A cold chill.
An unfathomable void.
A sudden awakening.
This was where Chronos found himself, but where was "here"?
His mind reeled, confusion clawing at the edges of his consciousness like some unseen beast lurking in the shadows.
He stumbled forward, the ground a mosaic of cracks that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, a sick rhythm that matched the beating of his heart.
The very air was thick with despair, filled with the wailing of suffering souls. Was it his imagination, or were those cries reaching out to him, pulling him into their torment?
And then, the jailers. Cold, emotionless, relentless.
Tormentors whose very presence sent a shiver down his spine.
Their eyes followed him, tracking his every move, their gaze a weight that bore into his very soul.
Were they real, or figments of his imagination?
