Part 1: Shadows in the Ruins
The ruins of Eldrithar, once a thriving kingdom, now stood as a desolate monument to something far beyond mortal understanding. Crumbling spires jutted toward the storm-ridden sky, and the air itself crackled with an eerie energy that set even the bravest warriors on edge.
At the border of the fallen kingdom, a detachment of scouts from the Druunval Kingdom approached cautiously. Their leader, Captain Ervath, signaled his men to halt.
"Something's wrong," he muttered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "There should be remains—bodies, broken weapons, signs of battle. But there's nothing."
One of the younger scouts, barely past his twentieth year, swallowed hard. "Do you hear that, Captain?"
Silence.
Not the silence of an empty battlefield, but a deeper, unnatural void, as if sound itself had been consumed by the ruins.
Then, a whisper.
It did not come from one direction, nor did it carry on the wind. It was within them, threading through their minds like tendrils of shadow. A voice that spoke in a language they did not know, yet understood.
Ervath barely had time to react before the darkness moved.
Part 2: The Gathering Storm
In the Thaldris Empire, King Vorghan stood before his war council. The hall was tense, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and iron. Reports from the scouts had arrived, detailing the fall of Eldrithar and the horrors emerging from its ruins.
"This is not an enemy we can conquer with swords alone," spoke General Karthos, a veteran of countless battles. "The dead rise, my lord. Our soldiers do not fight an army of men, but something far worse."
King Vorghan narrowed his gaze. "And yet, we cannot flee. If we abandon the continent to this force, there will be no land left to rule."
Across the room, Queen Seraphis of Valkarath stepped forward. The alliance between their nations was tenuous, born of necessity rather than trust.
"We must set aside our ambitions, at least for now," she said. "If we fight amongst ourselves, we only hasten our doom."
A heavy silence fell upon the chamber. It was not an easy thing to admit—that war was no longer between kings, but between existence and oblivion.
Part 3: The Void Beckons
In the forsaken ruins of Eldrithar, a presence awakened fully. It had slumbered beyond time, waiting for the moment when the greed and bloodshed of mortals would open the gateway.
The being, neither god nor demon, stood at the heart of the shattered capital. It was humanoid in form, yet its edges wavered like a mirage. A void in the shape of a man.
It raised a single hand, and the ground trembled.
Across the continent, every warlord, king, and soldier felt the pulse of something awakening—something that did not belong in their world. A force not bound by mortal will.
And it had set its gaze upon them.
Part 4: The First Convergence
In the Zaromir Sovereignty, the Oracle gathered the last of the seers. Their once-mighty order had dwindled, their visions clouded by the approaching doom. But now, as the void beckoned, their purpose had never been clearer.
"The war of kings is over," the Oracle declared. "Now begins the war of gods and the forsaken."
Acolytes trembled at her words. The rulers of the continent had yet to understand the depth of what was coming.
"Summon the envoys of every nation. If they do not listen, they will perish."
For the first time in centuries, the demons of the continent faced a threat greater than their rivalries. A war not for power, but for survival.
And the abyss was watching.