History
What Happened to Humanity?
Humanity’s fall, and the fall of the planet known as Aurelion, did not come from a single catastrophic event, but rather a cascading failure that began at the turn of the 21st century in the Old Aurelian calendar.
Aurelion was not a mundane world. It was a place where the very first evidence of the arcane appeared. Arcane and material sciences long became intertwined on Aurelion, where humanity had learned to harness a power that did not belong to them. Beneath the surface of their world, and threaded through the fabric of their skies, there existed an entity known only in fragmented records as The Heart Below. It was an immense, cosmic being whose presence permeated reality itself with its unique abilities. Upon its discovery deep within the planet’s core, it was put to use.
Through means both technological and arcane, humanity drew upon it as a source of near-limitless energy. It powered their cities, sustained orbital constructs, and enabled their expansion beyond Aurelion. Vast arrays and containment structures anchored this presence into something measurable, something usable. It became the foundation of their progress. The few who even knew of its existence did not question whether it should be. Humanity had entered a golden age.
In the late 1990s of the Old Aurelian calendar, global systems were deeply interconnected while remaining more fragile than most realized. Humanity reached outward. Breakthroughs in orbital manufacturing and early fusion energy allowed for the construction of space stations and the first permanent off-world industrial sites, as humanity took to the stars. These structures, established around Aurelion and extending to the planet’s moon and neighboring celestial bodies, were never intended to be lifeboats. These structures were built in confidence, monuments to a species that believed itself to be on the verge of mastering both reality and the forces that shape it. They were symbols of progress, and contingencies for a distant future. No one expected that they would become essential so soon.
Something Is Wrong
The first signs that something was wrong appeared subtly. Between 2002 and 2003, satellites began reporting inconsistencies that could not be easily explained. Positional data drifted without cause, signals arrived at incorrect intervals, and probes returned measurements that contradicted established models of distance and motion. At first, these anomalies could be attributed to software errors or instrumentation faults, the kind of problems expected in this era of rapid technological evolution. However, inconsistencies continued to spread, and it became clear that the issue was not within the machines themselves, but with what they were trying to measure.
Space was no longer behaving consistently.
The response was fear. Distortions intensified, and systems began to fail. Global positioning systems became unreliable, disrupting transportation, shipping, and communication networks. Power grids suffered cascading failures seemingly for no cause. Military infrastructure proved especially vulnerable. Systems designed to detect threats began to misinterpret anomalous readings as hostile actions, and for nations believing that their rivals may seek to capitalize on the chaos, quick retaliation became necessary. Limited nuclear exchanges followed. The resulting destruction further crippled what remained of Aurelion’s infrastructure, accelerating the collapse of coordinated global society.
By 2004, the situation had progressed for the worse. Reality itself had begun to fracture. Certain regions of Aurelion exhibited localized distortions where physical laws no longer behaved predictably. Time discrepancies, once measured in microseconds, became perceptible. Entire areas experienced spatial displacement. Some locations appeared to shift slightly, others seeming to momentarily vanish before re-appearing. These zones marked the earliest evidence of the cosmic event to come.
Convergence
The broader event now known as the Convergence reached full manifestation in the Old Aurelian year of 2005. What had begun as isolated inconsistencies revealed itself to be part of a universe-scale failure in spatial agreement. Distance, continuity, and position were no longer absolute truths. Aurelion did not shatter or disappear, but it ceased to function as a stable, unified environment.
The Heart Below, already stretched thin through centuries of exploitation, could not withstand the shift. For the first time, it saw gaps in the containment meant to keep it tethered, and it reacted. Whether it resisted, ruptured, or simply ceased to exist remains unknown. What is known is this: the moment the Convergence fully manifested, The Heart Below collapsed.
