Welcome to Kamaran

Before its fall, Kamaran was a world of scientific achievement, global infrastructure, and environmental stewardship. Its cities ran on clean energy: solar, wind, geothermal, and oceanic currents provided abundant electricity without scarring the planet. Architecture blended with the natural world. Travel and communication were fast, seamless, and widespread. Many today look back on that time as a golden age.

Today, that era is remembered with reverence. An age when lights never dimmed, and the world felt vast yet connected. Whether the stories are accurate or simply the softened memories of a broken world, no one can say for certain. Much of the truth was lost in the collapse, leaving behind fragments of history and the myth of a better time.

The Disruption

But whatever that age truly was, it ended in a single moment. Sudden, absolute, and without explanation. Over 450 years ago, the world was struck by an event now known as The Disruption. Across every city and settlement, machines halted mid-motion. Lights blinked out and never returned. Power grids collapsed. Batteries, generators, even cutting-edge systems meant to last centuries all failed in unison. Electricity itself was the lifeblood of civilization, and it refused to flow. No storm, no war, no act of sabotage. Just silence. The world shifted beneath their feet, and everything built upon it came crashing down.

The War of the Wilds

In the chaos that followed, there was no time to recover. No chance to rebuild. As communities scrambled to survive without power, without communication, without the means to transport food or clean water, the world around them turned hostile. Forests spread with unnatural speed, swallowing roads and cities. Wildlife grew erratic, aggressive—predators hunting in coordinated packs, prey animals turning violent. And then came the mutations. Creatures born of nightmare. Beasts no one had words for: twisted forms with too many eyes, too many limbs, or jaws that split the wrong way. They didn't evolve. They appeared. And they hunted.

This slow, merciless assault became known as The War of the Wilds. It was not a war declared, but one endured. Nature didn't just reclaim the world. It dismantled it, one root, one fang, one scream at a time.

By the time the worst of it passed, civilization was little more than scattered ash and rumor. Entire cities were overgrown and forgotten within a generation. Trade collapsed. Borders vanished. Knowledge fragmented into isolated pockets—preserved only where books survived and stories were passed by firelight. Millions were gone, not just from violence, but from hunger, exposure, and the quiet unraveling of everything that once made life possible. For most, it wasn't a dramatic end. It was slow. Starving. Cold. Civilization didn't die in fire. It rotted. And what remained had to learn, painfully, how to begin again.

In time, small enclaves began to form: walled city-states built from the bones of the old world. Some rose from the ruins of ancient metropolises; others were carved out of wilderness with sheer determination. These were not nations, but islands of survival: fortified, cautious, and deeply isolated. Travel between them was dangerous. Communication was limited. Each community developed its own way of living. Some clung to scraps of lost knowledge, others forged entirely new traditions. What united them all was a single truth: the world was no longer theirs. It had to be earned back, one stone and one season at a time.

The Rise of Magic

It didn't happen immediately. In the years following the collapse, most were too focused on survival to notice the signs. But over time, as people experimented, scavenged, and adapted, they began to uncover something new. Not a machine. Not a technology. A force.

Magic.

It was discovered, not awakened—real, functional, and unlike anything the old world had understood. Some could channel it instinctively. Others studied and refined it. It could heal wounds, mend structures, repel threats, or reshape the environment. Powerful and unpredictable, but undeniably useful.

Reactions varied. Some enclaves banned it outright, fearing its consequences. Others embraced it fully, rebuilding around its potential. Most took a cautious middle path—curious, but wary. Magic didn't bring back the past. But it gave the world new tools for shaping the future.

The World Today

Kamaran is rebuilding, but not in any uniform way. Across the scattered city-states, two forces have emerged as the foundation of progress: steam and arcana. Steam power, fueled by refined biomass and natural sources, drives engines, industry, and agriculture. Magic, newly discovered and still evolving, provides adaptability, healing, and protection. Most communities rely on both, often blending the two in ways that are practical rather than ideological.

But tension exists. Some see steam as reliable—understood, measurable, and rooted in the disciplines of the old world. Others view magic as the future: flexible, powerful, and alive in a way no machine could ever be. These differences don't divide cities, but they do shape policy, education, and public trust. The debate isn't about exclusivity—it's about belief in what kind of world Kamaran should become.

Meanwhile, the Wilds remain ever-present. Walls must be maintained. Roads and railways must be defended. Every expansion pushes against nature's creeping edge. Survival is no longer in question. The fight now is for stability. And for what comes next.