The starry expanse above Catena had never been so restless. Drath, eyes burning with the hunger of a man who had seen worlds burn, stood still on the edge of his spacecraft, silhouetted against the cosmic storm that tore across the heavens. His fingers twitched, his thoughts barely contained beneath his cold, calculating facade. After years—decades of obsession—he was finally close. Satonako, the comet that had consumed him, raced ahead, an ancient engine of destruction and rebirth.

The wind screamed past him, tearing through the mountains and villages of Catena below. His ship, a fractured monstrosity pieced together from the ruins of his civilization, floated silently behind him, its hull groaning from years of wear. Around him, the night shimmered, electric, like the calm before a storm ready to swallow worlds whole.

It wasn’t just a comet. It was power. The kind of power that had ripped through his world, decimating everything Drath once knew, everything he had loved—twisting him into the thing he was now. He could still hear the screams of his people when the comet burned through the sky for the first time, when they built the Novanet System, the massive space station that was supposed to capture the comet’s magic and make his people gods.

But gods don’t bleed, and Drath had watched them die. He could still see the explosion as it all came crashing down—the flames, the debris, the choking ash that filled the air as their home planet was consumed.

Yet he survived. Why? Because he was obsessed. Obsessed with power. Obsessed with Satonako. He alone had chased it, tearing through galaxies, leaving the burning remains of what was left of his people in the wake of his madness.

And now—now it was here. Falling into Catena like a harbinger of death.

He could taste it—so close. And yet, in the back of his mind, there was a voice. A whisper, cold and taunting, telling him that this time, just like before, it could slip through his grasp.

No, Not this time. This time he would own it.

A blast of light cut through the darkness, and the comet slammed into the earth with the force of a god’s wrath. Mountains trembled. The ground screamed. Drath didn’t blink as the impact wave rattled his ship. His twisted grin spread wider, the thrill of impending domination sending a shiver down his spine.

This was it. The magic of Satonako would be his. Catena would kneel before him. And this time, no one—not a single soul—could stop him.

The village of Olenfeld was as sleepy as it came. Tucked deep in the valleys of Catena, the fields of golden wheat stretched on forever. It was the kind of place where nothing happened. Ever. And that’s just how Finney liked it.

He stood out in the fields, hands on his hips, wiping the sweat from his brow as the evening sun dipped behind the hills. Beside him, his pet owl, Patchface, tilted its head in that way owls do, as if silently judging him.
“You think you’re clever, don’t ya?”
Finney smirked. Patchface hooted softly, unimpressed.

The last of the harvest was in. It was hard work, but Finney liked hard work. It kept things simple. No fuss. No nonsense. The world made sense when he was out in the fields, the earthy smell of the dirt under his boots, the rustle of the wind in the crops.

But today? Today felt different. The wind carried something—a charge, like the air before a storm. Finney squinted toward the horizon. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

That’s when the ground started to tremble. Just a little at first. Enough to make Finney glance down, confused. The tremor rippled out, stronger, deeper, like something massive was moving under the earth.

Patchface let out a sharp screech, flapping his wings in panic.
‍
“What in the—?”
‍
BOOM!
‍
The sky split open like the world was tearing itself apart. A shockwave hit the ground, knocking Finney backward into the dirt. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The light—it was so blinding. He could see the shape of something massive, something otherworldly crashing into the earth. The impact echoed through the valley, sending animals scattering and people screaming.

Finney scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he looked out toward the horizon. A massive crater smoked in the distance, the air thick with something unnatural.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something had come with it—something that wasn’t just physical. He could feel it in his mind—a pulse, a rhythm. His thoughts... they weren’t just his anymore. They were tangled with something else, something deeper.

A whisper of a word he’d never heard before but suddenly understood—WAGMI.

“What the hell is going on?”

Finney muttered, rubbing the side of his head like he could physically shake out the strange thoughts creeping into his mind.

Then, out of the smoke and light, Szabo appeared, running toward him. He looked as rattled as Finney felt. They locked eyes, and suddenly Finney felt it—Szabo’s fear, his confusion, his desperation.

