**Prologue: The Blood-Storm Prophecy**
The world was born in the belly of beasts.
Before kings, before cities, before the first fire caught in mortal hands—there were the Tenfold Sovereigns.
They were not gods.
They were *hunger* given form.
Veyra, who peeled back the sky with her talons. Goruth, whose footsteps birthed labyrinths in the earth. Atherion, who swallowed seconds like wine. Their names were carved into the bones of the land long before tongues could shape them.
And on the day two Sovereigns fell, the world learned a terrible truth:
Even death could be weaponized.
---
The Duel of Ruin
Lightning birthed itself in endless spirals as Vaeltrix, the Storm Sovereign, locked jaws with its nameless rival. Continents cracked beneath them. The air curdled with the stench of burning blood.
Eryndor Veyl—then a mere 8-Ring warlord—watched from the corpse of a fallen mountain as the titans tore each other apart.
He saw Vaeltrix die first.
The Storm Sovereign's heart tore free mid-roar, crystallizing into a perfect circle of screaming wind. The *Ring of Storms* shot toward Eryndor like a starving thing, fusing to his flesh before he could blink.
Then came the second death.
The forgotten Sovereign collapsed inward, its body dissolving into a crimson flood that swallowed valleys whole. A village vanished beneath the tide—save for two children clinging to a shattered altar.
A girl of six, her hair matted with otherworldly gore.
A boy of eight, his fingers locked around her wrist.