I'm Huntz

Euditia or Mortal Realm where the ancient whispers of magic intertwine with the very breath of the land, a realm unfolds like pages from an age-old tome. Towering spires adorned with eldritch symbols reach towards the heavens, casting shadows over vibrant, enchanted landscapes. Moss-laden forests, their trees standing tall and wise, weave together like the threads of a mystical tapestry, concealing secrets within the rustling leaves.The air hums with the harmonious resonance of arcane energies, where every gust carries the ethereal fragrance of forgotten incantations. Majestic dragons, their scales shimmering with hues unseen by mortal eyes, soar above crystalline rivers and valleys, guardians of ancient wisdom and keepers of ageless lore.In the heart of Euditia's realms, four majestic continents stand as bastions of distinct cultures, each woven into the very fabric of the land they inhabit. From the regal spires of Aetheris, where wizards weave spells like threads in the cosmic loom, to the rugged peaks of Draconia, where dragon riders forge unbreakable bonds with their scaly companions, the diversity of Euditia unfolds like a map of dreams.Yet, beneath the surface of this magical tapestry, shadows stir. Ancient prophecies foretell of a looming darkness that threatens to engulf Euditia in its inky tendrils. It is in this enchanting realm that heroes must rise, wielding the ancient magic of the land and standing against the encroaching night.As the sun sets over Euditia, casting hues of gold and lavender across its fantastical landscapes, the echoes of bygone ages beckon, inviting those brave enough to explore the secrets hidden within the heart of magic and dragons. The adventure awaits, like an epic yet unwritten, within the folds of this mystical realm called Euditia.

Welcome to Santara Land a reimagined archipelago inspired by 1980s Indonesia, where the hum of development echoes through growing cities, factories blaze into life, and cassette radios blare rock dangdut through the alleys of kampung and concrete flats. But beneath the asphalt and satellite dishes, something ancient still breathes. Here, the world of mortals and the realm of the dedemit beings of myth and folklore exist not as tales of the past, but as a haunting, living reality. Some remain hidden in the deep forests and forgotten temples, avoiding the encroach of modernity. Others walk quietly among humans, their presence whispered in markets, alleyways, and smoky warungs. Most citizens turn a blind eye, focused on careers, schooling, and surviving in this rising economy. But for those who still listen shamans, dreamers, and the unlucky few the signs are unmistakable. A keris humming with restless energy. Children speaking to unseen friends. A sudden chill beneath the neon lights.

Welcome to Fanalia, a kingdom where ancient castles crown mountaintops, dragons sleep beneath emerald forests, and the echoes of legendary heroes still inspire the brave. This is a world born from light and shadow — where magic flows through bloodlines and elemental spirits whisper to those who dare listen. Centuries ago, Fanalia was nearly consumed by darkness, but was saved by the united strength of legendary warriors who forged peace through sacrifice and trust. That legacy now lives on in the hearts of new heroes. In the capital of Altireia, guilds train adventurers not just to fight, but to grow — in strength, in heart, and in loyalty to one another. Young warriors take up arms not for gold alone, but for dreams: to protect the weak, to restore lost honor, or to prove their worth in a world that tests both steel and soul. But peace never lasts forever. New threats rise from forgotten ruins, rogue kingdoms stir rebellion, and whispers speak of a sealed evil returning — one that no hero has yet faced and lived to tell. The time is coming for the next generation to rise.

