The wind howled like a dying beast across the barren wastes of the hidden continent. Sandstorm clouds twisted and spun in the air, clawing at flesh, whispering forgotten names into the ears of the lost. The very land felt cursed—colorless, forsaken, unreachable by the rest of the world. Here, time itself moved differently. What felt like hours might've been days. What was once alive now turned to dust.
The storm beat mercilessly against a formation of jagged rocks that extended from the sand like broken fangs. Beneath their shadow stood a group—robed, silent, unmoving. A dozen figures cloaked in weathered crimson and black, their faces hidden beneath ornate masks etched with ancient sigils. The cloth clung to their bodies, flapping in the wind like tattered banners of war.
Before them stood a towering cave mouth carved into the face of a sandstone cliff. It wasn't natural, its circular entrance bore symbols of old, half-eroded by time but still pulsing faintly with a cold, light hue. The air near the cave shimmered unnaturally, like something ancient stirred just beyond the entrance.
A single man stepped forward.
He was small in stature, thin, almost fragile at first glance. His black robe was lined with silver thread, and he carried no weapon. Like the others, he wore a mask, larger than his face hiding any emotions completely. Beneath the mask hid determined eyes. His hair was covered by the hood. His presence demanded silence. Every cultist's breath seemed to still as he raised one hand, gloved in serpent-scale leather.
"Shambala," he said, his voice cutting through the storm like the edge of a blade. "The frost giant. It was spotted 2 days ago."
Whispers broke the silence. The name alone held weight—an ancient terror spoken of in the forbidden scrolls provided by their cult. Even among cultists who had faced unspeakable horrors, Shambala was a name uttered only when it was time.
"So the sighting in the Northern Ranges…" one cultist dared to ask, his voice muffled by the mask.
The leader turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"That was no mere beast. No ordinary spawn of chaos. That was one of the Titans."
The cult fell to despair.
The Titans, gigantic entities, guardians of the original Seals. Creatures not born of this world, but dragged here during the Collapse.
The leader stepped closer to the cave entrance, laying a hand gently on the stone. It pulsed softly beneath his palm. A rune flickered to life and vanished again.
"Our brothers and sisters have laid low for years. Watching. Listening. Preparing. Now, the balance begins to tilt. The giant has moved. And once the seals will be ours to take."
He paused, letting the words sink into the stormy silence.
"…Zaeim Al-Khawn may return."
The cultists knelt. Even amidst the raging winds and cutting sand, they bowed in reverence.
"But not yet," he said. "It is not time to strike. The world still slumbers in ignorance. The Academy watches with keen eyes. The Hunters gather like insects around fire. We will not draw their gaze."
He turned fully to face them now, his robe swirling behind him like a shadow.
"Spread the word to the branches. From the Obsidian Temples of the east to the Fallen Towers of the south. We act only in silence. It is time to collect the Seals."
A woman rose from among the kneeling cultists. Her mask was shaped like a crow, her voice sharp.
"What will be our approach? We still don't have any clue about the other seals. If we start to act separately, how will we exchange information?"
"Start as a hunter," the leader said softly. "Join a party. We won't draw any attention. We will scatter as hunters throughout the regions. Scout the possible locations. Manipulate your teammates to hunt down the Titans. It's time to be bold."
He turned back to the cave.
"For now… we will unearth the secrets."
The leader, a mage of the old ways, raised both hands and began chanting the words buried in the forbidden scroll. His voice grew layered—first sharp, then guttural, until it no longer sounded human. The very air grew heavier. The sand near the base of the cliff scattered away as if repelled by an unseen force. A low hum built up in the stone itself, and the sigils on the cave wall began to glow—crimson and indigo—burning through centuries of dust.
As the chant reached its crescendo, the cliffside shimmered and shifted. What once looked like solid rock split down the center with a hiss of arcane vapor, revealing a wide, arched entrance lined with jagged, rune-covered pillars. The inscriptions on the walls pulsed faintly now, as if awakened. This wasn't just a cave—it was a sealed archive, which humanity had no idea about.
The mage lowered his arms, the glow in his eyes fading back to silver.
"The inscriptions are old," he said, his voice raspier now. "Too old. These are pre-collapse. Before any of these started."
The cultists leaned closer to the walls, reading the sigils in reverent silence.
"There were more Seals," the leader murmured. "Most of them are not even in the scrolls. But we must find at least six. And this… this cave will speak."
He turned back to the group once more.
"It's time. Stop lollygagging and let's get to do some real work. Ignite the fire."
A tall man with a hyena mask stepped forward, carrying a small urn wrapped in black chains. With a click of his fingers, the chains unraveled. He poured a thick, oil-like substance into a brazier at the entrance. With one word " Asheal Alnaar"—the brazier ignited into a cobalt flame that defied the storm's winds.
The light slithered across the stone like a living thing. Glyphs along the cave's entrance lit up in succession, forming a path that wound deep into the earth.
"Prepare the scrolls," the leader said. "We will document everything. No one outside this circle will know what lies beneath."
"And if someone comes?" asked the crow-masked woman.
The mage looked toward the dunes beyond the rock, where lightning cracked in the distance.
"They won't. Not yet. But if they do… let the sands bury them."
He stepped inside, vanishing into the violet-lit corridor. One by one, the others followed. Their shadows stretched long across the cliff face, distorted and twisted—like something else was walking just behind them. When the last cultist entered, the cave's entrance sealed shut with a rumble, blending perfectly into the cliffside once more.
Outside, the storm screamed on. But beneath the surface, secrets began to stir—whispers of the world before.
Soon the age of men… would end.