Centuries swept by like dead leaves in a storm.
Stone gave way to steel, and steel to circuits humming with invisible fire.
The world changed. Cities reached into the clouds. Skies were mapped by machines. The pulse of progress beat louder than ever.
But the darkness waited.
And now, it had begun to wake.
In the new world, people worshipped growth. They glorified speed. Power became currency. Greed, the new god.
And the darkness—ancient, patient—crept in.
It slithered through the cracks in ambition. Nestled itself inside envy. In the towers of influence, hands shook over deals laced with shadow.
Eyes glowed faintly red—though no one dared look long enough to see.
But a few still remembered.
The last bloodlines of the old protectors—those sworn to guard the balance—fought in silence. But their numbers dwindled. Their voices, drowned beneath noise.
And then the war began.
Not a war of nations.
A war of essence.
The darkness surged, fed by the hunger of men. Shadows rose. Cities fell.
But the light—the last sparks of hope, courage, sacrifice—fought back.
They pushed the shadows, inch by inch. But every battle cost them.
For every inch gained, a soul was lost.
The war dragged on. Years blurred. Innocents perished. Legends died unnamed.
Despair bloomed like poison.
Then, in the stillness between battles, a voice echoed—not in the sky, but from deep within the roots of the earth.
Ancient. Endless. Elemental.
She will be born—
Radiant soul, unbroken spirit.
She will wake him—
The Cursed One.
And with him, the tide shall turn.
But beware…
The darkness fears him not.
It seeks him.
And the voice vanished, like mist swallowed by wind.
But those who heard it... remembered.
Somewhere, she would be born.
And deep in forgotten stone, he slept.
Waiting.
Will he be salvation...
or the world's end?