Forgotten king

Shadows of the Past

The world of Eidryn had been born anew.

The land, once rich with the towering cities of gods and mortals alike, now lay in fragments, the shards of existence scattered like the pieces of a broken mirror. Beneath the relentless pull of the Rift, ancient lands had crumbled, while new lands rose from the void, shaped by forces beyond comprehension. The skies had darkened to an ominous hue, and a constant hum of energy lingered in the air, a reminder of the monumental shift in the balance of power.

As the dust settled from the destruction of the gods, the Ashen King stood at the epicenter of this transformed world. His silhouette was a stark contrast against the burning horizon, the radiance of his power casting long, twisted shadows over the landscape. His presence resonated with an unnatural force, as if reality itself bent around him.

Beside him stood the Voidborn, those beings of shadow and chaos that had once been bound to the Rift. Now, they were his companions, his army, their forms constantly shifting like smoke, their eyes glowing with the unholy light of the Rift. They were his creation, his servants, and they embodied the power of the Abyssal Curses, an unstoppable force that had long been dormant but was now awakening in full force.

The world was his to shape.

"The world will never be the same," the Ashen King whispered to himself, his voice a low, resonating murmur that seemed to echo within the very fabric of the universe. "The gods believed they were eternal. That their reign was absolute. They were blind to the truth."

He raised a hand, and the Rift trembled in response. The air crackled with energy as the very landscape before him began to warp. The world responded to his will, shifting and reshaping, like clay in the hands of a god. Where once there had been forests and cities, now there were dark plains, void-touched and ever-changing, where time moved in fractured ways. In the distance, twisted spires rose from the earth, black and jagged, like the bones of the gods themselves.

"I will remake everything," the Ashen King muttered, his eyes narrowing as he gazed upon the world. "This is not the end, but the beginning. The beginning of the true world. A world where the Rift is the only truth."

---

The Forgotten Ones

As the Ashen King surveyed the land, his thoughts turned inward, back to the origins of the Rift—the force that had birthed his existence. It was a power unlike any other, a force that had once been hidden, buried beneath the layers of reality, until he had uncovered its potential.

But there was something more. Something he had yet to fully comprehend.

"The Forgotten Ones..." he whispered, his mind turning to the cryptic whispers that had haunted him since his emergence from the Rift. He had been guided, in his dreams and his waking moments, by an ancient presence, a force that spoke of beings far older than the gods, entities who had once ruled the realms before the Rift had been sealed.

The Forgotten Ones were real. Their power was beyond even the gods. And now, they were stirring.

"It is time," the Ashen King said, his voice tinged with anticipation. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, stretching it across the fractured planes of existence.

In the deepest corners of the new world, in the forgotten ruins of ancient realms, shadows began to stir. The Forgotten Ones were awakening, drawn to the Rift's pulse, and to the power of the Ashen King himself. These beings were older than the gods, older than the world itself. They were the architects of the Abyss, the original creators of the Rift, and they had been sealed away in the deepest corners of existence, their true power locked behind the fabric of reality.

But now, they were free.

---

The Hollow Vale

Beneath the shifting surface of the world, in a place untouched by time, the Hollow Vale lay in waiting. It was a place of darkness, a realm that existed between worlds, a limbo of sorts where the forgotten forces of creation and destruction had once roamed freely.

It was here that the Forgotten Ones had been imprisoned, and it was here that they would return.

The Ashen King's connection to the Hollow Vale was undeniable. He could feel its pull, its presence, like a distant memory of something long lost. As he called upon the Void, the very fabric of reality seemed to tear apart, and the Hollow Vale began to manifest once again.

A massive rift tore open in the ground, sending waves of energy rippling across the land. The Voidborn stood at attention, their forms crackling with dark energy, as the Hollow Vale's influence spread outward. The land shifted once more, this time in a more profound way, as the ground itself seemed to break apart and reconstruct.

From the rift, figures began to emerge—dark silhouettes, their shapes obscured by shadows, their eyes burning with ancient light. These were the Forgotten Ones, beings of unimaginable power and horror, who had once ruled over the Abyss. They were neither god nor mortal, neither living nor dead, existing in a state between all things.

Their forms were not solid, not completely tangible—each movement was fluid, as though they existed in a different plane of existence entirely. Their voices, when they spoke, were a chorus of whispers that filled the air like the sound of a thousand storms.

"The time has come," the leader of the Forgotten Ones spoke, his voice a low, rumbling echo that vibrated through the very core of the world. His eyes glowed with the power of the Rift, and his presence seemed to distort reality around him.

"The Ashen King has done what none have dared before. He has opened the Rift. And now, we will reclaim what was lost."

As the Forgotten Ones stepped forward, their presence grew stronger. Their power was like an overwhelming wave, crashing against the world, altering the very laws of nature. The air became thick with their essence, and the land around them warped, growing dark and twisted.

The Ashen King stood beside them, his eyes alight with the fire of the Rift, his hands raised as though conducting the very forces of creation and destruction.

"Together, we will remake this world," the Ashen King proclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand ages. "Together, we will be the architects of the new era."

---

A New World

The world of Eidryn, once a place of gods, mortals, and forgotten forces, was now under the dominion of the Ashen King and the Forgotten Ones. The gods were gone, the old world shattered, and a new order was rising from the ashes.

The Voidborn spread across the land, reshaping reality as they saw fit. The Hollow Vale, once a place of forgotten memories, was now becoming a center of power, its influence reaching out to touch every corner of the world. And the Forgotten Ones, the true rulers of the Abyss, had begun to awaken, their presence flooding the world with an eerie darkness that no mortal could hope to understand.

But even as the Ashen King stood at the pinnacle of his power, he knew that the future was not yet certain. The Forgotten Ones were powerful, yes, but they were ancient and strange, their motives unclear. And there were those—mortal and divine—who would still resist him. The Eternal Dominion had fallen, but other powers, both old and new, were watching from the shadows.

The Ashen King's reign had only just begun.

And the world would tremble.