The scroll was never meant for outsiders. It was created before the dawn of Havenspass itself, long before the mountain pass grew into a city of trade and timber.

Firath Firekin the First, progenitor of the fire-giant-blooded Goliath who would one day lead the family, was a young stone mason. While most of his kin were content to fell Mistwood timber and break rocks, Firath felt a different call.

An ancient whisper, like distant thunder rolling through his brain, drew him south through the oak-choked hills that bordered what is now Oakenshire. There, beneath centuries of root and loam, he found traces of the defunct Oakenveil.

The town had already been lost to memory. But in some partly collapsed tunnel chambers, Firath could feel something…powerful. Amid the dust and fragments of forgotten altars, Firath discovered a single iron-bound scroll case, sealed by those long dead.

The scroll itself was written in the flowing script of Oakenveil’s high clerics; half ritual diagram, half prophecy. It spoke of The Oakenveil Portal below the earth, of other rarer places where The Veil could be coaxed thin or torn anew, and of the great blood-rite that would one day open them: a sacrifice of living essence poured into the rift, pure and untainted, to purge every lesser race from the world and leave only the chosen bloodline to inherit the realms.

One such place, the scroll declared, hovered exactly one hundred and fifty feet above a certain mountain pass that had in time become the city of Havenspass. Specifically stating “where fire-blood would one day raise stone to the sky.”

Firath Firekin the First recognized the voice of destiny when it spoke. He claimed the scroll, spoke no word of it to his counterparts, and returned home. From that day forward, the scroll passed only from parent to chosen heir, never to be copied, never to be read aloud outside the bloodline. Each generation added their own marginalia in the family’s private cipher: precise calculations of the sky-point above their growing compound, sketches of the tower that must one day reach exactly one hundred and fifty feet, warnings about the blood-rites needed to “seed the rip” with nothing but Goliath essence.

By the time Firath Firekin IV inherited the scroll, the family compound was already a secretive fortress of patched fences and deepening pits. The tower now rose from the earth, brick by hard-won brick, aimed like a spear at the invisible veil hanging one hundred and fifty feet above Havenspass. For Firath IV, the scroll’s purpose had become crystalline: when the tower finally touched the rift, only the blood of his kin would be poured into the ritual—pure Goliath blood, and nothing else. All other races would be scoured from existence in a single cataclysmic purge, leaving the Firekin line as the sole inheritors of the world.