What is a nephilim? I can’t say I’m the best qualified to speak to the idea, given how I differ from my kindred.

Kindred: I use that word only in the broadest sense. To most of them, we’re nothing alike. 

The term nephilim does not denote a single bloodline or even species, for those of our nature are as varied as the disparate cultures of the frontiers. Perhaps more. Some of us may blend seamlessly with humanity while others are so far removed that you would wonder how we were ever related at all.

But we do come from humanity, if you look back far enough. That is undeniable. When mankind first learned to weave the threads of creation, it heralded the next great age. Matter and energy were theirs to command, and they wielded that power eagerly. Power, then and now, proved addictive. It’s said that ego is inherent to our kind, from the highest born warden to the nameless fiends. I think it started in our human progenitors. They were the ones to reach farther than anyone else in search of perfection. But if such forces could reshape the very landscape of the world, what effect could it have on the soul?

More than they realized. It would stun most citizens of the frontier to learn that the nobles they serve began as rogues; mutants twisted by the fundamental force of change. The transformation granted them great power; immense strength of body and spirit, but it was flawed. Such powerful souls could only be fed with the souls of others, and the mightiest were those of their fellow humans. For those reasons, it might seem obvious why they were exiled or killed. I believe there’s more to it. The empires of old possessed legions of acolytes gifted in spellcraft. With their combined power and wisdom, surely they could have helped these afflicted. More likely, those ancient sorcerer-lords saw these beings as failures: reminders of the danger of their pursuit, or simply found them displeasing to look at.

The vagabonds went into hiding, individuals, handfuls, or even families waiting in the shadows of the great mage kingdoms. There, they preyed on the weak and helpless that lacked the protection of their sorcerer masters. At first, it was for survival, but it would soon turn into waiting. For these beings had realized that their transformation had also granted them longevity. With their extended lifespans they continued to experiment with the very magic that had created them, pushing past their previous limits and preparing to take back the world that had rejected them.

Their patience would be rewarded when the Era of Discord took the world, and the wars of the sorcerer-lords threatened to snuff out the sun. Kingdoms were broken and entire continents drowned in chaos. It was a time of ruin for all, save those that were anticipating it. 

From this upheaval, the nephilim took power. They conquered the shattered remains of societies that no longer had the strength to oppose them, donning the mantle of nobility and declaring themselves monarchs of a new, savage world. Stronger, faster, and longer lived than humans, few could stand against them. Fueled by their stronger souls, they would also appear as the dominant force of magic in the world. They shaped their bodies into more refined forms, gaining more power and influence until they were fundamentally separate from the humans they had once been.

The cataclysms of old began to fade, and for centuries, these nephilim would be the only power of substance. The factions became races, warring against one another for dominance as the fallout of their forbears became apparent. Even the rise of the nightmare plague did not break the iron reign of the immortals. Though many were slain, many more evolved, growing further in power as their magic reached new heights with each generation. By the time of the Paradise Church, the nobles’ power was so great that a conflict between their two forces threatened to sunder the world all over again. Perhaps the nephilim of old remembered the mistakes of the mage-lords that preceded them, or perhaps they simply thought the church would die out in time. Whatever the motivation, most accepted the offer of wardenship, or used it to crush those that did not. After all, it meant little to them what title they were called, so long as it meant absolute authority. 

Millennia passed, and there are not as many of us as there once were. The magic that led to our creation is rarer, and natural births are infrequent. Those that are born into the houses that remain are terrifying figures, bred to fight and rule. The nameless rogues; those that cannot claim descent from a house, are fierce as well too. They do not have the raw power of the aristocracy, but surviving beneath the thumb of their competitors and the Church has honed them into battle-hardened warriors; even if they would sooner prey on those that can’t hope to fight back.

As ever, my thoughts on the matter turn to bitterness. My own nature has haunted me for as long as I can remember, and if I could be something else, would I? I have pondered it often, in the frightened faces of those that behold me. I have no great name; no claim to anything not granted by my patron. I hate the violence, yet it is all that I’m valued for. Despite that, I can’t help but be thankful. So few are given the strength to take control of their own destiny, and to stand a chance against what threatens their lives. No, I don’t think I would choose to be different, if I could. I only wish more of my kindred had the same introspection.

Though that is a fantasy.