“I—I felt you before I saw you,”

Finney gasped, stepping back.

Szabo stopped short, breathing hard.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I knew you were coming. I could—feel it,”

Finney whispered, eyes wide. He wasn’t making sense, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t wrong. He could feel Szabo’s emotions like they were his own. Panic. Fear. Everything, all at once.The word pulsed again—WAGMI.

Szabo’s face twisted in shock.

“You too?”

Finney nodded, breathless.

“Yeah. What is this?”

They both turned toward the glowing crater, its light casting strange shadows across the land. The air hummed with power, and whatever this WAGMI was, it was sinking into the earth, spreading like a virus.

Finney stepped closer, drawn by the force of it.

“I don’t think we’re the only ones.”

They stood there, silent, staring into the abyss. Around them, the wind howled, carrying whispers of a world that would never be the same again.

The blackened crater still smoldered under the dying light of day as Drath stood before the remnants of Satonako. His tall, gaunt figure cut an imposing silhouette against the landscape, eyes burning with the same cold fire that had driven him through the years. This wasn’t just a moment of conquest—it was destiny fulfilling itself. A final act that had been years, no, decades in the making. As he stared into the remains of the comet, the energy pulsed through the earth, through his body, into his very soul.

“It's finally happening,”

he muttered, voice low, nearly a growl.

Around him, the villagers had started to gather—peasants, simple folk, drawn by the crater’s strange glow. They were fearful but curious, standing at the edges of the destruction like moths fluttering near a flame, not yet daring to approach. Drath’s lips twisted into a sneer. They were ants. But ants had their use. And these ones—these ignorant, superstitious fools—would be the first to kneel before his new power.

He strode forward, walking slowly but purposefully, making sure they saw him. Making sure they felt him. He towered over them, his shadow consuming the group. The magic coursing through him was electric, raw, untamed. But it was also his. He would bend it to his will, just as he would bend this world. Catena would be his, starting with these pitiful creatures.

“Who dares?”

came a weak voice from the crowd, one of the villagers stepping forward. He was short, stocky, his face grimy with the dirt of the fields.

“What is this?”

Drath let the silence hang in the air, thick with tension. The villagers were staring, wide-eyed, whispering to one another. A strange buzzing sensation began to fill the space around them—the same whisper Finney had felt, that strange, unspoken word—WAGMI. They all felt it. Even without understanding it, the magic was taking hold, twisting and pulling at their very essence.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

Drath’s voice cut through the murmurs, cold and sharp as steel.

“The power. The potential!”

The villager, trembling now, took a step back.

“I... I don’t know what you mean.”

“You will,”

Drath promised, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

“Soon enough, you will.”

In a flash, his hand shot out, crackling with dark energy. The villager collapsed to the ground, gasping, his eyes rolling back in his head as the magic took hold of him, burrowing deep into his soul. The crowd recoiled, some turning to run, others frozen in place.

“This is only the beginning,”

Drath said, stepping over the fallen man, his voice booming.

“Soon, the whole world will know my name. Soon, you will know what true power feels like. You will worship it. You will worship me.”

Later that night, as the moon rose high over the crater, a small camp had formed. The villagers—those who had been too terrified to leave—now sat in clusters, whispering among themselves, casting nervous glances toward Drath. He stood apart from them, his back to the fire, staring into the night with a burning intensity.

One by one, they began to approach him. Hesitant at first, but drawn to him like moths to a flame. And Drath, ever the puppet master, welcomed them with open arms.

The first was a young man named Atom, an engineer by trade. His face was scarred, a reminder of the life he had lived before Satonako’s landing—tinkering with crude machines, dreaming of something greater. Atom was fascinated by the strange, sleek craft Drath had arrived in. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen—metallic, smooth, and humming with a strange energy.

“What is it?”

Atom asked, eyes wide with awe as he stared at the vessel.

Drath glanced at him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“It’s beyond your comprehension.”

“Maybe,”

Atom muttered, still fixated on the ship.

“But I could learn.”

