"I have lived for centuries in a planet named Elarion—longer than kingdoms that have risen and crumbled to dust. From my ancestors I inherited the tale of The Light—the heart of all energy, the source of creation itself. Yet from the very beginning, our universe was unstable. And with each passing age, that instability grew more terrifying.
Billions of years have passed, and the rifts—the multi-gates—spread like wounds across the cosmos. Through them came creatures stripped of their essence the instant they crossed over. My ancestors called them soulless creatures… but to us, they are known simply as The Hollow.
Worlds have fallen. Civilizations shattered. Armies rise not to conquer, but to endure. And in the last prayers of every dying world, one name is whispered still: The Light.
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"But time has never been a friend to our universe. Year by year, century after century, the fractures did not mend—they multiplied. Until billions of years had passed, and the cosmos itself became a tattered cloth, torn beyond repair.
The multi-gates spread unchecked, spewing ruin across countless worlds. Planets once thriving now lie in ashes, devoured by those creatures without souls. My ancestors called them soulless creatures... but in my generation, they are known simply as The Hollow. For to us, they are no longer mere enemies, but living voids—the purest form of nothingness.
Armies were raised not for victory, but for delay. Worlds threw their soldiers into endless battles, not to conquer, but to postpone their extinction. And the deeper this ruin grew, the louder our prayers became. Every voice, every last shred of hope, cried out to one name alone: The Light.
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"Elarion had endured countless wounds across the ages, but nothing compared to what came next. The sky shuddered, as if the heavens themselves could no longer bear the weight of existence. Then it appeared—a rift unlike any before. Not the size of a scar or a storm, but vast, spanning the sky like an open wound the size of a broken moon.
Violet light spilled across the horizon, painting the world in ghostly hues. The ground trembled as if the planet's core recoiled in fear. From that colossal fracture came a storm of whispers, shrieks, and the howling void itself. The Hollow surged through in numbers beyond counting—an endless tide of emptiness given form.
Cities fell in moments. Armies scattered like dust in the wind. The towers of light that once held back the darkness crumbled one by one, until Elarion itself seemed ready to be swallowed whole. It was then—when despair reached its loudest cry, when every living soul screamed not to the stars but to the Light itself—that the heavens answered.
And from the abyss of ruin… something descended."
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