They once called it the Era of Unity. Alandria was a land of peace and prosperity, a nation that had built a reputation for its diplomacy, technological advancement, and social progress. Its cities thrived, its people enjoyed freedoms and opportunities, and its leaders worked to strengthen bonds with neighboring territories, seeing prosperity as a force for unity. But as Alandria’s vision of peace grew, so did the discontent within certain ranks. Amid the citizens who relished their freedoms and leaders who fostered cooperation, there were those who saw this era as the beginning of decline. For them, peace was weakness. Alandria’s lack of militarization and focus on diplomacy made the country vulnerable. These whispers of discontent grew louder among a group of ex-soldiers and former mercenaries—veterans who had thrived in past conflicts and now felt abandoned by a government that saw no need for warriors in an age of peace. Leading these voices was Lucian Kane, a former military strategist. Charismatic, cunning, and relentless, Kane was a man whose appetite for power knew no bounds. He had been respected once, a decorated officer and tactical mind, but in a time of peace, his influence was fading, and his skills were seen as relics of a past no one wished to revisit. He began rallying others who felt similarly left behind, forming an underground faction they called The Crimson Fist. They were a force of former soldiers, survivalists, and radicals, all united under Kane’s ruthless ideology. To them, Alandria was not a place of prosperity—it was weak, soft, and oblivious to the threats lurking beyond its borders. Kane first tried to sway the government through rhetoric, urging Alandria’s leaders to take a more aggressive stance on foreign policy, to grow the military, to see threats where none existed. But the leaders dismissed him. To them, he was a relic, a warmonger out of place in a peaceful world. Kane took their dismissal as a declaration of war. With careful planning and precise brutality, The Crimson Fist struck Alandria from within. They infiltrated government facilities, sabotaged infrastructure, and orchestrated a wave of violence that left the nation reeling. The Alandrian government, unprepared for such ruthless aggression, fell within weeks. And when the dust settled, Kane emerged as The Leader, declaring himself the savior who had liberated Alandria from its own weakness. He renamed the nation Valgard—the “Stronghold”—a name that would, he vowed, represent power and fear rather than peace and prosperity. His vision was simple: control through force, loyalty through fear, and strength above all. Those who challenged him, those who remembered the unity and freedom of the past, were swiftly silenced. But Kane didn’t rule alone. To solidify his power and enforce his brutal policies, he expanded The Crimson Fist into an official state force, known simply as Enforcement. Under his rule, Valgard was divided into six zones, each governed by one of his trusted generals—handpicked soldiers who shared his hunger for control, who valued power above compassion and loyalty above freedom. Each zone served a purpose, each resource funneled back to the regime. Factories in Aquila produced weapons and surveillance tech, ensuring Valgard’s dominance. Cindar’s fields and power stations provided food and energy, feeding and fueling the regime. Ironhold’s mines extracted the raw materials that became tools of oppression, while Stormhaven, once a bustling coastal trade center, now stood as a heavily fortified naval stronghold, policing Valgard’s coastlines and trade. Emberfall, the capital, was the heart of it all—a city where Kane’s decrees echoed from massive screens, and citizens lived under constant surveillance. Then there was Raven’s Reach, a dark stain on Valgard’s map. Isolated and hidden from view, it was where dissenters were taken—those who dared question Kane’s authority. They would vanish into the dense forests surrounding the high-tech detention facilities, never to be seen again. Rumors circulated among Valgard’s citizens, tales of torture and re-education, but no one dared speak of it openly. Life under Kane’s rule was rigidly controlled. Surveillance drones monitored the streets, giant propaganda screens played Kane’s speeches on loop, and neighbors were encouraged to report on each other for any hint of disloyalty. His generals executed orders with brutal efficiency, each enforcing his iron rule within their zones. Citizens were stripped of autonomy, every aspect of life dictated by the regime. Kane’s face became a constant presence, a symbol of unyielding power, his image plastered on walls, his speeches forced upon citizens in public spaces, where his words hammered into their minds: “Strength above all. Sacrifice for Valgard. Unity through loyalty.” As years passed, memories of the Era of Unity faded. Children born in Valgard grew up knowing only the shadow of Kane’s rule. Alandria became a myth, a whispered legend. And yet, in hidden corners and quiet gatherings, the spark of resistance still lingered. Those who remembered the past, who had once tasted freedom, shared their stories with the next generation, planting seeds of hope that one day, Valgard might be liberated. Kane and his generals may have shattered the country, but they couldn’t erase the memory of what Alandria had once been. And that memory, hidden in the hearts of the brave few, would become the regime’s greatest threat.

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