The air around the Verdant Verge trembled with an unholy feel to it.
A dull red shimmer pulsed from deep within the trees, beating like a heart. It wasn't light — it was essence, raw and tainted, flooding outward from a single point.
At the center of it all stood General Ivaan.
Blood streaked across the runes he had carved, drying in dark, uneven lines across the sealed gate's stone surface.
The corpses of dozens of mana beasts surrounded him, their essence cores torn from their chests, scattered across the grass like jewels spilled from a broken crown.
He moved methodically, each breath a chant, each motion deliberate. His eyes were sharp but feverish, glinting with a hunger that didn't belong to him anymore.
Old one beneath the seal…
By the blood of the strong and the call of the keeper…
Awaken, for the gate remembers its name.
