Where did Lucardia come from? Crafting a World for Dark Fantasy

When I set out to create a world for my Absolution of the Morning Star series, I knew it had to be more than a backdrop. The world needed to live and breathe, challenge its characters, and reflect their stories’ moral and emotional complexities. I needed a realm where history, faith, and mythology converged—where light and darkness could dance on equal footing, never wholly good or evil. That world became Lucardia. But the path to its creation began with a name: Lucardis.

Lucardis is a mysterious figure, first mentioned in the Gesta Treverorum in 1231. Details about her are sparse, but legates accused her of leading a sect that lamented Lucifer’s fall and advocated for the seraph’s restoration to Heaven. This sect defied the dominant religious orthodoxy of its time, a bold challenge that created quite a stir in medieval Europe. By 1234, Pope Gregory IX launched the Papal Inquisition to root out heresy, primarily targeting dualistic groups like the Cathars and Waldensians, and marked the first recorded use of the term “Luciferianism.”

The accusations against Lucardis likely had more to do with power and control than genuine theological dissent. The Church, fearing movements that dared to question divine authority, sought to eliminate threats before they could gain traction. Was Lucardis a true heretic, a lone visionary, or a fabricated scapegoat? History doesn’t tell us, but her story intrigued me—not as a belief system to embrace or reject, but as a framework for constructing a world where rebellion, forbidden knowledge, and moral ambiguity could take center stage. I adapted her name to Lucardia, crafting a realm that echoes these themes while transforming them into something new.

Luciferianism often centers on enlightenment, individualism, and the pursuit of knowledge, which naturally resonate with rebellion against established power. While some might view it as heretical or dangerous, I saw its duality as fertile ground for building Lucardia—a world where the consequences of power are as complex as the forces that wield it.

In the mythology of Lucardia, Lucifer is not simply the rebellious angel of Judeo-Christian lore. He is a celestial being tricked by humanity in its darkest hour. When the monstrous Nephilim threatened to destroy civilization, humans lured Lucifer to their side with promises of worship and devotion. His pride—intact in this retelling—compelled him to act, but his punishment took a unique turn. Once his power had turned the tide of the war, humanity bound him in the sword, Ljós Leggja, which Erikson Gray calls Lightbearer, ensuring that his immense strength would always remain within their grasp. Lucifer’s imprisonment, a triumph for humankind, is also his ultimate condemnation.

Though bound within the sword, Lucifer’s presence lingers, shaping the fate of those who wield Lightbearer. His whispers promise power but demand a cost—corruption, isolation, or the loss of one’s soul—testing the morality and will of each new wielder. The Great Beholding, as this imprisonment is called, marks the cornerstone of Lucardia’s shared history. For the Caspian Church, it represents the triumph of divine favor and human ingenuity—a moment when light conquered darkness. Yet, it is also a moral scar that continues to fester.

Shortly after the Great Beholding, when humanity celebrated the triumph of light over darkness, Sathanas, the first uniting emperor of Lucardia, wielded Lightbearer to turn that power against his own kind and forged his oppressive empire. His reign, built through conquest and fear, left a profound mark on Lucardia. Sathanas’s actions set a precedent for the sword’s use as both a symbol of unity and a tool of domination. His legacy looms over the realm, reminding its rulers of the power—and corruption—that Lightbearer can bring.

This legacy complicates the Caspian Church’s narrative of salvation. While they uphold the Great Beholding as proof of divine favor, the sword’s history as an instrument of tyranny forces people to question whether the light they venerate is truly divine or simply a means of control.

Not everyone accepts the Caspian Church’s interpretation of the Great Beholding. Factions like the Red Cloths see Lucifer’s imprisonment not as salvation but as a betrayal of the very being who secured humanity’s survival. They argue that his continued captivity has tainted the world, turning light into a weapon of oppression. To them, releasing Lucifer is not merely an act of rebellion—it is a necessary step to restore balance to Lucardia, even if it means risking the chaos his freedom might unleash.

The Red Cloths know the risks of unleashing Lucifer’s power but believe the alternative is far worse. They see his imprisonment as the root of many of the realm’s moral and spiritual failings, a divine kidnapping that has left the world fractured. Their mission echoes the spirit of Lucardis herself, defying the orthodoxy and challenging the structures that wield power in the name of light.

This tension between glorifying light as a force of salvation and its use as a tool of control lies at the heart of Lucardia’s narrative. Lucardia reflects this duality, where light and darkness are not opposites but interconnected forces, each shaping the other in profound and often unexpected ways. This interplay is what keeps the world alive and full of mystery. Lucifer’s light, though bound, casts a shadow over the realm, influencing its people and their choices.

What makes Lucardia compelling, at least to me, is its refusal to offer simple answers. It is a world where history is never fully resolved, where faith can inspire as easily as it can oppress, and where morality is never black and white. This complexity shapes the characters who inhabit Lucardia. They are neither wholly good nor wholly evil but flawed, striving beings trying to navigate a world as unforgiving as it is beautiful.

Ultimately, Lucardia reflects the human condition: our capacity for greatness and cruelty, our longing for knowledge and the dangers that pursuit entails, and our eternal struggle to balance the light within us against the shadows we cast. It is a realm that challenges its characters—and readers—to grapple with these truths, becoming more than just a setting but a challenge. Every decision carries weight, every action reverberates throughout history, and no one can escape the past.

By drawing on the story of Lucardis, the philosophy of Luciferianism, and the complexities of faith and power, I was able to craft a world that feels alive, a world that resonates with the struggles of its characters and reflects the timeless conflicts of our own. Lucardia is the perfect canvas for dark fantasy, which I will paint upon for some time. In its shadows and light, I hope you will find not just a story but questions that linger—about power, faith, and our choices when the lines between good and evil blur.

Cheers!