving terrains and ceaseless ambitions. Mountains cut through its middle like the jagged spine of a sleeping beast. Endless forests veined with wild magic sprawled across the east. Deserts scorched the west, while tundras and forgotten ruins haunted the north. Beneath the earth, forgotten civilizations slumbered, their secrets buried beneath dust and frost. Frosthold, once isolated, had now been reintegrated into the greater domain of Valdaran, reclaimed by House Virelandt under quiet imperial orders.
He sat in the back of the creaking carriage, the map of Valdaran unfurled on his lap.
At the surface of this brutal realm stood the three great empires:
The Aurelian Empire, residence of human civilization, was the most expansive of the three empires, stretching from the heartland all the way to the northernmost edge of the continent. It sat centrally like a jewel upon Valdaran, its influence touching every corner of the realm. It held the five great duchies, and with them, the heart of political and magical power. Its capital was Cindralis, a bastion of imperial might and arcane tradition. The Emperor ruled with a divine mandate, though the dukes often defied it behind closed doors.
Long ago, the Aurelian Empire began as a union of warring city-states that fell under the leadership of the first High Sovereign, Aurelius the Unifier. Through a blend of political marriages, military victories, and relic-bound pacts, he forged an empire from fractured lands. Over the centuries, the empire expanded north and east, swallowing kingdoms and forging duchies to maintain control. Though time had eroded its ideals, the empire remained a dominant force—its foundation built on ancient pacts and relics few still remembered.
The five duchies of the Aurelian Empire stood like pillars around the imperial heart:
North – House Virelandt (Caelan's family): Masters of the cold, their lands were marked by ice, isolation, ancient ruins, and wild mana storms.
South – House Arvellan: Fertile lands and golden coasts granted them naval supremacy and unmatched commerce.
East – House Solmere: Home to arcane scholars and seat of the prestigious Magic Academy.
West – House Caerwyn: Warborn knights and masters of sword arts, their warriors trained from birth in martial traditions.
Center – Imperial Capital, House Leonhart: The royal family of symbolic divine bloodline, ruling through marriage, alliance, and a mantle of sanctified power.
To the southeast lay the Elven Empire of Vael'therin, a land of ancient forests, forgotten gods, and buried truths. Its capital, Sylvael'thien, was carved into the branches of a world-tree that touched the clouds. Though reclusive, the elves were unmatched in longevity, magical prowess, and bowmanship. Their empire was ruled by an Empress, a sovereign of unmatched magical might and grace, who stood as both guardian and symbol of elven unity. Politically, Vael'therin operated under a structured hierarchy of noble houses who governed their respective forest territories, all answering to the Empress. Geographically, the elven lands were bound by the towering Greenwood Veil, an enchanted forest teeming with arcane life and secrets.
In the west, hidden behind the volcanic spires of the Skarn Range, was the fractured Dominion of Mharakk, once a dwarven monarchy. Now, it was guided by a Council of Dwarves—masters of their respective disciplines: alchemy, smithing, architecture, and other time-honoured crafts. Each governed with deep pride, their decisions forged in reason and flame. Their capital, Mol-Daruum, was said to sit atop the oldest forge in existence. The Dominion's geography was harsh—mountains laced with subterranean cities, lava rivers powering ancient machines, and ore-rich valleys carved by generations of labor. Politically, their council model ensured balance among guilds, though rivalries were frequent and fierce.
Caelan had been born into the Aurelian Empire, specifically under the banner of House Virelandt, the ruling family of the northern duchy. Known for its frozen expanse, harsh climate, and affinity with wild mana, the North was as feared as it was respected.
But even within this frigid dominion, not all lands were equal. Caelan was now being sent to its very edge—to a windswept, forgotten province bordering the icy wilderness, far from the heart of Virelandt's influence. The land, known to older maps as Frosthold, was a snow-laden forestland veiled in mist and memory. Towering trees, their trunks thick and ancient, rose high into the pale sky like the columns of a forgotten temple. Snow blanketed everything—limbs, roots, and the ground itself—muting footsteps and cloaking the forest in a reverent hush. The scent of trees mingled with frost, and the very air shimmered faintly with latent mana as if the trees themselves breathed magic into the world.
Frosthold was a place of silence and ruin, struck by mana storms and cloaked in legends long buried beneath the snow. It was one of the last territories still under the nominal rule of House Virelandt—a stretch of frozen wilderness often left off recent maps. And it was to Frosthold that Caelan had been assigned—appointed as a baron, a token title meant more as exile than elevation. Though the rank bore noble status, it came with no wealth, no retainers, and barely a name in court. It was a dismissal wrapped in ceremonial pretense. It was the duchy's way of forgetting a failed heir.
The forests of Frosthold, cloaked in silence and seclusion, were far from the dazzling courts of Cindralis. But for Caelan, they offered something more valuable than status—freedom, secrecy, and an opportunity to begin anew. In the solitude of snow and shadow, he could begin to shape a different fate.
This world, the one he now inhabited, was oncefiction. Aweb novelhe devoured in the silent corners of his former life. Its every kingdom, relic, and betrayal etched into his memory. In the original story, the one he had read before reincarnating, the character whose life he now inhabited had died tragically—cast aside and forgotten. Just like him. He too had met a meaningless end in his former life. The parallels haunted him, as if fate had looped his death into another's. Now, it was no longer words—it was war.