Terraverde

Five hundred years ago, humanity vanished. No war was ever written down, no plague was ever named — one dawn, the cities simply fell silent.

The roads emptied. The forges went cold. The banners rotted on their poles.

The world did not wait for us. Forests swallowed the keeps. Rivers reclaimed the bridges. Moss crowned the fallen kings.

Then we returned. We do not remember leaving.

We woke beneath an unfamiliar sky, on soil that had forgotten our steps.

We are the adventurers — the first to walk these lands again.

And we are no longer what we were. Something in the long silence changed us.

A power now stirs in our blood. Some channel arcane fire. Some shield the weak. Some mend wounds with a single word. Some strike faster than the eye can follow.

These gifts are no blessing. They are a toll — the price of surviving a world that no longer wants us.

Ruined chapels hide forgotten relics. Sealed dungeons breathe in the dark. Beasts born of five centuries of solitude prowl the wilds.

The ruins remember what we forgot. Somewhere among them lies the truth of our disappearance — and of our return.