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On the far edge of the continent, there lay a mountain that the world had abandoned. The only living things that moved upon its slopes were wild beasts that knew nothing of nations or wars. No human foot had pressed this earth for thousands of years, and even the great struggle between evil and the Mortal Realm had washed past without touching it. The place was quiet in a way that felt older than speech.
Midway up that mountain, calamity arrived.
A sound like glass under strain rang through the thin air as space cracked. Beyond the fracture, something that writhed with a rhythm older than the world itself pushed through and began to take form upon the ground. It lowered weight that had not touched soil since the Divine–Demonic War, and in the moment its presence settled, every animal upon the mountain folded as if a cord had been cut. Eyes glazed, chests stilled, and the life that had animated leaf and limb ran out of plants as if a season had passed in a breath.
Its arrival alone killed what was too weak to stand in its shadow. The pressure of that existence reached past the mountain and groped toward the world itself, as if eager to let all things know that their old master had returned.
“No, that will not do,” said a voice like a knot of snakes sliding over stone. “At the very least, I cannot permit this place to be discovered.”
A thin, shrilling note rose as magic suffused with demonic energy took shape, and...
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