Beyond its shadow stretched a cruel, sun-scorched desert isle—an unforgiving expanse of sand and stone that served as a harsh divide between the mystical sanctity of Tazz and the greed-ravaged continent of Spero. The desert stretched endlessly, lifeless and vast, tearing the two continents apart. On one side stood Tazz, home to mystical herbs, magical beasts, edible flora, diamonds, ancient races, enchanted forests, and the untouched island of GOA. On the other, Spero—the realm of men, whose unquenchable thirst for power had long since bled their lands dry of magic and wonder. Though the cave marked the boundary, it was this merciless desert that truly isolated GOA from human reach… at least, until fate began to shift
Spero, once a land of promise, had long fallen to ruin under the weight of human ambition. Its people, ever hungry for dominion, turned their gaze to the secrets Tazz held—whispers of arcane energies, immortal beasts, and untapped magic.
It was within a forgotten cave, tucked deep in Spero’s forested border, that Barde and his team made a fateful discovery—a trove of diamonds, glimmering beneath layers of dust and time. The jewels were unlike any found in Spero, and their shimmer lit a dangerous fire in the hearts of men.
Word spread like wildfire.
Soon, men clawed deeper into the forest, driven not only by greed, but by the rumors of mystical herbs, magical beasts, and edible flora said to restore health or awaken latent gifts. All of it was real—and it even rivaled the very wonders of GOA.
Barde's expedition had been sponsored by a shadowy guild called the Exporte Organization, and they were the first to stumble upon this untouched treasure - diamonds. But with discovery came consequence.
Of the team that set out with Barde, only a few made it back. Most perished just days before the voyage home. Ambushed, poisoned, or lost to the forest’s wrath—they died clutching fragments of the magic they’d dared to claim.
Still, the mission demanded completion.
With no access to aerial transport—be it through spellcraft or winged beasts, neither of which could safely land due to the forest’s dense canopy and unpredictable terrain shrouded in uncertainty —they were left with no choice but to rely on a humble merchant vessel procured by Barde and his crew.
It was lightly armed with —a pair of iron cannons and an escort drawn from the Codex, Spero’s standing military order. Though not dispatched by the crown, these men were assigned under special commission from Exporte, sworn to see the expedition safely through lands steeped in peril and ancient secrecy.
The plan seemed sound… but no one suspected the true dangers that lay ahead.
They had chosen to reach the place of their expedition via the southern route—the only path considered somewhat safe. The northern coast was a haven for storms. The east was riddled with siren reefs. The west? Pirate waters.
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And at the heart of those pirate waters loomed the Desert Isle—a lawless land governed by three ruthless lords:
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Mannans, the self-proclaimed Pirate King,
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Zadi, known as the Brodilord, commander of land-mercenaries turned sea-raiders,
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and Enima, the true puppeteer—keeper of the ledgers and silent master of coin.
The isle was a den of assassins, mercenaries, and monsters in mortal skin. Few dared pass close, and those who did never returned the same—if at all.
But Barde and his crew had little choice.
As they set sail, the sea calm and the skies kind, none aboard could guess what awaited them beyond the horizon. For in the shadows of the waves, three ancient terrors stirred—vampires, old as the desert winds and twice as cruel.
And they were hungry.
Lyraxia, 22nd of Celestia, 542 ER (Late Afternoon)
Janeth’s fingers traced the faded ink of the ancient tome titled Tazz when an unexpected spectacle unfurled above the temple grounds.
A procession of grand sky vessels, their hulls emblazoned with gleaming heraldic crests, descended like regal beasts of the air. These were no ordinary craft—they were aerial carriages of wealth and power, landing gracefully opposite the temple’s shattered entrance, now nothing more than splinters and ruin.
From the lead vessel stepped a striking figure—a youthful beast maiden, her visage fox-like and beguiling, her lithe form both graceful and commanding.
She touched the earth lightly, followed by ten others who bore the same vulpine features. Yet unlike her, each was built like a seasoned warrior—muscular limbs, broad waists, and fierce expressions that spoke of countless battles fought and won. Their fiery red hair tumbled down their backs like wild flames.
Their leader, a petite yet formidable woman, wore a cropped black tunic beneath a heavy crimson jacket that gleamed with the weight of fine craftsmanship. A nose piercing and twin earrings adorned her face, while intricate tattoos curled over her exposed stomach—emblazoned with a symbol of love. The others mirrored her attire: black knee-high boots and jackets marked with the crimson insignia of the Raddle Tempest, their feared order.
Raising a hand, the leader called a halt. Angelina, as Janeth would later learn, commanded attention with a mere gesture. Her companions took up positions, some standing watch while others readied themselves for her orders.
Angelina approached the temple’s ruined gate, eyes narrowing at the broken lock—the handiwork of Janeth’s own earlier strike. She crouched, inspecting the shattered remains with a thoughtful frown.
Straightening, she stepped inside, her ten followers close behind.
Within the shadowed temple, Angelina paused, arms crossed, one brow arched in deep contemplation.
Who dared rend this lock asunder? her thoughts murmured. Such destruction...
Her quiet musings were broken by a subtle shift in the temple’s quiet—an almost imperceptible sign caught by one of Angelina’s vigilant followers—she and her seneschal moved swiftly toward the source. The others parted silently, their practiced reverence marking the gravity of the moment.
As she and her seneschal reached the source, they beheld a grievous sight—Alisha, sprawled unconscious, a cruel gash marking her cheek.
Angelina sank beside her, sorrow breaking through her stern facade as tears slipped free. She embraced Alisha with a mournful cry, a rare vulnerability bared in the face of pain.
Her seneschal laid a gentle hand on Alisha’s neck, her touch steadying. A soft sigh of relief escaped her.
“She lives,” came Jinnie’s voice, calm but resolute. “Just unconscious.”
The tension that gripped the air loosened for a heartbeat, yet it was quickly replaced by fierce resolve. Angelina’s grief hardened into burning fury. Her voice cut through the chamber like a blade:
“Satya! Winnie! Silvia! Anya! Jullocks! You know what must be done. Hunt down the intruder—make them pay. Now!”
Her command was sharp, eyes blazing as she met each of their gazes.
They returned her stare with cruel smiles, then vanished up the stairwell like shadows summoned by vengeance.
Continues... Stay Tuned