The Nexus sits in a void, suspended within time and space, separate from the world of the living. Here, the Monumentals have presided, holding together the fabric of reality since the first scourge of the Old One, awakened by mortals using Soul Arts.
Rampant and hungry for the souls of the living, the Old One had unleashed a near unstoppable force of soul-stealing demons to feed an insatiable hunger that could not be quenched. A thick fog enveloped the land as the once lively and robust countries turned to smoldering ruin, leaving no one left to maintain them.
The Old One's demons stole the souls of humans in their wake. Those who survived their onslaughts were driven mad with a want that was not understood, wreaking havoc on the sane and inadvertently assisting the demons to their own ends. As the Old One and its demons devoured souls, the more powerful they became. There was not a force alive that could match their strength and animosity. All seemed lost.
Soon, those who remained rose against the demons. They united, and through their power, the Old One's demons were defeated. The Old One Itself was laid to sleep beneath the veils of the Nexus, but though the battle had been won, it had come at a high price: all of the souls lost to the Old One and its demons were irretrievable, and half of the world now lay submerged beneath the deep, colorless fog, forever lost.
The warriors that survived the war became Monumentals, half-living sentinels of the fabric of reality. The Monumentals banned the use of Soul Arts to prevent the Old One from awakening again.
Even after the Old One had been lain to slumber, the effects of Its incursion did not go unnoticed. The soulless still remained, as did souls disembodied, cursed forever to roam the plain between life and death. The colorless fog loomed, threatening to swallow the world. The fabric of reality began to tear, the horrors it would reap yet unknown.
The Monumentals came together once more, harnessing their power to repair the damage that the Old One had inflicted upon the world. Slowly the earth was mended, and these strange phenomena ceased.
As time went on and generations passed, the terror and ruin wrought by the Old One faded from consciousness, as did the heroic actions of the Monumentals, even as they continued to weave the fabric of space and time into continuous balance. The Monumentals' dedication to the mortal race of men never wavered, even as they were forgotten.
Many ages passed through the world in peace and harmony. The Soul Arts were a distant memory scarcely recalled, but for a morose king wholly pessimistic in the views of his kingdom. King Allant XII of Boletaria was a successful ruler in every sense. His military might was yet to be matched, the kingdom was rich and trade was booming, and Boletaria's citizens were happy. They worshipped and revered the king as a god among men. Yet still he felt empty; he wanted more for his kingdom... and for himself.
The Old King began sifting through Boletaria's vast libraries in search of answers. For years his search yielded nothing, and in this time the king became more frustrated and cynical as the effects of age slowly gripped him. However, one fateful morning, as the king was perusing the upper shelves near the back of the library, his hand brushed against an ancient tome. He gingerly opened the book, carefully turning each page, mindful to keep them in place as many of them were loose and broken. As his eyes scanned the pages, he grinned to himself. This may have been exactly what he was looking for all along.
He swiftly returned to his throne room, ordering his guards to close the doors and not to allow for any visitors. He sat on his throne and found himself entranced in the book's recollections. Minutes turned to hours; hours turned to days. It was only until one of his guards sought him out that he realized he had not eaten or slept since he had returned from the library, but now he knew everything that he needed to know. As he rose from his throne, book in hand, and followed his guard out of the throne room to his private chambers, a world of possibilities swirled in his head. He had found the key that would make his kingdom the greatest the world had ever known and ever would be. They would be powerful beyond comprehension, and he, by extension, a king amongst kings. No… a god amongst kings.
As the Old King lay himself down for the night, machinations of his new empire churning in his mind, he felt content for the first time in decades. He reached over to his bedside table and patted the old tome lovingly before turning over, muttering quietly before falling into a deep, restful slumber.
"Soul Arts…"