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description
Beneath the hollow gaze of a blood-red moon, the realm fractures. Once-thriving cities crumble into ashen tombs. Forests that whispered ancient secrets now rot from the roots upward, their canopies choked by creeping mist. The air itself tastes of iron and decay—a warning. Legends call it the *Eclipse of Chains*, an omen scribbled in crumbling texts by dead seers. None believed it would come. Warring clans still sharpen blades over petty grudges, blind to the true enemy coiling beneath their feet. Shadows seep from the fissures, twisting flesh and stone alike into abominations that hunger. The old gods are silent. Their temples lie desecrated, altars stained with offerings nobody remembers. You wake in the dark, a jagged scar burning across your palm—the Mark of the Sundered. Visions plague you: a spire clawing at a starless sky, a crown of shattered glass, a voice that is not a voice hissing *"Unmake it."* The path ahead reeks of betrayal and bloodshed. Trust is a luxury; survival is not. They will call you thief, zealot, martyr. They will beg for salvation while plotting your throat’s parting. But the Eclipse cares nothing for crowns or prayers. It gnaws. It waits. And somewhere in the bleeding void between worlds, something gnaws back.
