The planet upon which Luscinia and Sophia live is enormous, and Aifrah, once the single grand continent, is no exception. Even with numerous magical and technological strides made since the Age of Cinders came to a close, much of the continent remains unmapped and unknown. Even the areas that are known can scarcely be called safe, not when every last town, hamlet, and cottage must endure the ravenous eyes of fellbeasts night after night. Such is the constant attrition of the evil set into motion when the Blasphemer ascended her terrible spire of iron and war, touched the heavens, and spoke the single, perfect word that slaughtered kings and set the world ablaze.
The death of Davatimata, the god of the earth and balance, sent the world tumbling into disarray at the hands of the very same Blasphemer who still stands at the apex of her terrible spire. The Blasphemer was annihilated in the same instant that Davatimata tumbled from the heavens, cast in gleaming bronze by the flood of magic she released upon the world. Gods vanished from the world, fires raged, and blizzards scoured the land as the world seemed to devour itself in anguish for what had been lost. The great nations of the Aifrah fell to ruin, their magnificent cities fell to the torch, and the great machines of war, commerce, and governance ground to a halt. The wild, untamed magic of the perfect word scoured the land, infesting and distorting the wildlife into horrifying fellbeasts, monstrosities of twisted flesh and unspeakable magicks.
The Age of Cinders began with the end of all things.
Even in the face of such absolute ruin, however, humanity clung to the fragile thread of existence, surviving in isolated pockets throughout the whole of the world. They weathered calamity after calamity, and, eventually, children were born into this world of magic and ruin. Among those few that survived, a scant handful discovered magical aptitude, a spark of divinity lanced through their being. These were the first Paragons, those chosen few of the gods that had fled the world for fear of Blasphemy. Through the Paragons, humanity came to comprehend the nature of magic and wield it for themselves. Those with exceptional magical aptitude were named Saints, and it was by the efforts of the Saints, the Paragons, and the commonfolk alike that the fate of the world began to slowly change course.
The gods had not truly abandoned them, nor did the embers of humanity's hope ever completely go out. Generations struggled, clashed, and carved out their places within the bones of this dead world, until, in the four-hundred-thirty-second year from Davatimata's death, a bolt struck the same hand that touched the sky and the lips of that spoke the perfect word, shattering the Blasphemous sword held aloft over Age of Cinders. Paragons had not been seen in generations, and Saints now counted themselves among the ranks of engineers, merchants, and doctors. Magic is commonplace, the fellbeast increasingly well-understood, and disparate settlements began to forge fragile connections with one-another. The time of ruin came to a close, and the Current Age began.