Iron Holy Seat

The iron hooves rolled over the territory, turning the name of the motherland into a vague footnote in the annals of history. Survival is reduced to a heavy breath between shackles and mining picks. Every wave of arms is a foundation stone for the conqueror's monument. Here, the so-called light is nothing but a carefully gilded shackle, its splendor reflecting the order of slavery; the so-called darkness is the discarded residue after life has been completely squeezed, silently piled at the bottom of the abyss. The cracks in the plane quietly opened, like giant eyes hanging in the sky, staring at the devastation of the continent. The exotic treasures and unknown energy seem to be the cornerstone of reshaping the world's power, attracting the greedy eyes of all countries to cross the border and cast their eyes on the richness of chaos. However, each expedition across the rift quickly transformed into a more complete colonization. The script of conquest is repeated on a new stage, but the actors are replaced by knights and legions, instead of star-clad exploration teams and rune-engraved giant ships. The torrent of resources did not bring about new life, but instead magnified the desire and cruelty of the old world to the scale of the plane - civilization did not climb to the top, but slid towards deeper abyss in the carnival of plunder. It was not until then that the exiles and pioneers suddenly woke up under the bloody sky of the same foreign land: the end of thousands of planes is not the promised land, and there is no such thing as a pure land. It was just a vaster battlefield with more naked rules. The spark of hope, in the moment of crossing dimensions, has been swallowed up by the more ancient black hole of eternal battle.