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It was said that the Tower stood at the intersection of every single leyline across the Shadow Plane, and that it was here where the veil between their realm and the Divine Source of All Life was thinnest.
He was the heir apparent to the throne of Hel, and he would not cower from his duty.
“He who has been chosen, this star-split soul, shall be the Catalyst to this prophecy of mirrored fates. He is our reckoning. The other, our deliverance. Together, they are our salvation.”
“A Catalyst and a Conduit,” the others chanted. “All and
none, all and one. Mirrors, my King. Mirrors. Not one Harbinger, but two—one yet to be reborn! Two fates entangled, another entwined. The Source, it gives and takes and gives and takes and gives and takes. They are life and death. They are the cycle, preserved. They are vengeance and mercy, incarnate.”
“A seed shall soon be planted within the heart of our enemies, your Majesty. Bearing fruit that will leave poison on their tongues and burn the aether from their veins. In the realm where few can wield one, He must find the one who wields all.”
Find yourself, Arken.
