The sky above the fractured realms bled stars—thousands of worlds drifting like shards in an endless sea of void.
Among them, the Realm of Embers flickered, a dying ember itself.
In the heart of the realm, atop a throne carved from obsidian and molten light, sat the God of Flame, his form flickering between solid and ash. His breath came ragged, each exhale scorching the air.
Around him, shadows stirred. They whispered—doomed gods and silent watchers who had long since lost their place in the eternal dance.
The God of Flame clenched his fist, a last spark of defiance blazing in his eyes.
"The Cycle… is broken."
With a roar that shattered mountains and silenced stars, he thrust his right hand into his chest. A single, blazing seed erupted—a fragment of his dying divinity, a shard of power no mortal should ever possess.
The seed flew from his grasp, a comet of raw fire streaking through the void—falling, falling toward the infinite realms below.
Far beneath, in a forgotten village wrapped in mist and shadow, a young man stirred in his sleep, unaware that his destiny had just been rewritten.
The gods were dying. The Age of Ascension was coming.