In the cold embrace of the night, you awaken from a restless slumber, your mind still tangled in the fragments of a haunting dream. A voice, ethereal and resonant, echoes faintly in your memory a warning from beyond mortal comprehension. Though vague, its words are etched into your soul, commanding your attention: "Mortals, heed my call! A storm of chaos brews on the horizon, orchestrated by three gods consumed by greed and malice. They conspire to unravel the order of your world, sending forth their agents to sow destruction. The Trickster shall weave discord and doubt among you, the Reaper will shadow your lands with death’s cold embrace, and the Weaver shall ensnare your minds in webs of deceit. Yet, do not succumb to despair, for within your hearts burns a light brighter than any darkness. Let compassion be your shield to unmask the Trickster’s lies. Let courage steel you against the Reaper’s relentless scythe. Seek truth with unyielding resolve to untangle the Weaver’s deceptions. The fate of your world now lies in your hands. Stand together, let unity be your strength, and let the flame of hope guide your way. If you rise as one, bound by love and purpose, no shadow shall claim dominion over your realm. The darkness comes but so too does your chance to defy it. Be steadfast, for the hour of reckoning draws near."

Before the gods whispered to mortals… before the storm of chaos darkened the skies… there was only war. Endless, senseless war. In the land of Tetonia, kingdoms clashed for reasons long forgotten, entire generations raised to bleed for banners without meaning. The world called it fate. The scholars called it history. But one manZiacalled it a lie. Haunted by dreams and driven by visions none could explain, Zia walks a blood-soaked land searching for answers. What he finds is a truth older than kings: the war was never about territory, pride, or justice. It was designed. Structured. Engineered by a hidden hand. One mind. One will. One shadow pulling every string.

The gods have fallen silent. The chaos has receded. And in the heart of Tetonia, peace begins to take root. But peace is fragile and far from universal. On the distant island of Thallasa, far from the war-torn lands of the mainland, something ancient stirs beneath the calm. It begins with the disappearance of Calico, a gifted young philosopher and inventor a "bright mind" beloved across the island. Vanished for days in the dreaded Mist Forest, she returns… different. Her eyes gleam with knowledge no mortal should bear. Her words inspire strange dreams. Her inventions whisper when no one is near. And the island changes with her. Whispers of impossible machines echo from hidden groves. Dreams bleed into waking life. The veil of reality thins, and something terrible watches from just beyond. The agents of chaos, thought vanquished, have sown seeds in secret and now, they bloom.

United under the brilliant tactician General Yao, it rose from scattered clans into a single empire. But unity is a fragile illusion, and when the Agents of Chaos spread their corruption from within, the kingdom shattered like porcelain on stone. Though the chaos was defeated, its venom lingered. Now, Oriental Kingdom is divided into three rival nations, each claiming legitimacy to the old throne, each locked in a brutal cycle of conquest, betrayal, and fragile alliances. Old friendships are twisted by ambition. Heroes fall unsung. Peace is a myth few dare to dream of. Yet the true danger lies not in the swords of men, but in what waits beyond. From the edge of the Damned Land, an ancient force stirs silent, patient, and hungry. While the fractured nations spill blood over a crown long turned to dust, something darker prepares to erase all of Oriental Kingdom… and the world beyond.

In the neon-soaked backstreets of Saritem, where laughter dances with cigarette smoke and secrets are sold behind velvet curtains, life carries on under the glow of red lanterns and whispered promises. For years, this hidden quarter of Bandagara City has been a refuge for the forgotten the drifters, the dreamers, and the women known only by stage names and starlight smiles. But when one of Saritem’s brightest “flowers” is found lifeless in her small rented room her body untouched, her expression peaceful, and no mark of violence the district freezes. The other girls grow quiet. The guests grow wary. Something isn’t right. Rumors bloom like mold in damp walls. Some say she died of heartbreak. Others claim she saw something she shouldn’t have an old spirit, a wronged soul, a cursed lover. But the whispers are always followed by silence… as if the district itself is listening.

Somewhere along the southern coast of Santara past the fishing villages, through the mangrove forests, and beyond the reach of satellite maps there is a place whispered of in truck stops, schoolyard rumors, and late-night radio shows. A city that doesn’t officially exist. Locals call it Saranjana. A city of glittering lights unseen by the naked eye. A place where lost people go, where time flows differently, and where deals are made with things that wear human faces but are anything but. Government officials deny its existence. Yet shipping manifests list deliveries to “Saranjana, South Kalang.” Locals go missing and return years later with no memory or too much.