The heavens had been torn open.

  A wound in reality itself, jagged and pulsing, stretching wider by the second.

  No light emerged from it.No darkness either.

  Just emptiness.

  And then—

  Something stepped through.

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  The First Witnesses of the End

  Darius could not move. The pressure in the air was unbearable. It was not power. It was not magic. It was absence. His instincts screamed at him—run, flee, turn away. But his body would not obey. Because his mind refused to comprehend what he was seeing.

  The first of the Thanatarchy had arrived.

  And it was not a creature. It was a distortion. A figure, shifting, unraveling, folding into itself, then standing whole once more. It had no face. It had no eyes. It had no identity.

  But it was there.

  And Celestara recognized it.

  Because the world was trying to forget it even as it arrived.

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  The Unraveling Begins

  The people of Solmaria colpsed.

  Not from pain. Not from an attack. Just from proximity.

  Darius watched as the nearest civilians fell to their knees, hands clutching their skulls.

  Some trembled violently. Some let out choked gasps. Some simply went still.

  Their eyes were open. Their mouths moved. But no sound emerged. Because the Thanatarchy did not kill. It removed. And these people had already begun to vanish.

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  The First of the Nameless

  Darius tore his gaze away from the fallen civilians, his grip tightening on his sword.

  He forced his legs to move—step by step, toward the entity.

  It did not acknowledge him.

  It did not move toward him.

  It simply stood, the air around it shimmering with unreality.

  And then— It raised its hand.

  Not in violence. Not in challenge. In recognition. And it spoke. "You are still here." Darius' breath caught. The voice was not sound. It was an understanding pced in his mind. He did not hear it. He simply remembered it being said. The entity tilted its head slightly. Then, with something that was not curiosity, not amusement, not malice— It whispered: "That will change soon."

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  The Colpse of Names

  All across the city, people stopped speaking.

  Not because they could not.Not because their voices had been taken.

  Because they had forgotten how.

  A merchant at his stall opened his mouth to call out his wares—but no words came.

  A noblewoman turned to her servant to issue a command—but she no longer knew what words were.

  A child clung to his mother, tears in his eyes—but he could not cry out.

  Language was failing.

  Names were failing.

  Identity was failing.

  And the Thanatarchy had not yet moved.

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  Darius Holds the Last Word

  Darius felt the weight of it pressing into him.

  The slow, crushing force of erasure itself.

  And yet, he was still here.

  His name was still his.

  He refused to forget.

  And the entity before him tilted its head once more.

  "Curious," it murmured.

  Darius' breath was heavy. His sword—a weapon meant for men, for beasts, for demons—felt useless.

  But still, he raised it.

  "Who are you?" he demanded. The entity was silent. Then, with something that was not amusement, not interest, just inevitability— It whispered: "I am IX'ZYRETH." The moment the name was spoken— The city of Solmaria trembled.

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  The Death of a City

  The streets cracked. Buildings shuddered. The world itself reacted. Because it had heard a name that should never have existed. And Darius knew— This was only the beginning.