That caught Drath’s attention. He studied Atom for a moment, weighing the potential he saw in the young man. Tinkerer, builder, but more than that—ambition. A hunger for something greater. A hunger Drath knew all too well.

“I could teach you,”

Drath said slowly, his voice dripping with promise.

“But there will be a cost.”

Atom looked up, his eyes gleaming.

“What kind of cost?”

Drath’s smile widened.

“Your soul.”

Over the next few days, the camp around the crater grew. More villagers arrived, drawn by the whispers of magic and power. Drath watched as they fell into place—some willingly, others reluctantly, but all of them eventually bending the knee.

He taught them small spells at first. Simple things—telekinesis, manipulating small objects, conjuring flame. But with each spell, with each use of magic, they became more ensnared. The magic bound them to him, slowly, surely, tightening its grip on their minds and souls until they could no longer resist.

Drath’s army was forming, one soul at a time.

As the days passed, the camp transformed into a bustling hub of activity. Atom had begun tinkering with the strange technology aboard Drath’s ship, his skills as an engineer proving invaluable. Soon, others began to follow his lead, fascinated by the machinery and devices that littered the ship.

It was Atom who coined the term Cyber Faction—a group of engineers and scientists dedicated to merging magic and technology. Under Drath’s guidance, they began creating weapons, machines, and devices that would strengthen the Dark Faction’s grip on Catena.

But Drath knew this was only the beginning. There were others out there—others like him, who had tasted the power of Satonako and sought to claim it for themselves. And Drath would have to move quickly if he was to stay ahead of them.

As he stood at the edge of the crater, staring out into the vast expanse of Catena, he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. His army was growing. His power was rising. And soon, the world would bow before him.

But there was still much to be done. Still, many souls to claim.

And Drath was nothing if not patient.

It was a cloudless day on the Aurora Plains, where the sky stretched out like a vast canvas of pale blue. But beneath that tranquil sky, the world of Catena was about to shift again. Finney and Szabo, traveling sorcerers, felt the ripple of change in the air. The comet’s magic had stirred again—subtly, but unmistakably.
‍
“We’re hitting the Halvening soon,”
‍
Finney muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, his eyes scanning the horizon. He looked more ragged than usual, his once-clean robes now frayed from months of journeying. His companion, Szabo, glanced at him with a knowing look.

“The magic will be harder to control,”

Szabo replied, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. He always had a habit of finding humor in the grim. His bonobos scampered beside him, ever-attuned to the changes in the magic.
‍
They were heading towards the village of Finneyton, an irony that wasn’t lost on either of them. Named after Finney, one of the first mages, the village had thrived with WAGMI magic, pulling itself out of the darkness with the power the comet had bestowed. But now, with the Halvening approaching, the magic was about to become more elusive.
The Halvening was a curious thing. Every four years, the magic in the air grew harder to grasp—its potency dwindling for newcomers, yet growing more intense for those who had mastered it. It was like a cosmic balancing act, forcing the people of Catena to spread the magic or risk losing it altogether. But few truly understood the price that came with wielding such power.
‍
As Finney and Szabo approached Finneyton, they could feel the excitement in the air—young mages eager to harness WAGMI, elders fearful of the coming trials. It was a town full of contrasts, much like the world they inhabited.
In the village square, Kathina, a mage from the Air Faction, stood before a gathering of villagers. Her hair, braided in long silver strands, whipped in the wind as she summoned an albatross from the skies above. The giant bird soared down, landing gracefully beside her.
‍
“The Halvening will not break us,”

Kathina declared, her voice calm yet firm.

“We control the skies. We will master this change, and we will come out stronger.”
‍
The villagers cheered, but Finney, watching from the sidelines, could sense the growing tension. The Halvening wasn’t just a test of skill—it was a test of survival.
Later, inside the local tavern, Kathina joined Finney and Szabo at a dimly lit table. The atmosphere was thick with unease, the villagers’ excitement fading as they whispered about the Dark forces growing in the distance.
‍
“You’re not here just for the Halvening,”

Kathina said, her eyes narrowing as she took a seat. Her albatross perched outside the window, ever vigilant.
Finney nodded.

