Prologue

The battlefield stretched endlessly in every direction, a shattered wasteland of blood and steel. Twisted banners fluttered weakly in the hot, acrid wind, their once-proud sigils now unrecognizable beneath layers of grime and gore. The moans of the dying had long since faded, leaving only an oppressive silence, broken by the faint crackle of distant flames devouring the remnants of war machines. Daniel staggered forward, each step a battle against the weight of exhaustion and despair. His armor—torn and blackened—clung to his body like a second skin, its jagged edges biting into his flesh. Blood, both his own and others’, dripped steadily from his fingertips, pooling on the cracked earth beneath him. His breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale tainted by the stench of death and smoke. A gaping wound marred his side, a cruel tear that oozed dark, sticky blood with every agonizing step. The edges of the hole were ragged, the result of a blade or claw he could no longer remember. Each pulse of pain sent a sickening wave of weakness through his body, and he knew—without question—that he didn’t have long. His vision swam, darkening at the edges, but he pressed on, driven by nothing more than the instinct to keep moving, even if every breath brought him closer to his last. He didn’t know why he was still alive. By all rights, he should have been among the countless corpses that littered the ground. Soldiers, mages, monsters—none had been spared in the massacre. And yet, here he stood, a solitary figure in a sea of the dead, clutching a broken dagger that seemed as fragile as his will to keep moving. Then, the air changed. It was subtle at first, a faint vibration beneath his feet, like the rumble of distant thunder. But it grew steadily, swelling into a hum that resonated in his chest and set his teeth on edge. The sky, already unnaturally dim, darkened further as the horizon rippled, the very fabric of reality bending and twisting as though recoiling from an unseen force. Daniel froze. Instinctively, he turned toward the disturbance, his body screaming at him to run, though he knew there was nowhere to go. A single point of darkness appeared in the distance, warping the murky air around it like the icon of confusion was manifesting itself in reality. It expanded rapidly, the ripples of power eliciting a level of disorientation in Daniel he’d never felt before, until the darkness collapsed in on itself with an eerie silence. When Daniel’s senses returned, it was there. A figure, vast and terrible, stood at the center of the battlefield. Its form defied comprehension, shifting and fracturing as though it existed in multiple realities at once. Eyes—or perhaps something worse—peered from within its unfathomable shape, each gaze an unrelenting weight that bore down on Daniel’s soul. The ground beneath it writhed and cracked, unable to bear its presence. The very air seemed to recoil, bending away from the impossibility of its existence. Daniel had heard whispers of such beings, ancient and infinite, bound by laws that mortal minds could not begin to grasp. They were said to watch from beyond the veil of causality, their interference forbidden by the very rules that governed existence. And yet, one stood before him now, a paradox incarnate, its presence unraveling the fragile threads of reality around it. The Elder moved—or perhaps it simply was—and suddenly it loomed over Daniel, its countless eyes locking onto him. He fell to his knees, the weight of its gaze pressing him into the blood-soaked ground. His broken dagger slipped from his hand, forgotten. He wanted to scream, to beg, to run, but his body refused to obey. He was a speck before an ocean, a fleeting shadow before the eternal. The Elder spoke, though it had no voice. Its words were not heard but felt, reverberating through the very essence of Daniel’s being, but they were not meant for him. “YOU HAVE LOST,” it said, though its countless eyes bore into Daniel. He flinched at the weight of its words, but they were not his to bear. The battlefield blurred around him, the heat and the blood and the ruin fading into a backdrop, as though reality itself was a distant dream. Daniel staggered, clutching his side, his breaths shallow. The pain was distant now, eclipsed by the cold, cruel presence of the Elder, its attention fixed through him onto something unseen. "HOW FAR YOU HAVE FALLEN," it hissed, its mockery dripping like venom. "TO RESORT TO THIS... PITIFUL TOOL. IS THIS YOUR CHAMPION?" Daniel did not understand, but a deep shame prickled at the edges of his mind. The Elder wasn’t speaking to him. Its voice clawed its way through him, directed at something far beyond his comprehension. He felt hollow, a vessel caught in a conversation he could not fully grasp. "THIS WORLD BURNS BECAUSE YOU COULD NOT HOLD IT TOGETHER," the Elder continued, its form fracturing with disdain. "AND NOW YOU SEND HIM, A FRACTURED BEING TO FIGHT WHAT YOU CANNOT. PATHETIC." Pain surged through Daniel as the Elder extended a limb—if it could be called that—toward him. Cold and ancient, it burrowed into his chest, latching onto something unseen within him. He gasped as his existence unraveled in a torrent of fire and ice, the Elder pulling at the threads of his soul. And then, it stopped. The Elder recoiled, its form flickering and twisting. A faint hum surrounded Daniel, a resonance that did not belong to this shattered place. The Elder's countless eyes narrowed—or expanded, impossibly—as though peering at something far beyond Daniel. It tilted its incomprehensible head. "STILL INTERVENING? HOW TIRING THIS MUST BE FOR YOU." The words hung in the air like lead. The Elder withdrew, collapsing into itself with a cascade of light and shadow. For a brief, surreal moment, there was silence, and then it spoke one final time, its voice mocking and cruel: "YOU SHOULD NOT EXIST." With that, it was gone. The battlefield was quiet once more, but Daniel was left trembling. His body ached, his mind burned, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching the broken blade as though it could anchor him to what was real. He felt the emptiness in the air where the Elder had been, but the weight of its words lingered like a sickness. Then, she came. The world softened, though Daniel could barely lift his head. A warmth spread across the desolation, gentle and patient, wrapping around him like a tender embrace. She did not speak immediately, but when she did, her voice was gentle, though heavy with sorrow. “You have earned much favor, Daniel,” she said, her presence both overwhelming and soothing. “For what you’ve endured, for what you’ve done here today. Despite the words of that... abomination, you have not failed.” Daniel's breath hitched, but he couldn’t summon the strength to respond. Her form was indistinct, radiant and shifting, but she knelt before him, her hand—or something like it—reaching toward him. “There is not much I can do for you now,” she continued, her tone tinged with regret. “The cost of undoing what has been done is too great. But you have earned the right to choose, Daniel. Tell me—what do you want?” His throat tightened. What did he want? To live? To rest? The weight of the Elder’s words still pressed on him, but they were not what haunted him most. His choices, the pain he had caused, the lives lost under his command—they tore at him more deeply than any wound. His voice was weak when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I wish... I didn’t regret so much.” The silence that followed was profound, as though the world itself held its breath. Her gaze—or whatever it was that passed for her attention—seemed to pierce him. “I can’t take that from you,” she said softly. “Regret shapes us in ways that cannot be undone. But...” She hesitated, as though weighing the very fabric of reality. “There is a way. It will be no gift. To change what lies ahead will mean suffering, hardship greater than anything you have endured. You will lose what little peace you have found and carry burdens heavier than you can imagine.” Daniel closed his eyes, trembling. Her words were not a warning—they were a truth. He could feel it in the depth of her voice, in the ache of his battered soul. And yet, when he opened his eyes, he spoke without hesitation. “I’ll do it.” The faintest smile touched her form, bittersweet and fleeting. “Then so be it.” Light consumed him, washing away the battlefield, the pain, the broken world. As it enveloped him, Daniel felt something shift deep within his core—a thread pulled taut, a resonance awakened. And then, there was nothing.