The world was large and infinitely wonderful. As each era came to an end, a new page in the thick book that was Creation was simply flipped, and the living moved on. No matter how terrible the previous era, soon, all would be forgotten, and life would march on.
"I must find the red moon flower. I simply must. I am not willing to see this become my end. I have much more to do before I can even think of dying," a young man thought as he searched through a swamp whose murky water reached his chest. The plants all around him were not the usual kind. These were arcane plants, mutated by the Aether that filled this swamp.
The plants were thick and covered with thornlike growths. The night was deep and dark. The moon has not seen it fit to grace the land with its ethereal beauty, plunging everything into darkness. There was not even a whisper of the wind. The swamp was truly eerie, and this was made even more so by the swaying of the arcane plants in the absent wind.
