The first sign was the wind. A bitter, false wind. One so violent that it howled through the Velarion valleys, stirring the dead leaves all around, and carrying the scent of death. The beasts of the forest split in every direction, and the water of the rivers flowed inconsistently against their currents. High above, the sky bruised down to a dark violet, and the clouds began churning, like a living creature.
In the faraway mountains of Serathor, the ancient temples cracked, and statues of the long-forgotten gods cast blood. The old seers dropped dead, mid-vision, their eyes exploding from their skulls and their tongues stammering one name long ago forbidden.
"Khael."
On the night of his twenty-first birth cycle, Khael Draven stood on the balcony of the Draven estate. A deep excitement in his chest, he gazed across the unnaturally crimson-dotted sky. Lanterns illuminated every post, swaying gently in the wind.
The air should have held the scents of roasted meat and wine, but an unsettling metallic odor shrouded it.
Below, the courtyard was filled with people he called family. His adoptive father, Lord Seron Draven, was at the ceremonial pyre. His sworn brothers were laughing, raising cups. And among them was Eira Valen; the only woman he could not bear to be without, not even for a moment.
But something felt wrong tonight.
A writhing anxiety crept underneath his skin. He had managed to catch Varun, his most trusted brother, basically enjoy the moment, and, as soon as he saw Khael, look away out of nervousness. Khael had never seen Varun afraid before.
Khael's hand instinctively found the amulet hanging from his neck, a gift from the mother he never knew. It warmed his chest, glowing.
And then the sky ruptured.
A single tremendous boom of thunder shook the heavens apart. The clouds parted to reveal an enormous silhouette inside the clouds, a horned figure clasped in voidfire looking down upon the mortal realm.
A voice came afterward, not seen but felt in bone and blood.
"Find him. End him. Before I wake."
And then all hell broke loose. Blades gleamed. Smiles turned to sneers.
Varun was first. His sword, a gift from Khael, plunged into Khael's flank. Pain blossomed, searing and sharp.
"I'm sorry," Varun choked on words, the tears in his eyes illuminating the darkness of his heart, "We had no choice."
Another blade from behind him. A dagger to his ribs.
He turned, only to see Eira.
Tears poured down her face. In her shaking hands, a slim dagger glinted in the low light.
"Eira," he whispered, disbelief and betrayal coiling into a single impossible ache.
"I still love you," she wept. "But you. You're cursed, Khael. You're going to ruin everything."
Then she pushed the dagger through his heart.
The world dropped away beneath him.
He should have died.
But instead, the Earth broke open under him, and he was lost amid the blackness.
The Abyss of Nightmares.
It was not death; it was worse.
A void without end and without light, where voices of senile kings and gods long forgotten teased at the edges of his mind. Shadows of failed ascendants danced around him, the cacophony of their screams added to a symphony of madness.
Time lost all meaning. Each heartbeat felt like an eternity. Each heartbeat screamed like a century.
His soul shattered and broke, healed and rebuilt like countless times before.
A voice, ancient and cruel, spoke to him in the dark.
"You belong to me, child of the void."
Visions came quickly. Cities burned. Realms collapsed. Eira is older than sitting on a throne of blood. Varun propped up, on a pike like a hedgehog.
And his visage, with unfathomable darkness pooling behind his eyes. A crown of shadows on his brow.
The worst part was that he couldn't remember how long he'd screamed.
And then… a light.
A pulse deep within his chest. The amulet.
System Initialization… Primordial Evolution Protocol: Engaged.
An impossible rush of power. The abyss recoiled.
Time Elapsed: 1,000 Years (Abyssal Time)
Real Time Equivalent: 1 Day
His eyes snapped open.
He fitted once again under a sky painted in blood. The Draven estate was a ruin. Bodies filled the land.
And in the distance, Eira's throne waited.
"You should have killed me better."
The void in him boiled, and the nightmare had only just begun.