In an unknown place...
The air hung thick with the scent of sulfur, a smoky haze clinging low to the ground like mist. Dead trees, with twisted limbs like skeletal fingers, dotted the landscape, blackened and charred, standing as somber reminders of a time long past. The earth was cracked, dry, and ashen, dusted with a thin layer of gray that whispered of a forgotten civilization.
Around lay scattered, abandoned buildings, each in various states of decay. Crumbling stone walls leans precariously, while the remains of wooden structures sagged, as if the earth itself had begun to reclaim them. Shattered windows, hollow and dark, seemed to stare out across the empty land, bearing silent witness to whatever had transpired.
Strange markings were etched onto the walls of these buildings. Sharp, jagged symbols—written in an unfamiliar script—adorned the stone like warnings, their lines erratic yet oddly deliberate. Some had faded, nearly invisible with age, while others appeared freshly carved, as though maintained by unseen hands.
In the center of it all loomed a volcano, dark and silent, its peak dusted with an ominous red glow. Molten rivers traced slow, winding paths down its sides, casting a dim, pulsating light over the landscape. At its base, near the rocky foothills, were drawings: figures, arranged in a circle, surrounding the volcano with arms raised, frozen in what looked like a ritual. Though simple, the figures held an eerie precision, each one angled perfectly, as if locked in a trance that time could not break.
A tremor rippled through the ground, faint but steady, as if something beneath the earth were stirring. And with that tremor, the air seemed to hum, a low, almost inaudible whisper that faded as quickly as it had begun.
Far beyond, in a lush and untouched land, wildflowers swayed in an ancient forest where towering trees stretched high into a warm, endless sky. The ground here trembled lightly, unsettling birds from their branches, sending petals drifting into the air. It was a place of untouched beauty, yet something unspoken lurked under the surface, as if the land itself was hiding a secret.
Elsewhere, a field lay under a slate-gray sky, scattered with impossibly large swords, each one driven deep into the earth, half-buried like relics from a forgotten war. The tremors here rattled the great blades, making them hum with a strange resonance, a hollow, metallic echo that carried far on the wind.
On a sweeping plain, tall grasses swayed as the ground shook, their movement disrupted by the faintest vibrations. Only a single, weathered house stood here, alone in the vast openness. The wooden boards creaked as the earth shifted beneath it, though the house remained upright, sturdy against the silent, gentle disturbances that pulsed through the soil.
In a kingdom far removed from these quiet places, dark and fortified, soldiers moved quickly through winding stone streets, shouting orders with tense urgency. The buildings here were thick with iron, walls standing sharp and unyielding, as if built to withstand endless sieges. From within, the panic and confusion echoed against the stone as the ground shifted, and the kingdom's heart pulsed with a quiet, barely contained dread.
Across a distant ocean, an unknown sailor held fast to his small, ragged boat as dark waves swelled around him, tossed by unseen forces. The sky was darkening, and he squinted against the cold wind, his tiny vessel creaking as it struggled to stay upright. The horizon seemed to ripple, shifting like a mirage as he drifted helplessly, caught in the grip of something he could neither see nor understand.
In a desolate, pristine kingdom, a place empty of life yet immaculate, the tremors echoed in the silent halls. Everything here was untouched by time or decay, as though preserved for a purpose long since forgotten. Marble floors shone in the dim light, tapestries lined the walls, and statues stood as silent sentinels. The place held no dust, no signs of age, and yet it remained utterly still, as though waiting for someone—or something—that had never arrived.
Far in the north, beneath a sky heavy with shadows, a figure cloaked in furs trudged through snow-drenched mountains, his eyes focused on a massive shape lurking in the mist. His breath formed faint clouds in the cold air, and he moved forward, cautious but resolute, as the icy ground rumbled faintly beneath his feet. The landscape stretched endlessly around him, mountains rising like silent witnesses as he prepared for a confrontation against a creature that seemed to merge with the shadows themselves.
High above, in the heart of the known lands, Liliac stepped out from a small, worn house. His expression was troubled, and in an instant, he vanished, reappearing at the peak of the kingdom, where he gazed out over the trembling mountains and valleys below. He frowned, eyes darting over the shifting landscape. "What is happening?" he muttered softly, as if speaking to the winds themselves.
In her quiet room, Roseiral lay in bed, looking down at Godless nestled in her arms. She gently stroked his fur, murmuring, "Everything's going to be alright." Her voice softened, almost as if to reassure herself. She leaned down, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, Godless," she whispered.
As her eyes closed, the scene shifted once more to the unknown land. The volcano's mouth glowed with an unsettling light, casting long shadows across the empty landscape. From within its depths, a faint shape emerged, barely visible against the molten rock. A hand—massive, dark, and impossibly old—began to rise slowly, its form partially obscured by heat and smoke, as though testing the air above. And then, as if aware of its own exposure, it retreated back into the depths, leaving only a faint ripple in the molten surface.
The silence returned, thick and watchful, holding its secrets once more.