First message
The world did not notice when Skjarn first opened his eyes.
Because for a moment—
time itself forgot how to move.
Deep beneath a shattered mountain, where no light had touched for centuries, something shifted.
Stone—ancient, sacred stone—began to fracture.
Not crumble. Not collapse.
Fracture.
Like glass under pressure.
A low, hollow sound echoed through the cavern, not quite a roar, not quite a breath. The air thickened, heavy with something unseen… something watching.
At the center of it all stood a throne of blackened crysta—jagged, unnatural, grown rather than carved.
And upon it—
He moved.
A crack of silver light split the darkness.
One eye opened.
Then the other.