Over the landscape arose a black sun like an omen of doom, its dark radiance defying the laws of nature. Though it lay in shadow, the light from it was shed on all the earth, with no place left unlit by the weird illumination. A wasteland, the ground below could hardly have been any more barren. Gigantic cracks crisscrossed the cracked terrain, and some remnants of what once thrived lay long reduced to ash. It was in no way a place for ordinary life.
In the midst of that devastated world stood a castle, colossal and foreboding, dark spires piercing into heavens, elegance mocking the desolation surrounding it as if itself above the chaos. The structure flaunted power and refused to bend to the tremendous forces against it.
Before the castle lay an ocean of armies-an amalgame of races and beings, each united by one goal: to destroy the citadel and the one inside it. Humans made up the frontline team, their banners flapping as golden light shone from the formation behind them. Elves chanted older spells, and their magic created protective barriers and deadly attacks. Dwarves and beastpeople were on the sides, holding the extremes with strength and tenacity. Even the mystery-shrouded dark elves, sworn enemies of the others, fought alongside them.
But it was not just mortals. Dragons soared overhead, their roars shaking the heavens as they unleashed torrents of fire. The majestic phoenixes, their flames bright as the sun, darted through the skies, striking down shadows. Other monstrous yet sentient creatures that normally roamed alone now stood united, bound by the singular purpose of annihilation. All their focus was directed toward the castle, their collective rage palpable.
And yet, the man on the castle terrace didn't flinch.
Wrapped in billowing black robes, he glanced over at the army with a calm disinterest. His piercing gaze swept the crowds without fear or rage, merely with the apathy of an observer to a rove of ants. To him they were nothing-significants: distractions in a game far, far bigger than their own small lives could really understand.
"It looks like they have come to test fate itself," he whispered softly yet obviously with an infallible command. He extended a hand slowly, curling his fingers as a dark power began to accumulate in the palm. The energy twisted and pulsed, an abyssal force so overwhelming that even the air seemed leaden.
When he released it, the ground shook violently, cracks spreading like a spider's web. The earth roared as if alive, splitting open to reveal unfathomable depths. From the gaping fissures, beings of darkness began to rise.
Colossal creatures, forged of shadow and malice, emerged. Their forms defied reason, monstrous and vast, each larger than the armies before the castle. Their howls echoed through the desolation, a cacophony of terror that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest warriors.
The man lowered his hand, his voice calm but commanding. "Rise, my children. Show them the futility of their defiance."
The dark beings surged forward, their movement like a tidal wave of destruction. They clashed with the armies, chaos erupted immediately.
The battlefield was a sight that was hellish.
Humans, elves, dwarves, and beastpeople were steadfast in their fight. The front lines became obscure with steel and flesh as mortal warriors beheld the dark monstrosities in front of them.
Hold the line!" a human commander bellowed, his sword aglow with radiant light as he cut through a shadow beast.
Arrows woven with elven magic rained from above, every strike leaving dark creatures to become dust. Elven mages stood behind their warriors, their incantations a harmonious blend that stirred waves of elemental fury—fire, ice, and lightning crashing into the enemy ranks.
Beastpeople roared as they launched themselves into the melee, claws and fangs ripping through shadows with wild savagery. Dwarves in heavy armor swung their massive warhammers, shattering ground beneath their foes and putting up barriers to keep the enemies from getting to their brethren.
Above them, dragons clashed with flying shadow creatures, their flames searing the skies. A phoenix, wreathed in golden fire, dove through the air, incinerating dozens of enemies in one pass.
In the midst of all the turmoil, one figure stood out to my thinking—the human warrior, whose presence alone was blinding. His golden hair and white light glowed around his body so vividly that every movement became a blur of brilliance. Wave upon wave of holy energy ravaged across that battlefield as he swung his sword, destroying as if the dark creatures had never been.
"Do not falter!" the golden-haired warrior bellowed, his voice both authoritative and encouraging. "Together, we will bring him down!
From the balcony, the black-clad man watched his own men break under the pressure, but his face did not change. He displayed no anger, no desperation—only indifference. Slowly, he turned his back to the battle and walked down into the dungeons of the castle.
The throne room awaited him, its splendor untouched by the world's destruction. A massive obsidian throne, encrusted with artwork, sat in the very center of the chamber. It radiated this dark beauty, a seat fit for a ruler above all.
The castle shook as he drew nearer, cracks beginning in the once-impenetrable walls. Battle cries and screams of the klaxons stabbed at him through the stone: shouts and screams and steel on steel. Voices echoed dimly beyond the door of the chamber:
"We are breaking through!"
"Just a little more! Push forward!"
"This is it for him!"
The man slumped back in his throne, staring out into space. No one stood before him, but he spoke, as if to a presence which only he could see.
"You can't stop it," he said, his voice low yet carrying an unnatural resonance. "You can't alter what has been set in motion. This is the will of the universe itself. The end is inevitable."
He leaned forward, his eyes glowing faintly, like embers dying in the dark. "The last path left to you is acceptance. Struggle if you want, but all roads cross the same abyss. Embrace it. for it will consume you regardless."
The castle shuddered as though in assent, its walls cracking under the pressure of its own strength. The man's eyes did not waver, as if he was looking at the very soul of destiny.
The next instant, Kael's eyes snapped open. His breathing was labored and ragged. He wasn't anywhere near that throne room anymore; he was back in the black, suffocating room of his own thoughts. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his body was soaked with cold perspiration. He clutched at his chest as he struggled to steady his erratic breathing.
His mind was racing to remember those images, but everything seemed fractured, slipping between his fingers like sand. The dream felt real, so vivid, yet that face of the man, that had spoken those words of death, is nothing but a blur-an indistinct shadow that slips through his memory. The feeling, however, of impending doom is unmistakable.
His body quivered, yet his resolve was like stone. He had to know what this vision meant. Why did it feel as though something—or someone—was trying to warn him? Or perhaps. had he already seen this moment before?