The scrolls of the Golden City tell a lie.
They say that when the Great Fracture opened, the God Eternus gave humanity Abha—the golden light of belief—to hold back the tide of the Abyss. They say the Asuras are merely monsters, mindless accidents of a broken reality.
They are wrong.
In the deepest basements of the Vinasha archives, there is a single slate of obsidian, older than the First King. It doesn't speak of light or belief. It speaks of the Balance.
"For every Light, a Shadow is cast. For every prayer of Belief, a scream of Hatred is born. And for every soul that ascends, something must remain to feed the Void."
The Asuras are not accidents. They are the debt-collectors of the universe, fueled by Grina, the raw agony of being forgotten. For ten thousand years, the war has been a stalemate. Light pushes, Darkness pulls. A rhythmic, eternal dance of slaughter.
But the prophecy of the slate ends with a terrifying warning—a third color that shouldn't exist.
The Violet Anomaly.
It is not the Light of God. It is not the Hatred of the Abyss. It is something far older. It is the Hunger that existed before the stars were spoken into being. It is the power that does not push or pull, but erases.
If a human ever awakens the Violet, the stalemate will end. The walls between the Land of Life and the Land of Death will not just crack—they will be consumed.
As the sun rises over the Deva Province, a boy named Rudra dreams of nothingness. He does not know that he carries the end of the world in his chest. He does not know that the Marakah Lords have already stopped fighting the war against humanity.
They are no longer looking for the throne.
They are looking for him.