The world of Realta stretched wide across oceans and endless skies, its kingdoms glittering like constellations carved into the land itself. Twelve great peoples roamed or ruled, each bound to their star-born sign. Mountain ranges veined with silver, forests whispered with ancient magic, and scattered islands floated like fragments of forgotten gods. Every territory pulsed with the essence of its ruling Zodiac, shaping both the land and the lives of those who walked it.

The Taurus made their home in fertile valleys, where stone fortresses rose among golden fields. With broad horns and oxlike strength, they lived slow but unshakable lives, masters of craft, earth, and patience. In contrast, the Sagittarius were wanderers of the plains—nomadic archers with horse legs and long tails, whose glowing horns guided their arrows with impossible precision. Where the Taurus rooted themselves in tradition, the Sagittarius carried their hearths in their hearts, ending each day with bonfires beneath open skies.

On a wind-swept plain, under a sky bruised violet with the promise of night, Billie adjusted the string of her bow. The herd had slowed for camp, firewood already gathered, laughter beginning to rise like sparks into the air. She was young by Sagittarius measure, yet her aim had already earned respect—and suspicion. As the first flames licked the dark, Billie’s horn glimmered faintly, catching a line of light only she could see. Tonight, that guiding glow pointed not to the herd, but toward the unknown horizon.