The world was breaking.
Shards of the Rift—realities that had never meant to touch—folded in on themselves like collapsing glass. The sky bled white and black, where stars and void merged into a single screaming light. The air pulsed with divine wrath, and through it all, two figures clung to each other amidst chaos: Lyria and Kael.
When the Rift shattered, it did not simply fall apart—it remembered what it once was. A prison. A throne. A battlefield of forgotten gods.
Now, those gods were waking.
Kael's body was trembling, half-shadow, half-man, his soul flickering between forms as the ancient chains still bound him. The severed links hovered around them, burning like fragments of fallen suns. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, yet every word carried the gravity of storms.
"They've felt it," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where titanic silhouettes began to move within the light. "You broke the first seal, Lyria. They won't let us leave now."