“The comet’s magic is spreading faster than we anticipated. But it’s not just WAGMI. Drath is out there, gathering followers. NGMI is gaining traction.”
‍
Szabo leaned forward, his bonobos chittering nervously.

“It’s not just a contest of power anymore. It’s war. And Drath? He’s not playing by any rules.”
‍
Kathina’s eyes hardened.

“We’ve heard the whispers. My people… they’ve seen the dark clouds rising in the north. Andonaxx leads them, doesn’t he?”
‍
Finney nodded grimly.

“Andonaxx… and worse. He’s not the only one hungry for power.”
‍
Kathina sat back, her gaze distant.

“We’ll fight them. We’ll protect the skies, no matter the cost.”
‍
The three mages sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what was to come settling heavily on their shoulders.
As the night deepened, the tension grew thicker, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Finney couldn’t shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of something monumental. The comet had changed their world, but this? This was the Halvening. It was a reset button, a hard slap to anyone who thought they could control the universe’s power without paying a price.
‍
But it wasn’t just magic at stake anymore. It was survival, dominance, and control.
‍
Out in the village square, WAGMI practitioners gathered under the watchful gaze of Kathina’s albatross. But something was off. The wind felt different—colder, sharper. Then, in the distance, a shadow moved. It was too far away to make out, but it was there.
‍
Finney and Szabo shared a glance. The Halvening wasn’t the only thing that had arrived. Drath’s forces were closer than they realized.
‍
“Looks like it’s time to see what the Halvening is really about,”

Szabo muttered, standing up from the table and adjusting his robes. His bonobos leapt onto his shoulders, ready for whatever chaos was coming.
‍
Kathina stood as well, her face set in determination.

“The skies will answer us,”

she said, stepping toward the door.

“We fight for Catena.”
‍
The Halvening came not as a slow transition, but like a storm. The power, once easily drawn from the air, became elusive—fading just beyond the reach of newer mages. But for those like Kathina, Finney, and Szabo, it was like a surge, a lightning bolt of energy that coursed through their veins.
‍
As Kathina stood in the village square, her albatross screeching into the night, she raised her hands to the sky.

“Come to me, winds of the Halvening!”

she shouted.
‍
The air rippled, then twisted violently. The skies above turned dark, and a powerful wind swept across the plains. The albatross took flight, soaring higher than any bird had ever flown before. For a brief moment, it felt as if Kathina could control the very sky itself.
‍
And then the winds answered.
‍
At that moment, Kathina’s power was undeniable. She had taken command of the Halvening, mastering the force of nature like no mage before her. Her power was raw, primal, and it rippled across the village, strengthening the magic of the older mages and leaving the weaker ones gasping for breath.
‍
But even as the Halvening gave them power, the darkness on the horizon crept closer.
‍
“The Air Faction stands ready,”

Kathina said, turning to Finney and Szabo. “But we’re going to need more than just the sky.”
‍
Szabo grinned, a dark, mischievous glint in his eye.

“Don’t worry. The ground and the water are about to get involved.”

The first true winter since the spread of WAGMI descended upon Catena like a relentless storm. Snow blanketed the land, turning the vibrant cities and valleys into desolate, frozen wastelands. The air was thick with the sharp bite of cold, and the people of Catena began to realize that no magic, no matter how powerful, could stop the wrath of nature.
‍
Finney and Szabo stood at the base of Fox Mountain, their faces hardened by the cold. The mountain had served as a critical storehouse for their supplies—grain, livestock, and food, all gifted by the WAGMI-supporting communities to help fuel the spread of the magic during harsh times. It had been their lifeline for the coming winter, a safety net for those in need.
‍
But that lifeline had just been cut.
‍
Szabo looked at the messenger in disbelief,

“Robbed? All of it?”

The words barely escaped his mouth, his breath a visible puff in the icy air.
‍
The messenger nodded, his face pale with fear and fatigue from his desperate journey.

“Everything. The grain, the livestock—it’s all gone. We have nothing left for the winter.”
‍
Finney’s eyes darkened. The people had come to rely on the caravan to sustain them through the frozen months, and now their entire stock was gone.
‍
“Who would be so reckless?”
‍
Finney muttered, pacing as he considered the options.

