In the dark beyond the ancient Dimension, where the naked strings of existence ran undressed of matter and law, a gathering stood upon nothing at all.
Jarl Erling was among them, and he was not the largest!
The titanic bronze Descendant with the bone-braided beard and the crimson fissures running molten through his body stood shoulder to shoulder with others of his kind, and there were several, and every one of them wore the same sentence written into their blood. Cursed Descendants of Those Who Remain.
Lords of continental thrones and lone floating mountains, keepers of harnessed Steeds and generations of failed experiments, each of them dying on a schedule no one had ever managed to argue with.
Every single one of them had shining eyes.
