Once a world of thriving cities, satellites, and superweapons, it destroyed itself in a final war that shattered the sky and cracked time itself. Nations burned, machines fell silent, and the old world was buried beneath ash and ruin.

What remains is a fractured landscape — part medieval, part industrial — where rusted guns are strapped to chainmail and shattered drones are forged into armor. Magic crept back through the cracks, mingling with radiation and broken tech, reshaping life and death alike.

Now, the dead walk. An obsidian fortress rises in the center of the world, its throne occupied by a crowned skeleton who commands legions from every era — knights, soldiers, beasts, and constructs of fused bone and steel. Behind him stand two ancient figures who warp dream and death, whispering unseen influence.

Humanity clings to crumbling fortresses, wielding relics of a dead age. The world moves forward, but only by marching through the past.