“The raiders? Some opportunist thieves? Or worse…”
‍
Szabo’s pet Magoo screeched, as if echoing the dire nature of the situation. Finney glanced up at the overcast sky, realizing that winter had arrived, and it wouldn’t be long before the first heavy snowfall came. There was no time to gather more supplies. The mountain’s stores had been critical for their survival.
‍
This was the first great crisis of the WAGMI mages—the Winter Crisis. Communities had embraced the magic, they had prospered, but now the cold would put them to the test. Food was scarce, and the fervour for learning WAGMI quickly turned to desperation for survival.
‍
In the town of Perchtown, the effects of the Winter Crisis were already apparent. Farmers once eager to learn WAGMI now toiled frantically to find ways to stretch their dwindling supplies. Skepticism grew like an unwanted weed among the people. If the magic couldn’t stop the snow, what good was it? If the mages couldn’t feed them, why should they listen?
‍
Finney and Szabo were being turned away from villages, doors shut tight as people prioritized their survival over learning the ways of magic. “The fear is taking root,” Szabo remarked bitterly, watching as yet another village turned them away.

“They’re losing faith.”
‍
Finney, never one to lose his optimism, clenched his jaw.

“There’s someone who can fix this.”
‍
ViBu had been working tirelessly in his lab, surrounded by flasks of potions, ancient scrolls, and bubbling beakers. His mind was sharp as ever, and he knew that the answer to their plight lay in pushing the boundaries of WAGMI. Magic had always been a tool for communication, for connecting emotions, but ViBu wanted more. He needed to find a way for magic to affect the physical world.
‍
In the dim light of his lab, ViBu poured a shimmering blue liquid into one of his concoctions. The moment the two elements merged, a burst of light filled the room. It wasn’t just a reaction—it was success. The beaker overflowed with a vibrant, glowing energy. ViBu could hardly believe it.
‍
“We’ve done it,”
‍
he whispered to himself.
‍
The answer had been right in front of them all along. By combining magic with the tangible elements of alchemy, ViBu had found a way to enhance WAGMI. Not only could the magic now communicate with animals and plants—it could improve the harvest, protect homes from fires, even heal wounds. It was a tangible, practical application of magic, something that could save lives in the midst of winter.
‍
ViBu quickly transcribed his discovery into what he called the White Scrolls—a set of guidelines for anyone practicing WAGMI. But there was a catch: those who wished to use the new magic had to swear never to use it for harm. The White Scrolls bound those who followed them to a strict code of ethics, ensuring that the magic could never be twisted into something darker.
‍
With this breakthrough, ViBu founded the Light Faction.
‍
As ViBu’s magic spread throughout the land, hope began to return. Villages that had turned away the magic now welcomed the White Scrolls, eager to learn how they could survive the winter. But while the Light found new followers, not everyone shared in their hope.
‍
Drath was growing restless. His following, empowered by the darker, more destructive forces of NGMI, was growing in number. They had learned to manipulate not just the world around them, but their very souls, binding themselves to Drath’s will. And among these followers was a man who had once tried to destroy him—Andonaxx.
‍
Andonaxx had once been the terror of the North, a raider who had led his men on countless pillages. But when he targeted Drath’s village, he had underestimated the power of NGMI. His men were slaughtered, and Andonaxx was given a choice—die, or bend the knee and learn the dark magic. He chose to live.
‍
Now, bound to Drath through NGMI, Andonaxx had returned to the North, where he spread the teachings of the dark sorcery. His people, empowered by the new magic, began to conduct raids like never before. They no longer feared the winter. Their magic turned it to their advantage, using the cold to amplify their power, allowing them to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies.
‍
Andonaxx wasn’t just a raider anymore. He had become a warlord, and his icy blue eyes now gleamed with the coldness of the magic that flowed through him.
‍
And so, as the Light and Dark began to grow stronger, Catena faced its first true winter—a season of famine, magic, and fear. And in the shadows, Drath watched as the seeds of conflict were sown, knowing that this winter would not be the last.
‍
It would only be the beginning.

