The first sign of the Stygianus Tribe was not a banner or a fleet, but fire. A blazing comet tore through the skies of Evernia, carving a scar of light across the night sky. Scholars called it a phenomenon. Priests called it judgment. Those who stood beneath its passing felt something older than fear take hold of their bones. The comet fell screaming into the Maiden’s Sea. When the waters calmed, the sea did not give up wreckage or ash. It gave birth.

From the depths of the Maiden’s Sea they emerged, tall, unbroken, and undrowned. Gods walking out of terror as if it were nothing more than shallow water. The waves recoiled from them. They were not of this world. They were galactic travelers from Noctyrr, a planet forged in shadow, where weakness was a death sentence and supremacy a creed. The men of the Stygianus stood nearly eight feet tall, the women close behind at seven feet four inches.

The Stygianus did not believe in the gods of Evernia. Belief, to them, was an admission of inferiority. They viewed themselves as gods already, not by myth or prayer, but by endurance, conquest, and will. On Noctyrr, divinity was not granted. It was taken. Gods who demanded worship were seen as relics of softer ages, rulers who had forgotten the cost of power.

Evernia was not empty when they arrived. The land they claimed belonged to the Children of Ak’Daro, descendants of the Goddess of War and Vengeance, one of the Four Mothers of Ak. These were a people born for battle, raised in blood soaked traditions, hardened by divine wrath. For centuries they had ruled through sacred violence, believing themselves unassailable beneath their goddess’s gaze. The war that followed shattered that belief.

The Stygianus did not fight for glory. They fought for inevitability. Their warriors advanced in silence. The Children of Ak’Daro answered with madness and holy rage, but vengeance could not outlast discipline. Faith cracked where strategy held. Temples fell, strongholds burned and the blood of gods’ children soaked into soil that would never forget the price of their resistance.

When the war ended, the Stygianus stood alone on conquered ground. There were no celebrations. Conquest was not triumph, it was confirmation. Evernia had proven itself worthy of domination, worthy of reshaping beneath their rule.

Their society is built on strength without chaos. Honor among the Stygianus is merciless and absolute. Power must be proven constantly through ritual combat, tactical mastery, and unwavering loyalty to the Tribe above all else. Children are raised on stories of fallen worlds and victorious campaigns, taught early that mercy is a privilege earned through supremacy. Love exists among them, but it is forged sharp and unbreakable, bound by purpose rather than softness.

What makes the Stygianus truly terrifying is not their towering forms, nor their weapons, nor their belief in their own godhood. It is their patience. They think in generations, not years. Evernia is not merely conquered. It is being hardened, shaped into something fit to stand beneath their banner. Resistance is expected. Rebellion is welcomed. Conflict is how gods are tested.

The Stygianus do not call their way of life a culture. To them, culture implies choice, softness, and tradition preserved for comfort. What they follow is order. Survival demanded dominance, and dominance became law. From their earliest memory, the Stygianus learned that power unused decays, and mercy given too freely invites extinction. Every custom they uphold exists for one purpose only. To ensure the Tribe endures when worlds do not.

Strength among the Stygianus is not measured by brute force alone. Physical power is expected, but true worth is proven through discipline, control, and clarity of will. Kinetic mastery and dominion of the mind are taught as sacred sciences. To command motion is to command the battlefield. To command thought is to end a war before it begins. Those who cannot master themselves are never trusted to rule others.

Their society is strictly hierarchical, yet never stagnant. Rank is earned through trials of combat, strategy, and endurance, and it is never permanent. Leaders are tested constantly. Failure is not punished with exile or death, but with demotion and shame, a fate many consider worse.

Children are raised communally, but never gently. From early youth they are taught the histories of fallen galaxies, the cost of arrogance, and the danger of complacency. They learn to fight before they learn to write and to observe before they speak.

Death among the Stygianus is not mourned in the way other cultures understand. The fallen are honored through remembrance of their victories and by continuing the wars they began. To die without leaving a mark on history is considered the only true tragedy.

When they conquered Evernia and defeated the Children of Ak’Daro, the Stygianus did not destroy the land. They claimed it. Conquest, to them, is not annihilation but refinement. Worlds are tested, broken where necessary, and rebuilt stronger beneath their dominion.