The Sundering
The night the crown burned, the sky cracked open and the map broke with it. Five kingdoms became a hundred grudges, each one certain the fire was someone else's fault.
Three centuries after the Ninth King burned his own crown, the realm still smoulders. Bind yourself to an ancient Order, gather the sworn and the damned, and decide what rises from the ash.
In the year the sun turned grey, the Ninth King set fire to his own crown rather than surrender it to the things that came crawling out of the deep dark. The blaze never truly went out. It sank into the soil, the rivers, the marrow of every living thing, and there it waits.
What remains of the realm is held together by oaths older than memory — pacts sworn to dead kings, to fell powers, to the debts of ash that every soul is born owing. Break one, and the fire remembers your name.
The night the crown burned, the sky cracked open and the map broke with it. Five kingdoms became a hundred grudges, each one certain the fire was someone else's fault.
The dead king still holds court in the ruins of the capital. His decrees are law to those bound by oath — and the sworn are always listening, whether the living wish it or not.
Every spell is a loan and every oath a lien on the soul. Power is real, and so is the interest. The clever survive by choosing carefully whom they owe.
Every character binds to an Order at first blood. Each grants a discipline, a burden, and a place in a party built to survive what the realm became.
Oathsworn shieldbearers who hold the last standing walls. Where a Warden plants their tower, the line does not break.
Heirs to the wildfire that razed the old capital. They do not cast spells so much as let the buried fire recognise a friend.
Twin blades and a war-song only the dying ever hear in full. They fight in verses, and the last line is always someone else's.
Brokers of debts, oaths, and stolen years. They win fights the slow way — by making sure the enemy already owes them everything.
Hunters who read the Emberwood by ash and starlight. If a Wayfinder has seen your tracks, the arrow is already three days ahead of you.
They mend the living and bargain with the dead in the same breath. Every healing is a negotiation — and the Oathkeeper always closes the deal.
One broken continent, five surviving holds, and a thousand miles of ash between them. Every road you walk in Ashenreach was a border someone died defending.
Pre-order to secure the founding cohort — the Ashbound armour set and a place in the credits' Roll of the Sworn.
Wishlist Ashenreach to be told the moment the closed war-council beta opens, and to help decide which Order marches in the launch trailer.