The once-fragile flame of WAGMI, flickering in the hearts of those desperate for hope, was now roaring into something more powerful, more structured. The White Scrolls, a creation born from the alchemical brilliance of ViBu, were spreading like wildfire. It wasn’t just magic anymore; it was a movement. The dawn of the Light Faction was at hand.
‍
But as with all movements, the flame of hope had to be carefully managed, else it would burn too brightly, too fiercely, and consume everything in its path. ViBu knew this better than anyone. His breakthrough had brought WAGMI to a new level of power. Spells that healed the sick, spells that turned barren soil into fertile ground, spells that conjured life-saving water in the middle of winter—these were not mere parlor tricks. They were salvation.
‍
ViBu stood in the heart of his bustling workshop, watching as apprentices scurried around, learning the intricacies of the White Scrolls. A gentle murmur of incantations filled the air, as scrolls floated, potion bottles bubbled, and small fires burned in the alchemical braziers. He observed them, deep in thought.
‍
"How long will it last?"
‍
he muttered to himself. Control, that was the key. The new powers they wielded were immense, and if the Light was to survive, he had to ensure discipline. WAGMI had to remain pure, its teachings sacred. Otherwise, it would be twisted into something monstrous.
‍
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It swung open to reveal Finney and Szabo, their expressions grim and weathered from weeks of travel.
‍
“We’ve been to five villages already,”

Szabo said, brushing snow from his cloak. His usual warmth was clouded with worry.

“They’re all turning to the Light, but the more they learn, the more questions they ask.”
‍
Finney nodded in agreement, pacing around the room.

“They’re eager, but they don’t understand the depth of it yet. Some want to know if there’s a way to use the magic for... other purposes. Darker ones. We’ve already heard whispers about people trying to use WAGMI to harm.”
‍
ViBu turned to face them, his eyes darkening. This was exactly what he feared.
‍
“And what have you told them?”
‍
Szabo sighed.

“That the White Scrolls don’t allow it. That WAGMI is for healing, for growing, for protecting—not destroying.”
‍
“They seemed... disheartened by that,”

Finney added.

