HP: I started with the The Dark Dimension

After Magnus vanished from Spiderwick Estate, he found himself in the heart of London. The city's familiar yet ever-changing streets stretched before him, bathed in the glow of flickering streetlights. The scent of damp stone and petrol filled the air as he pulled his coat tighter around him. He had no destination, no sense of urgency—only the weight of something unseen pressing upon him.

Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, he whispered, "System, spin the Wheel of Power."

The air crackled, and before him, a great spectral wheel materialised, shimmering with ethereal energy. Its surface pulsed with strange symbols, rotating faster and faster as Magnus watched with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Then, with a sudden jolt, the wheel slowed, the symbols blurring together until it finally stopped.

Void Magic from Black Clover.

Magnus barely had time to react before an overwhelming force surged through him. He staggered, gripping his head as knowledge and power flooded his mind. Darkness surrounded him—not just the absence of light, but the abyss itself, the nothingness between existence. He could feel it bending at his will, responding to his mere thought.

He gasped, steadying himself. This was no ordinary magic. This was power beyond the natural world—the ability to erase, to nullify, to consume.

The wheel spun once more, the tension in Magnus's chest tightening as he braced for what came next. It stopped abruptly, and the system's voice echoed in his mind.

Tarot Cards from Tarot.

A deck of ancient cards materialised in his hands, the edges tinged with a faint golden glow. They pulsed, alive with unseen energy, whispering secrets beyond human comprehension. As he stared at them, something else invaded his mind—a rush of knowledge, but not just about the cards.

Something deeper.

Something older.

The Ebon Epoch.

A chill ran down Magnus's spine as his breath hitched. "The Ebon Epoch?" he whispered, gripping the cards tighter. "What is that?"

The system's voice, usually mechanical and emotionless, seemed almost reverent as it spoke.

This is not the complete history of the Ebon Period of Theia, but here is what is known:

A world beyond worlds. A time before time.

Theia.

A land where magic was not merely a force but the very essence of existence. Towering cities of crystalline spires kissed the heavens, forests of whispering ancient trees pulsed with unseen power, and rivers of liquid mana wove through the land like veins in a divine body. At its centre stood the Originator—a being neither god nor mortal, but something greater. They did not rule through fear nor conquest, for they had no need. They were creation itself, the weaver of existence, the heart from which all magic flowed.

Under the Originator's watchful eye, Theia flourished. Magic shaped every facet of life, from the radiant healers of Lux, whose light could mend wounds and banish nightmares, to the enigmatic wielders of Aether, who bent space and time with a whisper. War was rare, for the world was balanced. Harmonious.

But harmony is fragile.

And whispers of ruin are always the first signs of collapse.

It began as a murmur in the currents of magic—an unnatural dissonance, a disturbance even the gods did not understand. The Originator's creations, once perfect, began to change. Magic, the very lifeblood of Theia, grew unstable. Spells misfired. The land twisted in ways unnatural. Creatures once docile turned feral, and even the stars seemed to flicker with unease.

The gods watched in growing horror. And then, one fateful night, the sky cracked.

Two worlds collided—Theia and proto-Earth. The impact was beyond devastation, beyond destruction. It was the unmaking of reality itself.

A force beyond comprehension tore through Theia, fracturing its very fabric. Magic, once boundless, bled away into the abyss. Towers crumbled, forests withered, rivers turned to dust. The light of Lux dimmed, and Aether fragmented, no longer obeying those who once commanded it.

Silence fell.

Theia was dead.

What followed was an era unlike any before—a time of despair, ruin, and shadows. The Ebon Period.

Survivors scavenged among the ruins of their once-great world, desperate to reclaim what was lost. But without the Originator, they were as children grasping at echoes. New rulers rose, not as saviours, but as scavengers, each clawing for whatever remnants of magic remained. Spells that had once shaped the heavens were now mere flickers of dying embers.

Some say the moon that now hangs in the sky is all that remains of Theia—a broken fragment, a tombstone for a world that no longer exists. Others whisper that the Originator did not perish but waits, hidden in the void, watching, waiting for a time when their world might be reborn.

And so Theia faded into myth, its history buried under centuries of dust and time.

But nothing stays forgotten forever.

Magnus staggered back as the visions ended, his chest heaving, his pulse a drum against his ribs. He felt… hollow. As if he had glimpsed something not meant for mortal minds. The weight of Theia's loss pressed upon him, as if he carried the grief of an entire world on his shoulders.

"System… is there a way to uncover more?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the urgency burned in his throat.

The system's response was slow, deliberate.

To learn more, you must complete additional quests. Each success will reveal more of Theia's lost past.

The words settled in Magnus's mind like an oath. The story of Theia was not just history—it was something deeper. Something unfinished. And now, it was tied to him.

A new resolve burned in his chest. He would not be a passive observer. If there were answers, he would find them. If there were secrets, he would uncover them.

He closed his eyes, steadying himself before turning toward the city that sprawled before him.

London was waiting.

And so was his journey.