Bring me the Skies

In the beginning, the world was a perfect plane — endless and flat, bordered by the Abyss below and sealed by the Sky Dome above. The Dome was not mere atmosphere but a vast, crystalline barrier, gleaming with holy runes, forged by the Primordials to keep the Chaos at bay. Beyond it roiled the Warp: a seething void of madness, birthing abominations, shadow, and impossible geometry. For millennia, the Dome held. Under its serene arch, civilizations flourished, and the kingdoms of Men grew bold. They built great cities, plowed the fertile land, and gazed at the firmament — a mirrored surface that reflected the stars painted by the gods themselves. But then, the Sky broke. No one knows how or why. A tremor unlike any before shook the world. Cracks spread across the Dome, until, with a sound like the scream of a dying god, it shattered. Shards of the celestial barrier rained upon the world — obliterating mountains, carving craters, drowning cities in storms of crystal and fire. From the ruptures above, the Chaos seeped through. Monsters now stalk the wilderness: titanic horrors, flesh-knitted nightmares, and amorphous things that defy sanity. No wall holds them. Kingdoms reel, isolated within patches of still-holy ground, protected by the lingering power of unfallen Sky Shards. Beyond those bastions lies the Wild, where only the mad or the desperate tread. What broke the Sky? Some whisper of heresy — that Men themselves mined too deep into forbidden magics. Others blame the Old Gods, angered by forgotten oaths. And some say a thing from beyond, older than even the Primordials, clawed its way free. But can it be fixed? The Sky Shards — fractured pieces of the Dome — still hum with dormant power. Perhaps, gathered together, they hold the secret to mending the wound in the heavens. Or perhaps they conceal truths best left buried. In the throne hall of the Last Crown, the king rises, his voice echoing through marble and iron: “Bring me the Sky!”