The sky burned.
A crimson sun hung low above a world of ruin, casting a baleful glow over a wasteland that stretched beyond sight. The ground below was a scarred, broken sea of cooled magma and jagged ridges, each fissure bleeding faint rivers of molten rock.
Towers of obsidian and bone jutted upward like the fingers of a dead god, exhaling slow columns of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Across the desolate plains stood forests of twisted, ancient trees—bark like sinew, leaves like blades, and roots that pulsed faintly as though alive with shadow.
The entire realm seethed with decay and torment, a place where even light had turned cruel.
High among the branches, demonic silhouettes crouched in silence. Their bodies were monstrous—horned, winged, and bristling with claws sharp enough to tear apart bears—yet even these predators watched in fear as something greater stirred below.
