Page 1 of Eluvonia (Rift of Ages #1)

In the beginning, there was only the Void—endless, silent, and waiting.

Then, from nothing, the First Light was born, a spark that shattered the dark and set creation into motion.

The First Light was not merely illumination; it was will, intent, and from it, the Seven Realms were shaped, each a reflection of the forces that govern existence.

Eluvonia, the Realm of Many, was the first, shaped from the bones of the world, its rivers brimming with life, its forests teeming with ancient power.

Unlike the other realms, where a single race dominates, Eluvonia became home to many—Dragons, dwarves, merfolk, and countless others, all bound together in uneasy balance.

Some thrive in harmony, others wage endless war, but all lay claim to this land, for it is the beating heart of the realms.

Eldrathir, the Realm of Demons, came next—a land forged in fire, where rivers of molten rock carved deep scars into the earth.

The demons rose from the embers, warriors and craftsmen, bound by flame and unyielding ambition.

They do not fear destruction, for they are born in it, thrive in it, and remake the world with it.

Skyrvell, the Realm of Light, emerged high above, its radiant islands adrift in an endless sea of golden clouds.

The celestial beings who call it home are wisdom incarnate, wielders of light, keepers of knowledge lost to the ages.

Theirs is a realm of purity, untouched by the wars that plague the others—at least, that is what they claim.

Nyvakra, the Realm of the Dead, formed where the warmth of life could not reach.

A frozen expanse where mist clings to the ice and whispers of the lost ride the wind.

Here, the dead do not rest, and the living who dare tread too close may find themselves trapped between worlds, tethered by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Midgard, the Realm of Humans, came after, caught between the great powers of the others. Unlike the rest, humans were given no innate magic, no divine purpose. Yet, it is their will—fragile and fleeting—that shapes destiny in ways even the gods cannot predict.

Vryngard, the Realm of Harpies, is where the sky is in constant turmoil, where storms rage, and mountains pierce the heavens. Here, war is not just survival—it is culture. The harpies and the giants fight endlessly, carving their legacies into the cliffs, ruled by strength alone.

Sylvtharn, the Realm of Dwarves, once a barren and forgotten realm, Sylvtharn was claimed by the dwarves, who carved their kingdom from the stone itself.

Glowing crystals illuminate vast cavernous cities, where the ringing of hammers echoes without end.

The dwarves are masterful craftsmen, their skill unmatched—but their tunnels run deep, perhaps too deep, for some things buried in the dark were never meant to be unearthed.

Seven realms, each unique, each bound by forces that even the Ymirals do not fully understand.

They are not separate, not truly. Each is connected by ancient portals, doorways that have stood since the dawn of time.

No one knows who built them, nor why they remain.

Some believe they are the work of the gods, a gift—or a curse—meant to bind our worlds together.

Others whisper that they are something older than even the First Light itself. And perhaps, in the end, that is the question we should fear the most.