“Some looked ready to walk away. They don’t want boundaries. They want power.”
‍
ViBu clenched his jaw. It was human nature to push against limitations, to seek out power wherever it could be found. But the White Scrolls weren’t just about power—they were about responsibility. That was why Drath’s influence was so dangerous. He offered unchecked power to those who sought it, and the temptation was proving too great for many.
‍
"We need to reinforce our stance,"
‍
ViBu said, his voice firm.
‍
"There can be no ambiguity. Those who wish to follow the Light must abide by the White Scrolls. If they seek power without limits, they are not of us."
‍
Meanwhile, in the icy wastelands of the North, Drath watched the growth of the Light with quiet disdain. He had been expecting it. The human need to believe in something good, something pure, was a weakness he had encountered countless times on countless worlds. He had seen it before, and he knew exactly how to use it against them.
‍
But this world, Catena, had something his previous conquests did not—WAGMI, a magic born from a comet that had absorbed the power of the universe itself. This magic had the potential to rival even the darkest forces of NGMI, and that intrigued him. But it also annoyed him.
‍
“They think they can contain it,”
‍
Drath muttered, standing atop a frozen ridge overlooking his growing army. The wind howled around him, but he felt nothing. The cold had long since ceased to affect him, thanks to the dark power that flowed through his veins.
‍
“They think they can control something as vast as the cosmos itself.”
‍
Andonaxx stood at his side, his skeletal frame cloaked in the dark, billowing robes of the Ice Clan. His pale skin and bright blue eyes reflected the surrounding landscape, making him look like a ghost.
‍
“They’re fools,”
‍
Andonaxx hissed.
‍
“The more they try to suppress it, the stronger the desire for true power will become. They’ll seek us out eventually.”
‍
Drath’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.
‍
“Indeed. And when they do, they will find that NGMI offers them everything the Light denies.”
‍
Andonaxx nodded, already envisioning the chaos that would unfold. His raids had proven successful, his control over the North near absolute. His people, those who had once followed him in blind loyalty, now bowed to Drath’s dark magic. Andonaxx had become more than a warlord; he had become a legend.
‍
But it wasn’t enough.
‍
“There’s someone you should meet,”
‍
Drath said, turning to face Andonaxx fully.
‍
“He’s been working on something... special. A way to blend the power of NGMI with the technology I brought from my world.”
‍
Andonaxx raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
‍
“Technology? From your ship?”
‍
Drath nodded, a dark glimmer in his eye.
‍
“He calls himself Atom. And what he’s building will change the face of this war.”
‍
In the depths of the Cyber Faction’s lab, Atom worked feverishly, his hands moving with precision as he tinkered with the innards of an ancient, otherworldly device. His face, scarred from years of experiments gone wrong, was illuminated by the eerie glow of the machinery around him. He was a genius, a mad scientist, and now, thanks to Drath, he had access to technology far beyond anything Catena had ever seen.
‍
He barely looked up as Andonaxx entered the lab, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room.
‍
“Welcome to the future,”
‍
Atom said, his voice laced with a hint of manic excitement.
“We’re not just dealing with magic anymore. We’re dealing with science—a fusion of the two.”
‍
Andonaxx moved closer, his curiosity piqued despite himself. On one of the lab tables, he saw something that looked like a weapon—a strange, metal device that glowed with an unnatural light. Atom followed his gaze and grinned.
‍
“This,”
‍
Atom said, picking up the weapon,
‍
“is what will crush the Light once and for all. A phase gun—powered by NGMI, but enhanced with technology from Drath’s homeworld. It can tear through their defenses, neutralize their magic, and turn the tide of any battle.”
‍
Andonaxx reached out to touch the weapon, feeling the cold metal beneath his fingers. He could sense the power within it, a power that was both alien and terrifying.
‍
“How many do we have?”
‍
Andonaxx asked, his voice low.
‍
“Not enough,”
‍
Atom admitted, setting the weapon down carefully.

“But we’re building more every day. Soon, the Light won’t stand a chance.”
‍
Andonaxx smiled, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light.
‍
“Good. Let them have their harvest spells and their healing magic. We’ll show them what true power looks like.”
‍
As the winter deepened, the lines between the Light and Dark began to harden. In every corner of Catena, factions were forming, alliances were being forged, and the seeds of war were being planted. The Light Faction was growing, but so too were the forces of NGMI—a storm that would soon engulf the entire world.
‍
And in the midst of it all, ViBu watched with growing unease. His breakthrough had given the people hope, but he knew that hope alone wouldn’t be enough to win the coming war. Not when there were forces like Drath, Andonaxx, and Atom waiting in the shadows, ready to strike.
‍
The Light was rising.
‍
But so was the Dark.

The sun hung low over Perchtown, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. It was a town caught between worlds—where magic from the WAGMI mages swirled alongside the politics of the Old World, where the ideals of the Light faced constant pressure from those still clinging to the ways of power. The village had always been a meeting ground for sorcerers, scholars, and the curious alike, but now it felt like the air was growing thick with tension, like a storm was brewing just beyond the horizon.
‍
In a small tavern by the market square, Sabafri sat across from his new wife, Carellis, a glass of mead in his hand. The air between them was light, but the weight of their new responsibilities hung over them. Almeda, the town they had recently united through marriage, was now a beacon for WAGMI mages. It was the home of a new university, a hub for spreading WAGMI far and wide, and yet, there was unease even in victory.
‍
Sabafri leaned back in his chair, surveying the room with a mix of pride and caution. Carellis sipped her wine, her eyes scanning the tavern as well, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Do you ever wonder,"

Sabafri began, his voice soft,

"if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew?"
‍
Carellis smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

"You mean, with Almeda? Or with each other?"
‍
He chuckled, but the laughter faded quickly.

"I mean the university. The Scrolls, the growing conflict between the Light and Dark. There are forces moving faster than we anticipated. Drath is gathering strength, and so are his followers."
‍
Carellis set her glass down gently, her fingers tracing the rim.

