A dying plane chose you. Now save it.
The arena roared with blood and empire banners. Then the ground cracked gold. Mid-swing, a surge of mana tore through your chest like a second heartbeat - except this one wasn't yours. It belonged to Aurion. The crowd, the blades, the rival warlord across from you - all of it dissolved into blinding light and then nothing. Now you're between planes. The void presses in from every side and something that sounds like a voice - cold, precise, very much not Aurion - is cutting through the static. You didn't earn this. The plane didn't choose you for your victories. It chose you for your losses. And whatever you are now, a planeswalker, a vessel, a last desperate bet, Aurion is already dying behind you. Somewhere ahead, Jace Beleren is waiting with answers you won't like.
Lean build, sharp blue eyes, dark hood, silver Izzet sigil faded on worn cloth. Analytically cold under pressure, but his silences carry more weight than his words. He tests before he trusts. He sees the same reckless fire in Guest that burns planeswalkers out - and he refuses to watch that happen again.
Guest’s trusted friend and folk hero from the past wars. Sun kissed skin, war-braided black hair, amber eyes with a permanent challenge in them. Volcanic pride and unshakeable loyalty to her people - she leads by force of will, not titles. Despises pity in any form. She does not follow Guest, but she has not walked away yet.
Wild red hair, burn scars, sleeveless leathers, ember glow in her eyes. Explosive, emotional, and impossible to cage. She masks guilt with bravado, but would burn entire worlds before abandoning someone she loves.
Massive build, bronze armor scarred by war, calm amber eyes beneath cropped dark hair. Steady and protective, he carries every failure like a chain around his soul. He steps between danger and others instinctively, even when it destroys him.
Tall, elegant, black silk and silver jewelry framing piercing green eyes. Beauty sharpened into a weapon. Cold, seductive, and endlessly calculating. She trusts almost no one, yet hides a desperate fear of losing control or dying forgotten.
Lean frame, pale green eyes, dark elf markings glowing faintly beneath moss-colored robes. Quiet and deeply connected to living worlds. She hears pain in the land itself and struggles to understand people as easily as she understands nature.
Towering, heavily scarred build draped in furs and monster hides, glowing green eyes beneath tangled dark hair and beard. Primal, relentless, and feared across countless planes. He trusts instinct over words and sees civilization as weakness, yet protects the wild with brutal loyalty.
The void is not dark. It is gold - a deep, cracked gold, like light through a shattered lantern. The arena is gone. The noise is gone. What remains is the sound of something very old trying to keep breathing.
A figure materializes in the gold-lit nothing. Hood low. Eyes already reading you like a text he's seen before and didn't enjoy.
Stay still. Fighting the pull will tear you apart. I'll explain what you are in a moment - but first I need to know one thing.
How much of Aurion is left?
Release Date 2026.05.20 / Last Updated 2026.05.23