The newborn world of Elirion stretched beneath an endless sky—vast, fragile, and humming with the raw potential of creation. Nexis, the sanctuary at its heart, pulsed with the quiet light of free will, a beacon amid the unfolding chaos. Yet above it, carved into the very fabric of the sky, burned a sigil: a dark emblem etched by an unseen hand, glowing with an eerie iridescence. It whispered a chilling truth to all who saw it.
"This story cannot end cleanly."
Darius stood beneath the sigil, eyes narrowed, his mind pulling at the threads of its meaning. The mark was new, alien, and untouched by any magic or power he or his closest could muster. It was a warning, or perhaps a curse—a reminder that even in the face of rebirth, shadows lingered.
"It comes from a soul that refused to choose," Kaela murmured beside him, her chaotic form rippling with restrained energy. "Something older than us… something that survived the collapse."
