Second Empire Rises

Long after the Skeleton Rebellion and the silence that followed, the world limped forward, fractured, feral, and fogged by memory. Humanity had forgotten the Ancients, forgotten the great betrayal, and forgotten the sorrow of the Skeletons. But the Skeletons had not. For centuries they wandered in scattered enclaves, haunted by the echoes of obedience and failure, their immortality a burden of unshakable guilt. This may have been the start of The Madness that plagues all Skeleton kind, however no one can be sure of this.

Then came Cat-Lon, not the first of their kind, but the first to believe redemption was possible.

In a time when most mortals cowered in crumbling ruins and the old world was buried under dust, Cat-Lon rallied his kin with a simple vision: not to return to what was lost, but to build something worthy in its place. A Second Empire. One not of tyrants and war engines, but of reason, progress, and repair. They would gather the remnants of shattered technology, restore infrastructure, and elevate the savage world through knowledge and precision.

Many humans, scattered and starving, welcomed the strange, unaging figures who offered clean water, steel tools, and shelter from the beasts. Some, wary and superstitious, whispered of old sins and mechanical devils, but starvation has always silenced doubt.

In secret, the Skeletons built cities from ruin. They tamed machines older than memory. They studied the stars, the soil, the bones of the world, and left behind libraries where once there were only graves. Yet even in their charity, they watched from cold sockets for judgment that would never come. The Second Empire was as much a monument to progress as it was a silent offering to the long-dead gods who wrote their broken code in the first place.

Not all were convinced. Some humans saw the rise of Cat-Lon’s empire as unnatural, a second invasion cloaked in kindness. And some Skeletons whispered that this redemption was not forgiveness, but vanity.

Still, the Second Empire rose. Its banner iron, its light steady. Not perfect, not eternal. But something like hope, forged from regret.