Far beneath the ground, deeper than sunlight could ever dream to touch, there was a cave forgotten even by time. The air was thick, ancient, heavy with the weight of old spells and the scent of decay. Crystals jutted from the walls like frozen lightning, casting dim reflections over carvings that whispered of forbidden rituals long erased from history.
There, in that hollow silence, an old man sat before a dying fire. His name was Akumo Riol, once known across realms as the Destroyer of Weakness — a title earned through centuries of battle and blood. But now his hair was white as ash, his hands trembling like leaves in wind, and his strength — once the kind that could bend mountains — had faded into the frailty of age.
He muttered to himself, staring into the dying light of the fire.
"Years… decades… centuries… yet still this world crawls with weakness."
