The winds howled across the Obsidian Plains, carrying with them a mix of ash and despair. This land, once vibrant and fertile, had been transformed into a wasteland under the Dark Lord's dominion. The sky was a swirling mass of crimson clouds, as though the heavens themselves bled in response to the terror unfolding below. Amidst the desolation, the ground cracked and shifted, exhaling fumes of blackened smoke that twisted into grotesque shapes before dissipating into the fiery horizon.
A thousand years ago, the world stood at the precipice of annihilation. The Dark Lord's emergence was not heralded by fanfare or prophecy but by whispers carried on the wind, whispers that spoke of shadows consuming entire villages and of beings corrupted beyond recognition. His arrival was marked by the first mass disappearance—the village of Arleth vanished overnight, leaving nothing but charred earth and a haunting silence.