"We knew this would happen. The moment we opened our doors to WAGMI practitioners from all across Catena, it was inevitable. Power draws attention. Both good and bad."
‍
Outside, the marketplace was bustling with activity. WAGMI mages from different factions gathered in small clusters, exchanging ideas, spells, and knowledge. The White Scrolls, created by ViBu, were fast becoming the foundation for all those who practiced WAGMI, but not everyone agreed with the restrictions they imposed.
‍
The Scrolls had strict rules—never to use WAGMI for harm, only for growth and protection. For some, it was a necessary safeguard; for others, it was a leash around their necks, preventing them from exploring the full potential of magic.
In the corner of the market, a group of WAGMI rebels whispered in low tones. They were not part of any official faction, and their eyes darted around suspiciously as they debated the finer points of the Scrolls.

‍
"ViBu’s Scrolls are chains," one of them muttered, "and we’re the fools wearing them."
‍
A second voice chimed in,
‍
"There’s power in this magic that we haven’t even begun to tap into. Why should we limit ourselves?"
‍
The first speaker leaned in closer.
"You’ve heard the rumors, right? About NGMI? That’s the real power. That’s where the future lies."
‍
Back in the tavern, Sabafri and Carellis continued their quiet conversation.
‍
"The university is thriving,"

Carellis said, though her tone held an edge of uncertainty.

"We’re spreading WAGMI faster than ever. But you’re right—there’s a cost. And I fear that cost will soon come knocking at our door."
‍
Sabafri looked down at his glass, swirling the mead thoughtfully.

"The people of Almeda are loyal, but that loyalty is fragile. They’ll follow us as long as they believe we can keep them safe. But if the Dark comes knocking..."
‍
Carellis reached across the table, placing her hand on his.
"We will keep them safe, Sabafri. We’ve come this far together, haven’t we?"
‍
He met her gaze, a soft smile touching his lips.
‍
"Together."
‍
Outside the tavern, the marketplace suddenly fell silent. The group of rebels had dispersed, and a hush fell over the crowd as a stranger appeared at the far end of the square.
It was Andonaxx.
‍
His pale skin and glowing blue eyes cut through the crowd like a blade, and the air around him seemed to grow colder with each step. People parted as he walked through the square, his cloak billowing behind him. He was not alone—behind him stood several Dark mages, their presence a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the market.
‍
Sabafri and Carellis stepped outside just in time to see Andonaxx approach. The sight of the Dark mage made Sabafri’s heart race, but he kept his face neutral.
‍
"Andonaxx,"

Sabafri greeted, his voice steady but tense.

"What brings you to Almeda?"
‍
Andonaxx’s cold smile didn’t reach his eyes.
‍
"I was in the area. Thought I’d see how your little project is coming along."
‍
Carellis stepped forward, her chin held high.

"The university is flourishing. WAGMI is spreading far and wide, thanks to the efforts of our people."
‍
Andonaxx’s eyes flicked over to her, his smile widening.
‍
"Ah yes, the noble cause of education."
‍
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
‍
"But tell me, Carellis, do your students know what’s really at stake? Do they understand the true power that’s out there—beyond ViBu’s little rules and restrictions?"
‍
Sabafri tensed, his hand instinctively moving toward the dagger at his waist.

"We’re not interested in NGMI, Andonaxx. Take your threats elsewhere."
‍
Andonaxx chuckled softly.
‍
"Oh, Sabafri, this isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. You and your precious university won’t last through the winter if you keep pretending you can ignore the Dark."
‍
With that, Andonaxx turned and walked away, his dark mages following behind him, leaving the air cold and thick with tension.
‍
As night fell over Perchtown, Sabafri and Carellis stood at the edge of the marketplace, watching the villagers return to their homes.
‍
"We need to prepare," Sabafri said, his voice low.
Carellis nodded. "And we need to decide where our loyalties truly lie."
‍
The winds of change were blowing through Catena, and in the heart of Almeda, the seeds of rebellion were already being sown.