The Necropolis of the Gods.
After Yval's departure, the once-isolated and quiet cave no longer felt dead. The colossal remains of fallen Titans lay half-buried in ashen sand and petrified starlight, their names erased by silence. Broken halos formed rings around empty skulls the size of mountains. Divine ichor had long since crystallised into rivers of amber light, frozen mid-flow, as if the universe itself had chosen to avert its gaze.
But the Herald shattered that stillness.
The ground began to pulse like a buried heart. Cracks raced through the godstone plains, not with decay, but with returning will. From within the titanic cadavers, ancient runes reignited—brands carved by forgotten laws, glowing with a dull, primaeval fury.
The air thickened, heavy with gravity and pressure, as if the weight of epochs had suddenly remembered how to exist. Colossal ribs twitched. Fingers the size of citadels flexed, grinding continents of dust into storms.