Amid the collapse, humanity’s survival depended entirely on the infrastructure it had built in orbit. The space stations, shipyards, and off-world colonies that once represented ambition have now become sanctuaries. Evacuation efforts were chaotic and uneven. Access to transport remained controlled by world governments, corporations, and those with the means to secure passage. Many were abandoned. Those who did escape did so aboard vessels never designed for long-term habitation, repurposed in desperate bids to make spacefaring lifeboats. Orbital habitats were forced to rapidly transform into self-sustaining environments. The exodus was a fragmented, mad dash for the horizon.
Aurelion itself was ultimately abandoned, though not destroyed in the conventional sense. It persists as a heavily fractured world, its surface and surrounding space permeated by unstable distortions. Large portions of the planet are believed to exist within overlapping spheres, where boundaries between consistent reality and fractured space break down entirely. However, it is no longer accessible by conventional means, and any attempts to study it remotely yield inconsistent or contradictory data. To those who came after, Aurelion became both a place of origin and a warning: the first world to fall to the Convergence, and what happens when the energy sent through the cosmos at that level is no longer controlled.
Scattered Among the Stars
From the remnants of the collapse emerge the survivors, developing in the aftermath. Aboard ships and artificial habitats, they rebuild from the ground up, with a relentless drive to expand beyond any point of failure. These vestiges of humanity, slowly mutated through the generations, will become the Aurelium Exculta, naming themselves for the planet their ancestors called home.
In the aftermath of the Convergence, with the loss of The Heart Below, something new emerged. The Nullstar had arrived. Where The Heart Below had been a contained and exploited force of nature, the Nullstar was boundless, indifferent, and fundamentally incompatible with control. Its influence spread instantly, saturating reality with the energy field and strings that would be later known as magic, in the form we know it to be today.
With the emergence of the Nullstar, the remnants of humanity came to understand the true answer to the question: Are we alone?
Before the event, the universe had appeared vast but ultimately consistent, its distances too great and physical laws too rigid to allow for interaction between distant civilizations. If other intelligent life existed, it remained unreachable, separated by the sheer scale of space and time. The Convergence disrupted this isolation. By fracturing the agreement of distance and continuity, it brought previously disconnected regions of reality into indirect alignment. Worlds that had once been separated by insurmountable expanses became accessible through the shifting pathways of fractured space. These pathways would be later maintained and called simply Warp Gates.
As a result, many civilizations encountered in the present era did not originate after the fall of Aurelion, but long before it. These species developed independently on their own worlds, shaped by their environments and evolutionary pressures. Only after their worlds became connected by the Warp Gates during the Convergence did the possibility of contact between all of these homeworlds emerge. Not all species, however, remained unchanged by the transition.
The Convergence both created new worlds (in the case of spheres) and severely altered existing worlds in the case of planets that remained intact. The influence of the Nullstar’s energy has been observed to affect biological development in subtle but persistent ways. Over successive generations, some organisms appear to converge towards stable structural patterns that are better suited to surviving within reality distorted by magical energy. Among these patterns, humanoid-adjacent forms are unusually common. Bilateral symmetry, upright posture, and opposable thumbs. As a result, some species that are now classified as humanoid may not have originated in that form, but instead morphed towards it over time under the influence of fractured space. In fact, most of these species do not recall their earlier evolutionary states being any different. It is as though they were always this way.
The Modern Age of Exploration
In the time following the fall of Aurelion, survival gave way to adaptation, then to expansion. What had once been isolated civilizations were gradually drawn into awareness of one another. Some, like the biosphere-rich world of Virilune or the oceanic depths of Pelagia, had long histories untouched by humanity. Others, such as Singulon or Stratos, existed as spheres from the very beginning, their inhabitants shaped by the warped reality contained within.
Initial contact was uneven and at times, hostile. Differences in biology, philosophy, and interpretation of the Nullstar’s influence created friction between species. The Felari of Virilune viewed outsiders with suspicion. The Thalassans of Pelagia approached diplomacy as an extension of trade and influence. The Saurans of Sauris saw opportunity where others saw risk. Meanwhile, the Aurelium Exculta, descendants of humanity, spread rapidly across known space, establishing colonies and outposts with a mix of scientific rigor and quiet desperation. Despite these differences, one unifying truth emerged: no single world could fully understand the nature of this fractured reality alone.
