Deep within the Abyssal Rift, where time stretched infinitely and light dared not linger, the Dark Sovereign sat upon her throne of obsidian and fire. The air around her was thick with power, suffocating and intoxicating to those who knelt in her presence. Her golden eyes, molten like the core of a sun, blazed with an intensity that silenced even the boldest of her followers.
The room, cavernous and jagged, echoed with murmured whispers and the distant crackle of abyssal flames. Around her, shadowy figures knelt, their forms flickering between solid and spectral, as though the Rift itself struggled to hold their existence together. These were her most loyal followers, those who had given their very essence to serve her will.
The Dark Sovereign's lips curled into a smile—not warm, but razor-sharp. She leaned forward, her crimson skin glowing faintly in the flickering light. "Speak," she commanded, her voice a symphony of menace and allure. "What news do you bring me?"
