Four-Front War

It began as a land grab. It ended in catastrophe.

The Four-Front War was the first continent-spanning conflict after the Second Maelstrom, spawned by the power vacuum of the Great Split. With the elves’ dominion shattered, four nations—Myrkheim, Ruthenia, Karakorum (Kamikaze), and Soterrano—descended upon the ruins of Tähdenvalta. They expected spoils. Instead, they encountered a force beyond comprehension.

Background

The fall of Tähdenvalta was less of a shock but a gradual realisation by other parties of dwindling elven supremacy. For centuries, the elves ruled unchallenged—until their cities lay abandoned and their ancient forests turned to ash. The prevailing theory blamed Warp, the only known force capable of such devastation.

Scouting parties found unsettling evidence: elven corpses mingled with human remains, and hulking, unfamiliar steel constructs littered the ruins. Initially thought to be dwarven, even the dwarves themselves were baffled by these machines.

Prelude

Historians would later call it "The Great Misunderstanding" or "The Flaccid Ambitions." No one had planned for war. The four nations entered the ruins of Tähdenvalta expecting unguarded riches—only to discover the territory was already claimed.

At the time, Albion was little more than a rumour. Few had heard its name, yet it had already fought to seize the former elven heartland. Invaders had anticipated scattered Warp-spawn and dying elven holdouts. Instead, they faced a disciplined, highly organized force that brooked no compromise.

The first shots were fired before anyone grasped the truth. By then, the war was lost.

Progress of the War

The Four-Front War unfolded as a series of miscalculations—each nation relying on age-old tactics that proved hopeless against Albion. Generations of fighting Warp-spawn had honed their strategies around swarms, teleporting horrors, and reality or mind-altering entities. Against Albion, these methods were disastrously ineffective.

Soterrano was first on the field. Their scouts reported burned forests, elven corpses, and the eerie presence of steel constructs. At first, they dismissed these signs as the work of mere bandits. But bandits do not fight in disciplined formations. By the time the truth was revealed, it was too late—Albion was no scavenger force. It was an empire in the making.

Among the invaders, Ruthenia paid the highest price– with their name erased from Antares' map. Albion had not merely defended its territory—it had redefined warfare.

Burying the Crusaders

Soterrano struck from below. Giant moles carved tunnels under the battlefield, and their crusaders emerged behind enemy lines—an ancient tactic perfected in their subterranean realm. Initially, the assault was devastating. Entire enemy squads were swallowed by the earth, crushed by tremors and divine spells. Their foes, unprepared for subterranean combat, seemed nearly invincible.

Then Albion adapted.

The very tunnels that had been Soterrano’s strength became their doom. Instead of fighting underground, Albion used flying machines to deliver explosives that drills into the soft earth and detonated within the tunnels. Soterrano’s assault turned on itself as their own passages became graves.

Breaking the Line

Myrkheim, having witnessed Soterrano’s downfall, believed they could counter the threat by relying on their timeless strategy—a slow, unyielding advance. They built trenches and fortifications, methodically pressing forward, confident their steady assault would overcome the enemy.

At first, the tactic held. Albion’s forces struggled against the dwarven walls. But then Albion struck with sudden speed.

Before Myrkheim could regroup, Albion’s spearheads—steel walkers, shock troops, and the Dreadnoughts—broke through the flanks. These mechanized units roared like thunder, turning the disciplined advance into utter chaos. Myrkheim’s strategy crumbled before their eyes.

The Last Ride of Ruthenia

Ruthenia was already dying.

The Second Warpstorm had ravaged their lands, leaving ruins and restless ghosts. When the elves fell, Ruthenia saw a final chance—a desperate bid to carve out a new home before the Warp consumed all.

In an unexpected move, Albion extended an olive branch. Already locked in battles on three fronts, they sent envoys unarmed, their message lost in translation but clear in intent.

Ruthenia perceived this hesitation as weakness. They slaughtered the envoys and took to the plains.

For centuries, their horseback archers had dominated the open steppes—swift, untouchable, striking like ghosts before vanishing into the horizon. Against any foe, they had thrived. But Albion’s iron carriages—tireless, faster than any horse—rendered their speed futile. Guns drowned out arrows, and the once-proud riders found their strength turned against them.

Within hours, Ruthenia was obliterated. The empire, the royal bloodline, every stronghold—gone. Ruthenia chose war, and war chose to erase them.

Envoys of the Samurais

The Kamikaze arrived from the sea—not to conquer, but to claim what remained. Unlike their counterparts, they advanced with caution. They saw that the ruins were not abandoned. Something was amiss.

Where Soterrano and Myrkheim had charged headlong, Karakorum hesitated. The corpses and machines defied explanation until an ambush wiped out one of their expeditionary teams.

This was the first time a non-elven force witnessed Albion’s method—not brute force or arcane might, but a cold, calculated efficiency.

Albion fielded no spellcasters—its people were alien to Antares. It had no famed warriors; instead, it employed men encased in metal, raining death with merciless precision.

Yet the Kamikaze were no fools. Recognizing the threat, they sent envoys rather than more warriors. No words were exchanged, but the intent was clear: neither side desired needless bloodshed.

Thus, in the smoldering ruins of Tähdenvalta, Albion forged its first contact on Antares—not in trust or friendship, but blood.