Over time, necessity forced cooperation. Trade routes between spheres and planets became more stable. Shared knowledge of navigation, magic, and survival techniques allowed civilizations to mitigate dangers. From this cooperation emerged the first attempts of structured diplomacy: agreements on safe passage, resource exchange, and handling anomalies. These efforts would eventually come to create a formal interstellar body, a diplomatic and scientific coalition composed of representatives from each major homeworld. While its structure varied depending on the influence of its members, its purpose remained consistent: to establish a framework for coexistence. It was called the High Stellar Council.
Despite centuries of progress, one aspect of reality remained poorly understood: the spheres themselves. While civilizations had learned to travel between them, map their positions, and even exploit their unique properties, the underlying mechanisms that allowed spheres to exist and persist remained elusive. The influence of the Nullstar was acknowledged, but not comprehended. Why some spheres remained stable for millennia while others collapsed within years was unknown. Why certain worlds developed extreme biological or physical deviations while others remained relatively consistent was a matter of ongoing debate. This uncertainty became increasingly unacceptable and led to unrest in many academic and political circles.
It was this shared frustration that led to the great initiative. Across multiple navigation systems, a pattern in the energy waves had begun to emerge. An investigation from the galaxy-renowned group of adventurers, the Wayfarer’s Guild, revealed an incredible discovery: a singular sphere world that exhibited an unusual degree of stability, positioned at the intersection of numerous fractured pathways. Unlike other spheres, whose connections shifted or degraded over time, this world appeared to function as a constant– a natural anchor point within an otherwise chaotic system. Routes leading to it could be traced and relied upon, at least more so than others. They called this sphere Locus Astra.
Debates and Discussion
The implications were impossible to ignore. If one world could serve as a stable anchor between spheres, it could become far more than a waypoint. It could become a center for coordinated exploration, a place for expeditions into deeper, less stable regions of fractured space could be launched with unprecedented precision. For the first time, the possibility of truly understanding the structure of reality seemed within reach. However, the idea of sending more explorers to the sphere world itself was a controversial one, especially with the near-total destruction of the Wayfarer’s Guild due to a mysterious incident on their return trip which rendered their starship lost and most of the crew deceased. Many put two and two together. Although rumors of individual planets sending lone explorers in the direction of Locus Astra continued to spread, it was up to the High Stellar Council to organize a true exploration initiative shared among all of the connected planets.
The decision was neither immediate nor unanimous.
The Felari and Canari had fostered several years of peace on Virilune, but questioned the wisdom of exposing themselves to that variety of foreign influence. To the Felari, the mission represented intrusion on a cosmic scale, an unraveling of carefully maintained boundaries. They feared not just physical danger, but cultural erosion, the slow bleed of identity loss that comes with prolonged contact. The Canari, while more open to cooperation, interpreted the sphere through a spiritual lens. If nature spoke through storms and skies, then a place where realities converged must carry intention. Some believed the sphere to be a place of great balance, while others warned it might be where the natural order had already been broken beyond repair.
The Saurans were eager to test themselves against the unknown. To them, the mission was not a question of caution, but inevitability. Evolution, whether biological or societal, demanded challenge. A stable convergence point was the ultimate proving ground: a place where adaptation could be accelerated, where new environments, pressures, and opportunities would refine them further.
The Thalassans and Abyssal were most interested in the economic and technological advantages of venturing to such a location. For the Lucent Stratum, a cosmic hub represented a nexus of trade routes unlike anything in recorded history. A place where influence could be brokered as easily as goods. The Twilight Stratum viewed it as a strategic asset, a position from which fleets and resources could be consolidated and later deployed across the multiple neighboring spheres with great efficiency. The Noct Stratum approached the mission with quiet intensity, seeing in it an opportunity to study the fundamental mechanics of reality itself. Among the Abyssal, however, interest took a different tone. Drawn to the unknown, many saw the sphere as something almost sacred. A place where the boundaries of existence thinned enough to be felt, if not understood.
