Prologue: The End of a Dream

Elias Paulson's office was small, tucked away on the upper floor of a high-rise building. The white walls, barren of any personal touches, only amplified the sterile, lifeless atmosphere. A lone desk, papers scattered in disarray, and an old coffee cup—half-full, cold—served as reminders of the long hours he'd spent here. He could hardly remember the last time he'd stepped outside or talked to anyone outside of work.

The city outside the window was a blur of lights, its constant hum of life almost mocking the stillness inside. Elias stared at the glowing screen of his laptop, the blinking cursor taunting him. Numbers, percentages, reports—it all seemed meaningless now. He could barely recall what had driven him to this point. The relentless chase for success. The need to prove he was more than just another cog in the corporate machine. The ambition that had once burned brightly within him now flickered weakly, like a dying ember.

It had been months since he last felt anything remotely resembling satisfaction or purpose. Every day had become a repetition of the last. He'd convinced himself that he would be promoted soon, that all the sacrifice would eventually pay off. Yet, with each passing week, that hope felt more like an illusion. His colleagues had advanced; the team he once led had been restructured, replaced. His name—Elias Paulson—was a whisper now, a forgotten figure in the company's machine.

He rubbed his temples, trying to fight off the headache that had been growing steadily for hours. It was late, well past midnight, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The thought of heading home, to his empty apartment, filled him with an unsettling emptiness. But what choice did he have? The grind was all he knew.

A sudden chill swept through the room, making him shiver. He blinked and looked around. It was an odd sensation—nothing had changed, but something felt… off. He adjusted his chair, rubbing his arms to ward off the inexplicable cold. Elias tried to shake it off, focusing again on the screen, but the sensation wouldn't leave. The room felt thicker now, suffocating.

His phone buzzed on the desk. Elias glanced at the screen, expecting a work message, but the notification was from an unknown number. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. Curiosity nudged him forward, and he swiped open the message.

The text was a jumble of strange characters, nonsensical to him at first glance. He frowned. Was it a glitch? A spam message? But as he read the text again, something about it stirred an unsettling recognition. The characters seemed to pulse, as if the words themselves were alive.

A voice—soft at first—whispered from somewhere in the room, so faint he could barely hear it. "Time… comes… for you."

Elias's heart skipped a beat. He sat frozen, staring at the screen. The words shifted, becoming clearer. "You are marked."

Marked.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He set the phone down and looked around the room, suddenly feeling very small. The whispering wasn't coming from the phone. No, it felt like it was coming from within the walls, the very air. His fingers trembled as he stood, pacing, trying to make sense of it.

It had to be exhaustion. He hadn't slept properly in days. That was all. His mind was playing tricks on him. Yet, the growing sense of dread gnawed at him, a creeping cold that seeped into his bones. He turned, almost expecting to see someone—or something—in the shadows of his office.

Then, the symbol appeared.

It wasn't on his screen this time. It was on his wrist.

Elias gasped, stumbling backward, his heart hammering in his chest. A glowing mark burned into his skin, swirling with unnatural, cryptic symbols. He reached out instinctively to touch it, but the moment his fingers brushed the skin, a searing pain shot through him. His breath caught in his throat as the room seemed to spin. His vision blurred, and the walls around him warped, distorting.

The whispers grew louder now, more insistent. They were no longer just whispers—they were commands, and they filled his mind with strange, twisted thoughts.

"You belong to me now. You have always belonged to me."

Elias's legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. The pain in his chest intensified, suffocating him. His heart pounded in a frantic rhythm that felt unnatural, as though it were trying to escape from his chest.

The mark on his wrist glowed brighter, and Elias's hands shot to his throat, desperate to hold on to any semblance of control. But it was useless. His body betrayed him.

"It is time," the voice intoned, cold and unfeeling. The words seemed to reverberate in his skull, echoing louder and louder until his mind could no longer contain them.

He screamed, but the sound was strangled, muffled by the growing pressure in his chest. His vision darkened, the edges of his world curling into blackness. A final, crushing wave of pain overtook him.

And then, everything stopped.

For a moment, there was nothing. No pain, no voice, no presence. Just silence.

Elias's eyes fluttered open, and the world around him felt... different. The office was gone. The city lights were no longer visible through the window. He blinked, struggling to comprehend what had happened. His chest still felt tight, but the pain was gone. His limbs were heavy, like they no longer belonged to him.

The floor beneath him felt different—rougher. The air smelled of something old, something ancient.

And that was when he heard it: the low, rumbling growl of something waking. The room—or whatever this place was—wasn't empty.

Elias struggled to sit up, but his body felt sluggish, as if every movement was an effort. His hand shot to his wrist, and the mark was still there. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive, and Elias realized, with a sinking feeling, that it was not just a symbol. It was a brand. A brand that belonged to something much older, much darker.

The whispers were still there, but now they were louder—closer.

"Welcome to Eldara, Elias Paulson."