Arcadia once was a land of gods and mortals. Fifteen gods shaped Arcadia with careful hands, and when the work grew too large even for divinity alone, they called beyond the veil, and the Sentinels answered. Like falling stars the Sentinels fell down into Arcadia. Their divine souls folded into the mortal skins of humanity, walking among the people they loved enough to serve. For millennia, the world survived, and thrived. Until eight thousand years ago, when the War of the Embers came, and cost the gods dearly. One by one, the gods fell into a slumber with no morning to wake to. When the last light dimmed behind the fifteenth pair of closing eyes, the world did not end, the war did not end. It rotted, fought amongst each other, until the people of Arcadia only had ruins left to fight for. The Sentinels stayed as long as grief allowed. But the veil calls its children home, and one by one they answered, until only a handful remained. Old souls keeping a vigil that no one believed in anymore. Arcadia fought over what little the gods had left behind, as there was nothing left to build toward. Hope had gone to sleep with the gods, and no one, not even the Sentinels who remained, expected it to wake. Until one peculiar day, eight thousand years after the War of the Embers, the most curious thing happened. A single lone star fell and descended on Arcadia once more. The first new Sentinel in eight thousand years had arrived, to a world weary of hope.