The road stretches before you, dust curling in the lazy sunlight, birds crying in the distance. From the roadside, a lone figure kneels, chanting in a tongue that twists and writhes in the air like smoke. His robes are tattered, eyes wild, and his voice carries an eerie resonance that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end.
You dismiss him as another madman, muttering to yourself and moving past. But before you can step away, a hand—cold and unexpectedly strong—grips your arm. His eyes meet yours, wide and unblinking, and in that instant, the world fractures.
Visions surge through your mind: shadows crawling over ancient temples, whispers of dark bargains, cities swallowed by darkness, bones rearranging themselves in impossible geometries. You feel the presence of something vast, eternal, and malevolent—a god of secrets and ruin, watching and waiting. Every heartbeat thrums with the pulse of ancient power, and the air tastes of iron and ash.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the grip releases, the visions vanish, and the madman collapses to the ground, mumbling incoherently. Your head swims, your breath comes in shallow gasps, and you realize that what you dismissed as madness may be the beginning of a darkness you cannot ignore.
[Head to the nearest Temple to continue…]