The Abyss stirred.
For centuries it had been silent, a pit where the gods had thrown their enemies to rot in endless darkness. The Titans were forgotten — their names struck from history, their thrones turned to dust. But silence is never eternal.
Tonight, the chains groaned.
The city of Ardamon, built on glass towers and steel veins, knew nothing of the ancient war. Its people hurried through neon-lit streets, their eyes glued to glowing screens, their hearts deaf to the whispers of the old world. They laughed, they cursed, they bargained — unaware that beneath their feet, the oldest prisoner in creation was waking.
A sound rumbled through the earth, low and endless, like the growl of a buried giant. Windows trembled. Rats fled the gutters. The moon itself seemed to flinch as cracks of crimson light spread across the sky.
And then, deep below, an eye opened.
It was no mortal eye, but a furnace of molten gold and ash, wide as a shield, burning with the hunger of a star.
> "Mortals…" the voice whispered, thick with scorn. "They still walk this earth. They still breathe air that belongs to me."
The Abyss roared back at him, a chorus of ancient screams. His body, chained in iron thicker than city walls, flexed against the prison that had held him since the Betrayal. The air burned. The rock cracked.
One chain snapped. The sound echoed like thunder across the underworld.
Another broke, spilling fire into the dark.
The mortals above clutched their ears, confused by the trembling earth. Lights flickered. Power grids collapsed. Somewhere, a child screamed, pointing at the crimson crack slicing across the heavens.
In the depths, the final lock shattered.
From the pit rose a figure forged in shadow and flame. Obsidian skin veined with molten fire. A crown of ash burning above his head. His breath was smoke, his gaze a storm.
He looked upon the world of men — fragile, arrogant, blind.
And he remembered.
The rebellion. The betrayal. The day mortals had risen with stolen magic and bound him in chains. He remembered their fear. He remembered their screams.
Now, he would make them remember again.
The titan raised his hand, and the cavern walls wept fire. His voice, deeper than earthquakes, carried into the night above:
> "Kneel… or burn."
And thus began the Age of Rasan.
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