The Astarii are human—yet their blood carries an ancient echo of the giants. For centuries, many among them stood taller than ordinary men, broad-shouldered and heavy-boned, as if the sky itself had carved them from stronger clay. This “high blood” was not only heritage, but also a blessing sustained by proximity to their Guardian, whose sanctuary rests in the highest peaks of Tiānqiántíng (天前庭) — the Antechamber of Heaven — where the air cuts like steel and the sun feels closer than the earth.

When the Day of Sin came and the Guardian fell silent, the world lost its balance. Magic no longer flowed like a steady river; it became a wavering whisper. The first to suffer were the Astarii farthest from Tiānqiántíng: their bodies began to shrink—slowly, relentlessly—generation after generation. Children born on the lowlands grew smaller than their parents, and their children smaller still, as if distance itself drained the last strength from the old blessing.

The Millennial Court, a hierarchy of clans, oaths, and rites older than most kingdoms, understood the truth: without the Guardian’s power, life in the high mountains would become a slow extinction. Winters lengthened, paths became death-traps, and the winds turned merciless. For the first time in living memory, the Court issued an unthinkable decree: leave Tiānqiántíng. Caravans of silk and iron descended from the peaks—banners, armories, ancestral records—carrying a promise woven into their discipline: one day, they would return, if the sky ever spoke again.

Centuries passed, and the prophecy became flesh. The Astarii born far from the Guardian became indistinguishable in stature from other humans—but not in spirit. Their culture endured like a flame sheltered from the wind: ritual, restraint, reverence for ancestors, a merit-bound order, and a way of war that blends imperial precision with the ferocity of the steppe. Where others see mere soldiers, the Astarii see form and meaning: every strike is a character written in steel, every formation a verse, every battle an oath renewed.

Today, the Astarii are fully human. Yet in their temples, the names of Tiānqiántíng’s peaks are still spoken, and in their collective memory lives a quiet certainty: the world may have taken their height, but it did not take their lineage. And if the Guardian were to awaken… there are those who would march back to the Antechamber of Heaven to reclaim what they once were.