The Ferrans and Gelum of Singulon were no strangers to warped realities, but there was debate over whether such a place could truly be trusted. Ferran philosophy struggled with the idea of relying on something so inherently unstable. If the sphere were real, it could be studied, mapped, and eventually mastered. But if it only appeared stable and proved to be otherwise, then it could be deeply harmful and the mission would be costly. The Gelum were more divided. Some saw it as a natural extension of their own pursuits, a grander system of controlled instability. Others feared it as something beyond even their ability to contain.
The Lepterans and Carcids both could agree: this was an unprecedented opportunity for understanding the nature of the Final Sunset on Chitara that forced them to descend underground so many years ago. To the Lepterans, this was a problem to be solved, a pattern waiting to be analyzed and reduced to data. They approached the mission with precision, already planning simulations and models for what they might encounter. The Carcids, however, carried a more personal stake. The memory of collapse was not abstract to them; it was lived, real, and embedded in their communities. For them, the journey was not just about knowledge, but ensuring that what happened to Chitara could never happen again.
The Aurelium Exculta were the strongest proponents of the mission, driven by a combination of necessity and ambition. The Eden Construct, while a triumph of engineering, was a finite solution to an expanding problem. Population growth, resource strain, and internal political pressure and unrest all pointed towards the same conclusion: expansion was no longer optional. To the Aurelians, the hub was not just a scientific curiosity, but a gateway. A controlled point from which new territories could be identified, evaluated, and ultimately settled. While official rhetoric emphasized cooperation and discovery, few members of other species failed to note how quickly Aurelian expeditions began preparing long-term settlement plans.
The Caelune and Sonyx of Stratos approached the mission through different lenses. For the Caelune, whose lives were defined by open skies and visible horizons, the idea of this sphere was unsettling. Traveling between spheres in this way is like taking a wind tunnel with no known exit, and evokes a sense of confinement even on a planetary scale. The Sonyx, by contrast, were drawn to the mysteries such a place might hold. A world defined by convergence would, to them, be rich with resonances in space itself waiting to be interpreted.
The Cervari of Velora viewed the mission with cautious reverence. They understood better than most the consequences of imbalance. To them, a cosmic hub was a place that could either stabilize or destabilize entire systems depending on how it was treated. Many believed it should be approached with restraint and respect. There was growing concern that other species would attempt to exploit it without understanding the cost. The Lagorans, ever pragmatic, saw it as the ultimate transport network. They immediately recognized its potential as a central routing system. To them, the question was less whether the mission should proceed, but how quickly sphere fields could be utilized and optimized. Their interest lay in infrastructure, and they saw the mission as a wealth of new possibilities.
The Sylthae and Nythera of Elyndra were among the most divided. Bound closely to their environment and ever reluctant to leave a place they saw as paradise, they both outright refused to send envoys at all at first. The idea of leaving it, of exposing themselves to harsher, less stable realities, felt unnecessary and dangerous. However, out of the two species, the Nythera were more curious. A convergence of realities for a species that found meaning in creation and transformation was difficult to resist. Although they largely don’t acknowledge their ancestry from Chitara, the thought of learning more about the nature of sphere energy led them to coax the Sylthae into eventually joining them in opening the mission for volunteers.
In the end, curiosity prevailed.
Pathfinding Initiative
The Pathfinding Initiative was formed as a joint expedition, part research mission, part diplomatic venture, and part leap of faith. Engineers, scholars, explorers, and opportunists from across known space were selected or volunteered to make the journey. Some came in the name of their governments, others for personal reasons. Exile, ambition, faith, or simple curiosity brought explorers to the new frontier. Together, they set their course for the landing site, which they called The Anchor.
Welcome to your new beginning, explorer, pathfinder. And good luck.
