The Balan Empire and the Twelve Kingdoms

Tenth Chapter : The Balan Empire and the Twelve Kingdoms

The founder of the Balan dynasty was a formidable military commander—Arvan Balan, who conquered the “Great Western Grasslands” from the Gropabid Vhub Empire and built a vast empire on the western edge of the continent of Australynd.

Arvan Balan was a man of immense courage and far-sighted vision, whose flawless plans moved like shadows and whose thunderous aggression shook the entire grassland under his marching steps. The air of that era was filled with the force of his oath and the unshakable discipline of his iron legion, which never failed to seize attention or conquer hearts.

Beside the Zhathar Forest, the name of the first small fortress was Girikel—a stone stronghold where the stone-willed Arvan planted the seed of his empire.
The fortress of Girikel stood like a presence carved out of an unmoving mountain, built to counter the fire of enemy invasions from every direction.
There the wind carried the rhythm of war, and under the soft shimmer of night stars rose the kingdom of dreams.
There was fire in Arvan’s eyes, the power of a hundred strides in his steps, and in his heart the unstoppable will to bear the weight of the world.

From Girikel, Arvan’s footsteps touched every corner of the grasslands, where his name was spoken through blades of grass and birdsong. That small fortress gradually transformed into a mighty empire—an unfading legacy that later became known as the Balan Empire.

In time, that fortress grew into a vast empire—the Balan Empire.
The stones of the fortress, once lifeless, became vessels of living history through the flow of time.
The walls of Girikel bore the marks of victory, each ridge hiding tales of Arvan’s struggles.
From the evergreen forest surrounding the fortress to the wide-stretching fields, every place seemed cloaked under his rule.

The capital of the empire stood near the ancient fortress of Girikel—a grand city, with the palace throne as the symbol of the ruler’s authority. Streets were lined with stone pillars, witnesses to the genius of Arvan Balan, carrying not dust, but carved glory of history.

The Balan Empire was surrounded by strict law and order. The imperial army was organised, trained, and self-sacrificing; every warrior was not only loyal to the ruler, but also a protector of the people.

The empire’s overall advancement was far ahead of its time. From the vast collection of the Talran Library to their architecture, everything marked the dawn of an extraordinary era.

Under Emperor Arvan Balan’s leadership, the Balan Empire rose both as an unyielding force and as a place of indomitable dreams, where the unity of human spirit and strength carved a new chapter.
That chapter still echoes through the voice of history.

******

Every prince was not merely a ruler—they were warriors refined like gold in the trial of fire, tall of stature and unmatched in beauty, their very faces bearing the mark of royal resolve and flawless discipline. Their eyes shone with a flame-like brilliance, as if they were ready at any moment to lead their realm through destruction and rebirth.

Orlan Balan’s kingdom was a realm of vast forests, where his soldiers were perfect hunters. They would hide in flawless darkness and cast enemies into the lap of death.
Orlan’s sentinels were active only at night, and their growls were more terrifying than the loss of sleep for their foes.

Each of the twelve kingdoms was like a weapon—unyielding, merciless, and impenetrable. They carved the history of bloodshed into the heart of the realm, with the princes themselves ruling every province from deep forests to the sea shores, where the soldiers’ skins were tough as iron, and their arrows carried a blend of undefeated magic.

*****

The sun glows like scorched copper, and a silent fire seems pasted upon the earth—
the sky is tense, the air heavy, and at the centre of the open royal road ahead,
Dara Balan’s fire-scorched legion advances.

Through the stone-paved heart of the ancient royal road, Dara Balan’s army marches forward.

The sun, like molten copper, leans toward the horizon, and in its blood-red light the armour of the soldiers flashes.

In the air hangs a chilling silence, like the warning before an approaching storm.
That silence is torn apart by ten thousand Kavvanruth—lion-like, massive-bodied fire beasts—moving forward with terrifying roars.
Flames burst from their fur, and with blazing volcanic light in their eyes they advance.

These monstrous beings are an inevitable weapon of the Balan Empire.
The ground trembles beneath their steps, and clouds of dust rise under the strike of their hooves.

Dara Balan, a mighty warrior, is bound to the Kavvanruth by a deep spiritual bond.
When he roars, the Kavvanruth gather as one, as if they were a storm of fire descending from the sky.
Their united roar sounds like an earthquake, and with the thunder of their feet they churn the field into restless waves of dust.

This sight is not merely an army advancing, but the omen of a dreadful war.

Dara’s ten thousand Kavvanruth form a force relentless, merciless, and forged in fire—
they left enemy armies drenched in blood, and the only limit to their power was Dara’s will.
Each Kavvanruth had claws sharp as iron, and their fiery breath was the very prelude to destruction.

Dara Balan was an arrogant one, holding the power to burn the land of the realm through his fire-born legion.

Behind the Kavvanruth marches another vast army—sixty thousand soldiers of many kinds,
their armour reflecting the blood-red glow of late afternoon.
On swords, on spears, on the banners over their shoulders, everywhere coils the promise of a colossal war.
Behind them stand ten thousand mages—silent in manner, deep fire in their eyes,
and among themselves they quietly draw the language of flames upon their wand-like staffs.