Ashes of the Forgotten
The Codexless Dominion shivered.
A storm, not born of weather but of memory, tore through the spiraling skies above Duskreach. Clouds bled static. Lightning danced like serpents in reverse motion, crackling from the ground up. And in the center of the storm… a scar opened.
Not a portal. Not a rift.
A scar—raw, aching, dripping echoes of the past like venom.
From it emerged the first footstep.
Armored in grave-iron. Cloaked in blooded banners of ancient betrayal. The Revenant King returned.
He stood tall, twisted, regal in a way that mocked life. A once-proud hero twisted by death, data corruption, and vengeance. His eyes—sockets burning with the Prime Coder's forbidden shard—glowed with impossible clarity.
Behind him marched the Ashborn Host—millions of corrupted soldiers, monsters once erased from the Codex now rewritten in suffering.
And at his side…
A child.
