Part 1: The Echoes of Silence
The ruins of Eldrithar stood in haunting silence, its streets devoid of life. Once a thriving kingdom of scholars and warriors, it had become a graveyard without corpses. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, as if even the wind feared to disturb the remnants of what had been.
At the heart of the abandoned capital, the great citadel loomed, its walls darkened by an unseen force. General Vareth of Kynthorath rode cautiously through the desolate streets, his troops following in disciplined formation. The weight of dread pressed upon them with each step. There were no bodies, no signs of struggle—only the empty shells of buildings that should have been bustling with life.
Vareth dismounted, his sharp gaze scanning the eerie surroundings. He approached the central courtyard, where the sigil of Eldrithar once stood proudly. Now, only deep scars marred the stone, as if something had carved through it with inhuman precision.
A scout stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "My lord, we found no survivors. No traces of battle. Only this."
He held out a fragment of darkened stone, its surface pulsating with an ominous glow. Vareth took it, feeling an unnatural chill seep into his bones. He knew, without a doubt, that this was not the work of any army.
"The veil has been torn," Vareth murmured. "Something has come through."
Part 2: The Paranoia of Kings
News of Eldrithar's fall spread across the seven nations, and with it, fear took root. The alliance forged in the face of the unknown now wavered, as paranoia crept into the minds of the rulers.
In the halls of Valkarath, Queen Seraphis stood before her war council, her expression hardened with resolve. "We must act before this darkness reaches our gates."
Lord Ithrael nodded. "The disappearance of an entire kingdom cannot be ignored. Yet the others hesitate, suspecting treachery instead of truth."
Seraphis turned to her gathered commanders. "Then we act alone if we must. Send our scouts south. We will find answers, with or without them."
Across the lands, the remaining rulers debated their next moves. Some fortified their borders, fearing an unseen enemy; others prepared their armies, suspecting that Eldrithar's fate was the work of rival nations. Trust was a fragile thing, and as old grudges resurfaced, the unity of the seven kingdoms unraveled.
But in the shadows, something watched. And waited.
Part 3: The Stirring Abyss
Beneath the shattered ruins of Eldrithar, the earth trembled. Deep within the forgotten depths, where ancient seals had held firm for centuries, cracks now spread like veins through stone. The sigils meant to imprison the nameless entity pulsed erratically, their power waning with each passing moment.
A whisper, like the rustling of dead leaves, echoed through the caverns. It carried no words, only the weight of a presence long denied.
Then, from the darkness, a single step.
The veil had been broken. And the abyss had begun to stir.
Part 4: The Unseen War
In the halls of Zaromir, the High Oracle stood before her darkened mirror, the obsidian surface reflecting not her own image, but the void itself.
"It has begun," she whispered. "The war we feared is not the war we must fight."
Her attendants watched in uneasy silence as she traced a sigil in the air. The reflection in the mirror twisted, revealing visions of shadowed forms moving beneath the earth, of stars flickering as something vast and unseen crept into the world of the living.
"The kings will fight their wars," she murmured, "but they do not know they are already losing."
From the edges of the known world, the first true horrors began to emerge. Cities trembled, the land itself shifting beneath an invisible force. The nations, blind in their struggle for power, had yet to realize—
The true enemy had already arrived.