The skies over Emberfall had not seen sunlight in thirteen years.
Dark clouds coiled like serpents across the heavens, and crimson lightning cracked the air as if the gods themselves were at war. Beneath this ever-storm, the ancient kingdom lay in ruin—its towers hollow, its forests twisted, and its people cursed to forget what peace felt like.
But in the deepest caverns of Mount Velkarin, something stirred.
A blade, long buried in obsidian and sealed with seven sigils, pulsed once.
Then again.
And again.