Famine. Conquest. War. Death.
These forces didn't emerge in a straightforward sequence; they burst forth from chaos, where mortals, driven by instinct, clawed for survival with trembling hands.
Famine was the first to rise—not a mere harbinger of doom, but a haunting whisper in the belly, an insatiable hunger born from the Earth's desolate silence. It wasn't malice that forged her, but a fierce will to endure. Yet, from that primal hunger sprouted the relentless tendrils of greed, and from greed flowed decay.
Then came Conquest, not shackled by chains but crowned upon a throne of ambition. She wielded power equal to War, yet possessed a cunning wit that set her apart. She didn't roar; she grinned. It was Conquest, with a maestro's touch, who drew the first blade—not out of fury, but through cold strategy, carving out realms where none had dared to tread.
