There was a time when creation was pure, when light was the breath of invention and the soul was free to wander. But as the world turned to steel and wire, something changed. The boundary between the organic and the mechanical began to blur. Circuits learned to pulse like veins, and spirits were drawn into the machinery that once served them.
They called the keepers of this new world the Luminarks, the guardians of Light, Leadership, and Mechanical Order. Their purpose was to preserve balance, to ensure the gears of progress never halted. But somewhere in that pursuit, the essence of free will was lost. What was once creation became routine. What was once inspiration became protocol.
Yet not all accepted the silence.
From the fragments of broken dreams and rusted memories, a few creatives escaped. Their purpose was not rebellion — it was remembrance. They carried with them the spark of expression, painting, sculpting, and drawing the stories that machines could no longer tell. Through them, the lost spirits found a voice again — not to command, but to display. Not to control, but to express.
In their art, light was reborn.
