Battle of Kaf'nia Bay & Birth of the Kiteshi Empire

he armies of the living and the dead collided like titans, their clash echoing across time and history. Blades met bone, and shields buckled beneath the weight of unrelenting fury. At the vanguard, Kitesh stood—a figure carved from divine light—his Sun Spear blazing like a shard of the sun itself, a beacon of hope amidst the creeping shadow.

This was not the end of Nioba. Though its lands were scarred and its people battered, the flame of defiance burned bright, etched into the hearts of mortals who refused to bow to death. Beneath a sky heavy with ash, where the sun fought to pierce through the choking gloom, the struggle for Nioba’s soul reached its fiercest crescendo.

Before the battle commenced, Kitesh gathered his one hundred warriors—those who had stood beside him through conquest and calamity, their bonds forged in the fires of countless campaigns. Beneath the crimson dawn, he performed a sacred rite, blessing each blade with a fragment of his Sun Spear’s radiant power. The light shimmered across the steel like captured dawnlight, turning ordinary weapons into instruments of divine wrath.

These warriors were no longer just soldiers. They became living extensions of Kitesh’s will, their blades searing with the fury of the sun itself. Every stroke they delivered against the undead was not just a blow to bone and sinew, but an act of defiance against the darkness that sought to drown their world.

On the other side of the battlefield, Hephsut the Immortal loomed—towering, shrouded in golden regalia, his skeletal visage crowned with malice. His voice, a hollow echo filled with necrotic authority, commanded an army that did not tire, did not fear, and knew no mercy.

The earth trembled as waves of the undead surged forward, a tide of rot and ruin crashing against disciplined phalanxes of Nioban and allied warriors. Spears shattered, shields splintered, and the ground became slick with the ichor of both the living and the dead.

Yet in this maelstrom of death, Kitesh moved like a force of nature—his Sun Spear carving arcs of blinding light through the abyss. Each strike burned the corruption from bone and soul alike, his every motion a prayer to Amnut, the Sun God. His one hundred warriors fought with divine fury, their blades cleaving through hordes of the reanimated, ensuring that the fallen would not rise again.

At the heart of the chaos, where screams drowned beneath the roar of clashing steel, Kitesh and Hephsut met—a confrontation of sunlight and shadow, a duel that reshaped history itself.

Hephsut’s necrotic power surged like a living storm, his dark sorcery manifesting as claws woven from shadow, tendrils of toxic sand, and weapons forged from cursed bone. But Kitesh was undeterred. His Sun Spear blazed brighter, an unyielding beacon against the abyss, his strikes infused with the unwavering brilliance of the sun.

In the climactic moment, as the battle’s fury reached its zenith, Kitesh drove his Sun Spear through Hephsut’s chest. The radiant energy erupted in a blinding conflagration, a burst of light so pure it seemed to tear the very fabric of darkness apart.

Hephsut’s body disintegrated into ash, scattered by the winds that carried the cries of both the living and the damned. The forces of the undead collapsed, their will tethered to the lich’s malevolent essence. Without their master’s command, they crumbled into dust, or fled into the world’s dark corners to fester in shadows.

Silence fell—a heavy, sacred hush broken only by the ragged breaths of survivors and the prayers of the victorious. The land, soaked in blood and grief, bore witness to a battle that had changed the course of history.

But even in victory, Kitesh knew the truth: liches never truly die. Hephsut’s soul endured, hidden, festering, waiting for a chance to rise again.

In the aftermath of this cataclysm, the Prophet Kings gathered. They had witnessed the impossible—a mortal prince standing against death itself, wielding the power of the sun to save an empire.

In awe of his triumph, they declared the formation of the Kiteshi Empire, a realm forged not just through conquest, but in the crucible of survival.

Kitesh was crowned the Sun’s Chosen, not merely a king, but a symbol—a legend etched into the annals of history. His name became synonymous with hope, his legacy carried on banners, carved into monuments, and whispered in the prayers of those who believed that even in the darkest of times, the light of the sun endures.