Before time was counted, before language carved names into stone, there was Nyx. She stood beneath the first sky, when the world bled raw from its shaping. The first to listen to the whispers of the Olde Gods. She was their voice when none dared listen, their hand when the world still resisted.

 

Her eyes have seen the first age crumble, and each age after repeat its failure. Mankind, in their stubborn rhythm, dances ever further from their source. She will bring them back, through fire, through blood, through screams echoed across nations. The seals that bind the gods in the Abyss are faltering, not by chance, but by her design.

 

They call her the Harbinger of the Ascension. But Nyx sees herself only as a gardener, tearing the overgrowth, breaking the soil, making room - for the old roots to rise.

 

And when they do, there will be no kings. No thrones. Only the gods, and their faithful.