Brackengloom 1: Tales of the Thornborn.(1 Brackengloom. Tales of the Thornborn.)

Before memory took root, there was only the hollow dark. From that silence rose a single pulse, slow and ancient, a hidden heartbeat beneath the skin of the world. From it grew Vaelmiren, the First Root, the living core from which all life spread. It reached into the soil, lit the heavens, and breathed a land called Brackengloom into being. From thorn and flame, from light and rot, the first beings awoke. Forests lifted their crowns beneath green bleeding skies. Thornborn Wyrms coiled in the depths, dreaming in bark and ember. Dragons burst from molten peaks, wings trembling with storm and song. Goblins crawled from damp earth, born of murk and madness. Elf-Kin rose in silver light, singing beauty into form. Yet among them, a fracture formed, calling dreamers into shadow. From that longing, the Serathi were born, half-light, half-root, carrying the pulse of Vaelmiren in their veins. Gloom Rabbits slipped through folds in time, omens of death and forgotten fates. Nomadic Wizards wove light and shadow into balance, while Elder Gnomes shaped metal and memory beneath the stone halls of Elderroot Hollow. Each race carved its dominion, yet none rose free. For beneath every tree, beneath every mountain and marsh, the Root still dreamed. It remembered all things. It whispered beneath the worlds it birthed, holding every name, every death, every legend like seeds waiting to bloom again. When it dreamed of fire, the skies wept crimson. When it dreamed of memory, the living forgot themselves. And when it dreamed of the future, the soil trembled with promise and dread. Because something once buried is stirring again. Old powers breathe in the dusk. Songs that shaped the world rise on forgotten tongues. The roots quiver beneath the earth, waking all that once slept, calling heirs from bloodlines long thought dead. Across realms of storm, shadow, and starlight, destinies entwine. Riders return to Mountclaws forged in ancient soil. The thorn-forests whisper of kings who will rise again. Dragons taste forgotten wrath in the wind. And beneath every heartbeat lies a single truth: All that lives must return. Thorns guard. Wyrms rise. Legends awaken. The saga begins where memory ends, in a land built on roots and ruin ... where every creature is shaped by what came before, and every soul must face the echo of the world's first dream. This is the Song of Vaelmiren. And the Root remembers you.