The primary Gate… it didn't open.
No, it screamed.
I do not know how else to put it. The sky over Unused Avalon fair part separated like something had clawed through it, and it let out this sound—sharp, crude, like metal tearing and something lively crying out at the same time.
From that wound came the shadows. The cold light didn't warm anything. And the creatures. Bone, dark fire, shapes that didn't make sense, like something out of a bad dream you couldn't wake up from. They gulped cities. Entire cities are gone.
The primary days? We didn't stand a chance. Millions of people are dead. The rest of us are attempting to hold on as it can. Scarcely.
And after that, the runes came.
In case anybody tells you they were endowments, do not accept them. They weren't. They felt more like curses. Images more seasoned than anything we seem to keep in mind, burning themselves into the minds of individuals who should've been dead, but somehow or another weren't — the ones as well resolved or irate or broken to drop. They figured out how to carve those marks into steel, into dividers, into the world itself. Twist reality, battle back.
They began calling themselves Seekers. What else might they be?
That was a long time ago.
Unused Avalon's still here, by one means or another. A city fixed together out of neon lights and rune-tech, built right on the beat of the destruction. The Entryways still tear through the sky at whatever point they feel like it. The beasts still come slithering out.
But presently? We battle back.
Kids dream of the Seeker Institutes. Dream of getting that control, that rank, that armor that produces is feeling untouchable, at the slightest until the following Door opens.
Since here? Control chooses what you're worth. And the runes? They choose how much control you get.
But not everything gets instructed in those institutes. Not quite near.
Down within the places where the neon flashes out, individuals whisper. The conversation approximately the Voidborne. Around runs that do not come from any educator — runs that select you. Approximately, Entryways that aren't fair entryways for creatures.
"They're calling."
End of Chapter 0.