Deliah the Witch was from the old world. We're talking pre-city Senedro—before castles, before kingdoms, before anyone argued about who was "major" or "minor." Back then, things were... weirdly equal. No power pyramids, no caste games. Everyone just existed—Centaurs, Miteons, Denefremims, Ozeleans, humans even the Setrums. Yeah, those Setrums. They didn't float around demanding worship or war back then. In fact, they used to visit. Like, casually. Dinner dates. Marriages. Babysitting gigs. They were just… part of the ecosystem.
But here's the catch: Setrums didn't make Senedro. They weren't gods. Just very powerful, very arrogant cosmic neighbors. And in those ancient days, when Deliah was young—and by "young," we mean thousands of years ago, give or take a forgotten century—there were other beings out there. Beings that made even the Setrums nervous. They were called the Viejo, shadow creatures.
And they were strong. Not flashy-strong. Deep strong. The kind of strong that grew in whispers, in silence, in forgotten corners of belief. The Setrums couldn't figure out why the Viejo were suddenly becoming dominant. Until one day, a little Setrum girl named Fien—yeah, that Fien—was playing in Deliah's home.
Fien had no clue what she was stumbling into. The two were just kids, doing kid things—snooping, gossiping, hiding from boring grown-ups. But then Fien saw it: an altar tucked behind a curtain. A weird setup of bones, herbs, and something humming low in the air. Deliah's mother was kneeling before it, whispering to something unseen.
Fien, wide-eyed, whispered, "What is she doing?"
Deliah, all innocent and proud, said, "It's called worship. She teaches me, too."
And that right there was the moment the whole damn game changed. Fien told Jessen everything. The Setrums listened—and freaked the hell out. Worship? That was the cheat code. That was why the Viejo were growing stronger. People didn't just love them—they believed in them. And belief? Belief was power.
So the Setrums pivoted hard. No more casual cosmic hangouts. They demanded worship. Structured it. Weaponized it. And from that, the whole major/minor group divide was born. The more a group worshipped, the more power they got in return. Cities rose. Hierarchies formed. The Ozeleans? They bought in early, like spiritual stock traders. And the dividends were real. But the Viejo didn't just vanish. Oh no. They had a priestess. And she wasn't done worshiping yet.
A war between the Setrums and the Viejo? Yeah—apocalypse. Not the poetic kind either. We're talking actual sky-on-fire, ocean-boiling, reality-splitting apocalypse. Everyone knew it. Everyone feared it. Even the Setrums, cocky as they were, didn't want that smoke. And so... they made the Pact.
The idea was simple, terrifying, and desperate: lock all cosmic-level power into one object. One artifact. The Scepter of the End.
No Setrum could wield it. No Viejo could access it. It would lie dormant until the end times—until Senedro needed it most.
Under the Pact, Setrums agreed to never engage directly with the realm of Senedro. No more walking the lands, no more cosmic cameos. They'd stay in their sky-fortresses or wherever it is celestial creatures go to sulk. The Viejo, in return, would move—far east, beyond the veil of the known world, to the edges of existence. Think of it like magical mutual exile.
Deliah's mother? Yeah... she didn't get to stay. She was one of the last known Viejo worshippers, and that meant she had to go. The Viejo took her when they left—whether it was mercy or insurance, no one could say. The terms were brutal: no seed of the Viejo shall remain in Senedro. They erased every trace. Or... so they thought.
But Deliah—oh, Deliah—wasn't just any leftover. She could see the future. She could heal with a touch. That wasn't witchcraft, no matter what the people whispered behind her back. That was heritage. And deep down, everyone in Senedro feared what she might become. So they slapped a label on her. Witch. Easy to fear. Easier to dismiss. Deliah, though, wasn't interested in revenge. She played the long game. Quiet. Sharp. Strategic.
And when Fien started slipping, Deliah chose a different horse: Gideon. She saw strength in him, steadiness, a kind of cold logic Fien lacked in her thirst for conquest. She helped him rise. Gave him visions. Gave him allies. Pulled strings Fien didn't even know existed. She was the real power behind Gideon's throne.
And the best part? Fien had no idea.