Amidst the dying embers of a world once vibrant, there whispered the echoes of crimson dreams. An age-old chant, half-remembered, half-forgotten, spoke of the Veil Splitters.
Their eyes, shadows distilled into form, saw beyond the mere mortal dimensions, where time itself crumbled like the flaking paint of an abandoned cathedral. They danced upon the precipice of the known, blades drawn, seeking the fragile seam between existence and oblivion.
Their lore, etched in whispers upon crumbling parchment, spoke of paths unwritten and destinies forgotten. No light touched their truths, no warmth graced their shadows.
This is but a cry within the shadowlands. A memory of fallow cries amidst the crimson echoes of eternity.
Enter Solace's Gate