Deep within the shadows of a forbidden continent, where no sun had ever touched the ground and no light dared to persist, a lone figure knelt before an obsidian throne. The cavernous hall was draped in silence, broken only by the subtle crackle of crimson energy floating in the air like fireflies of death.
Pillars twisted like bone spirals lined either side of the blackened hall, leading to a raised platform where the throne, carved from the remains of a fallen celestial beast, rested, emanating a pulse that distorted time itself.
The assassin knelt motionless, head bowed, face hidden beneath a veil of smoke. Her breathing was shallow, her body marred with shallow cuts and bruises, her cloak drenched in blood, not her own. She had barely escaped with her life. Her comrades had all fallen, clean kills, fast, almost surgical.
