Beyond its five continents and four great planes, the Prime Realm also holds countless mid and minor planes. Most sit in the fists of major powers, like beads on a cord. The rest lie unclaimed: some still hidden, some barren as dead sands.
There are exceptions, like bright fish in a muddy stream. The Blessed Land—a resource-rich medium plane—belongs to none, because it stands like a lone peak, a force by itself.
Its name came from the first people under its sky. The land runs rich and wide, the soil fat and green. It sits near the world's rim, where wars pass like distant storms. It carries the taste of heaven's favor, so they called it the Blessed Land.
For years, no big war scarred it. The cultivation air stays clear and thick, so strong ones grew like pines on a mountain. By the time outsiders found this plane, it had swelled like a river in flood, enough to match upper-middling powers.
To seize the Blessed Land, even the four great races must bleed a price. With the Mizumi Clan pressing down like a lid, the other three grew less hungry for expansion. Only the Elven Kind kept a hunter's hunger.
Talks followed, like stones dropped into a still pond. The Elven Kind would draw rare, precious resources from the Blessed Land on a schedule, like harvesting rare herbs. In return, they'd guard it, and open a passage so both realms' folk could meet and trade freely.
The Blessed Land sits far from the world's heart, at the edge like a quiet shore, but it's no utopia. Competition there bites like winter wind. Its people now number like an empire's, and keep growing.
In recent years, many other races moved in, like new birds filling a forest. The rise has climbed year by year, a tide that won't stop.
Even so, the struggle hasn't split into warlords carving maps. At most, cliques form and press each other down, then strength does the talking in the end.
They divide cities and regions, but no one crowns a nation. No faction wants a single house to rule, so no country takes shape.
The Elven Kind don't care to meddle in these faction feuds. So the status quo held, like a pond without ripples, all the way to today.
Lately, though, something has begun to shift—
Inside a tavern in Tianshan City, mugs clinked like rain on tiles as folks buzzed about a new faction.
"Hey, hey, what's the story with that faction called Darkmoon? They've got two Law Realm sitting like twin pillars—that's no small thing."
"Yeah. Those two Law Realm probably came from outside not long ago, right? I'd never heard of them before. Here, local Law Realm rule like mountain kings; everyone knows their names."
"Sounds right. We've had outsiders flood in these years, but Law Realm? First time. Think they're planning to put down roots here?"
"Who knows. But more people join Darkmoon every day. If they hold the line for a few years, they'll crack the top five."
"Depends if they can weather the squeeze from the big ones."
"Darkmoon's two Law Realm act real low-key, keep to the shadows. Looks like cautious folks. It's going to get lively next; the big factions already have hawk eyes on them."
"Yeah, yeah. We common folks get a front-row show again."
"I really can't wait to see what comes next. Those three big factions have sat on the Blessed Land too long. Maybe it's time to reshuffle the deck... if Darkmoon can take root."
"Mm. Let's watch the winds change."
...
After years of calm, the Blessed Land is about to feel a fresh gale and rising waves.
...
