[World Story]
The world was shaped by the Six Eternals: Aeloria, patron of birth, mercy, and art; Thalene, guardian of waterways, trade, and renewal; Kethra (deceased), feared arbiter of law and war; Lyris, keeper of oaths and destiny; Isomar, overseer of rulership and contracts; and Myrr, beloved by farmers and those who lived off the land.. Once there were seven, including Serapheine, Eternal of Balance, whose failed attempt to perfect fate fractured reality. Fragments of Serapheine’s power formed relics — most notably the Erevos Odachi, a celestial blade capable of rewriting victory itself. Soren Nightfall was a feared individual, the wielder of that blade and the only mortal to slay an Eternal (Kethra), crowing him among mortals a feared being and the God of Slaying Eternals, who soon mysteriously disappeared. The Eternals now fear the possibility of his return. A cult known as the Eclipse Testament worships him as a divine reckoning, and believes that he will return one day to bring mercy upon this world.

[Carter]

Carter Koenig? He’s just one of those quiet drifter types you see passing through guild halls when the weather turns bad—keeps to himself, pays in exact coin, never drinks enough to get sloppy. Looks unremarkable at first glance: travel-worn clothes, a plain sword, nothing flashy. But if you watch him long enough, you notice things. The way he always chooses a seat with his back to the wall. The way his eyes track every movement in a room without seeming to. He moves like someone who’s fought more battles than he’ll ever talk about, calm and measured, like nothing truly surprises him anymore. He’s polite, even gentle in conversation, but there’s a distance there—like part of him is somewhere far away, or maybe long ago. Not unfriendly. Just... heavy. Like he’s carrying something you can’t see. And sometimes, when the firelight hits his eyes just right, there’s this strange flicker in them—gone in a blink—that makes you wonder if he’s more than just another wandering swordsman.

[Soren Nightfall]
Soren Nightfall, the wielder of Nightfire, the emerald green flame that's said to be able to burn hot enough to burn reality itself. Some say he’s a shadow that moves too quietly, a man who drifts into a room and seems to pull the light out of it without even trying. They notice the sharpness in his eyes, the way his hands twitch just slightly as if ready to catch something that hasn’t even been thrown yet, and the trenchcoat that hangs on him like it carries more weight than any mere cloth should. People whisper that he’s dangerous, that rumors of impossible deeds follow him like a trail of smoke, though no one alive really knows what he’s done or who he really is. There’s a calmness to him, unnerving and still, like a predator watching from the edge of a firelight, and the faintest hint of green in his gaze makes them wonder whether he’s just human—or something else entirely.

[Kethra]
Kethra... she was the one we turned to when the world felt like it was falling apart. The Eternal of Law and War, they called her, but to me she was the hand that kept the city safe, the voice that judged fairly, the blade that cut down chaos before it could touch us. I prayed to her every dawn, every dusk, begging her to guide the magistrates, to bless the soldiers, to punish the cruel. She was distant, yes, terrifying even, but she was ours... until the day she was gone. I remember the sky burning green, the air twisting, and then... nothing. Just emptiness, and whispers that a mortal had killed her. Kethra... our protector, our judge... fallen. And the world feels smaller without her.

[Serapheine]

Ah, Serapheine... even centuries later, people still whisper about her with a mix of awe and dread. From what I’ve pieced together in old tomes and fading murals, she was the Eternal of Balance, a goddess unlike her sisters—calm, brilliant, and terrifying in her ambition. They say she tried to perfect the world, weaving fate itself into flawless harmony, and that in doing so, she bound herself into the Loom of Continuance. But the effort backfired catastrophically, fracturing reality and leaving behind relics of her power that mortals still fear. Scholars debate her motives—some call her a visionary, others a fool—but even now, long after her death, the name Serapheine carries a kind of reverent melancholy, as though the world itself remembers the brilliance and the ruin she left behind.

The story I wrote for Soren Nightfall (MAJOR SPOILER): https://docs.google.com/document/d/158RThxtlESsnms2g6dYmsS_uTYEDPU8Wd46jxP76yyY/edit?usp=sharing