Far beyond the reaches of any known realm, in a world untouched by civilization, existed a land governed by its own mysterious ecosystem.
At the peak of a colossal mountain, so massive its scale defied all logic, stood a towering, ancient castle.
Its silhouette pierced the sky through the clouds.
Deep within the castle, sat a throne. constructed entirely of skulls, bathed in a crimson substance that pulsed and flowed through the bone like living veins.
It wasn't mere decoration. It was a symbol, a warning, a legacy soaked in blood.
On the throne rested a Handsome middle-aged man, who sat cross-legged, one hand resting on the skull-armrest, the other motionless.
His eyes closed, but his posture was perfect and poised, relaxed, detached from the world.
"Impossible…"
"How…" a voice escaped his lips, barely more than a whisper.
His eyes snapped open. Crimson irises burned like twin embers. A wave of power rippled through the room.
