PROLOGUE
THE WAKING GOD
There was only one left.
The drive to reach the last soul finally gave them long-desired strength.
For centuries, they lacked the power to escape the chains that had restrained them.
Magical seals frayed, strand by strand, as centuries—and deaths—passed.
Each year, screams and begging calls reminded them of their impotence.
Groans from the mountain above fractured the earth along with the spell that kept them isolated.
The sounds echoed broken promises and betrayal once heard in this room.
The stone tomb—saturated with magic, fear, and deceit—shook with tremors.
They needed to wake, to see the sun, to feel warmth, and to be alive again.
Stirring slightly, their limbs moved stiffly as if wading through thick water. But then…
Their sharp intake of breath broke the silence. The sound was painful to hear: sharp and raw. It matched the overwhelming pain rushing through their body as frozen joints loosened and atrophied muscles moved.
Their eyes snapped open. A scream caught in their throat as the rock above groaned louder, dust shifting and falling in the tomb. Light peeked through fractured earth from above—blinding, promising escape.
Moving slowly, they rose on shaky limbs. Their body felt strange; too tight. Memories—faces, screams, fire, magic, death—flooded in, then vanished again.
With a roar, they broke through the last of the chains. Their pain and anger reverberated as the stone collapsed above, but with a thought, they pushed it back. Shards clinked and whistled around them. Blinding, warm light struck.
They strode from prison, steady-footed, as the mountain summit split and their power flared—unsteady and violent.
Blinking dust and light away, they looked over their domain.
Skeletal, twisted trees reached toward a bruised, swirling sky that reflected their inner turmoil.
The wind moved through ancient cairns and arches—stone worn by time and suffering.
Below, mist obscured the rocky terrain, veiling death and broken earth.
They inhaled deeply, steadying themselves, before they faced the descending sun. Purpose settled inside them. It was time. Not for mercy or justice.
Now, there was only one left.