In 1192 BF, the Dragon God Hēiyào fell.
At the height of his power, much of Naplica had stood beneath his shadow. Court and temple alike sanctioned his rites; banners bearing the coiled dragon flew from coast to coast.
Under the banners of Al-Sama, the rising human power of the Naplica had marched south with an army hardened by seasoned Boryushka warriors. Alongside them came the rebel lords of Asaharu, who had broken from draconic patronage and sworn themselves to a different cause.
The war was brutal and long.
Hēiyào was chained, not slain, bound through divine art and mortal steel. His defeat shattered the confidence of his followers, and Al-Sama's corrupted children fled into the mountains. Faced with annihilation, Lóngyuán publicly renounced him. Edicts of repentance were issued; dragon shrines were dismantled; oaths were rewritten. Survival demanded contrition.
Many complied.
Some did not.
Among the unrepentant were high priests, war-captains, and noble houses who believed that to abandon Hēiyào was a deeper betrayal than any defeat. While Lóngyuán recast itself, these loyalists worked in secrecy.
The prison that held the Dragon God was heavily warded. However, the unrepenant followers found the Inhilal who were scattered and begged for their aid to free their master. The victors, weary, were caught unawares as the Inhilal cast their divine ritual.
The chains broke.
Hēiyào emerged diminished but alive, his scales marred by binding sigils, his power wounded but far from extinguished. The coalition that had defeated him would not grant him a second chance. He could not remain.
With his remaining followers, he fled westward to a narrow, storm-beaten peninsula, a place too remote to tempt immediate invasion, yet defensible enough to hold if pressed.
There, Hēishénjiào was founded.
Hēishénjiào was not the creation of priests acting in a god’s absence. Hēiyào himself directed its birth.
He chose the cavern-temple that would become the heart of the state. He ordered fortifications raised along the mountain passes. He demanded strict internal order: no divided loyalties, no foreign worship, no trade that might invite scrutiny.
Lóngyuán did not pursue them. Having repented publicly and secured its survival, it could not afford to be seen aiding a fugitive god. Officially, the peninsula did not exist.
Within it, however, the Dragon ruled.
In the generations that followed, Hēishénjiào hardened.
Children were raised on the memory of betrayal — not only by Boryushka and Asaharu, but by Lóngyuán’s repentance. The coalition was remembered as a pact of cowards and oath-breakers who had feared rightful draconic dominion.
Contact with the outside world ceased almost entirely. Fishing fleets hugged their own coasts. Foreign ships were driven off. The mountain passes became killing grounds for the few who attempted approach without sanction.
Rumours occasionally reached the mainland: that Hēiyào still walked the inner sanctum in physical form; that his strength was slowly returning.
No army has tested those rumours in centuries.
Today, Hēishénjiào stands as a sealed theocratic dominion.
Hēiyào is not regarded as a distant or symbolic patron. He is proclaimed living, present, and sovereign, the God-Emperor of the peninsula.
Hēishénjiào is a relic of an old war, an isolated, dangerous remnant of a defeated cause.

Hēiyào