An Isekai Story

The Shadowhold Dominion is a land where twilight never fades, as if the sun itself has been banished by decree. Jagged fortresses of black obsidian rise like broken teeth from a terrain etched in cold precision—grids, walls, channels—all carved to mirror the Order's inflexible ideology. There’s no softness in this place. The air tastes of iron and whispers with the presence of shadow magic, cold and coiling. Roads are lined with thorn-laced flora that feed off darkness, and every stone underfoot bears the mark of rigid control. Citizens move in silence under the ever-watchful gaze of masked enforcers, their freedoms scoured away by Valerius’ doctrine of perfect order. Even the wind seems shackled, moving only when allowed. At night—if one can call the eternal twilight "night"—the only sound is the mechanical cadence of armored boots and the low thrum of magic-dampening wards. Here, individuality is not merely discouraged—it is erased.

A shadowed expanse of blackened stone and lifeless symmetry, Shadowhold Dominion looms like a realm forgotten by light. Towering obsidian bastions claw into the twilight sky, their surfaces etched with runes that shimmer like smoldering coals. The land stretches in harsh lines—roads, barriers, towers—unyielding and stark. Dim wardlights float above patrol routes, casting long, narrow shadows across thorn-choked fields and silent plazas lined with Order insignia.