A game world, after all?

To unwillingly absorb decades of another’s memories was a heavy burden, especially for Draven Zorathar, whose soul yet bore the faint scars of an incomplete fusion, a wound neither vast nor trivial.

Yet he endured, meticulously weaving the mortal’s life into the vast tapestry of his own mind.

And he claimed what he sought!

Nay—more than that, he reaped an unlooked-for bounty!

He had sought only to fathom the workings of this world, but this mortal was no mere soul—a wayfarer who had breached the tides of time, returning from a future unseen.

This glimpse into the human’s soul delivered a grand boon, a gift unasked for, yet seized with relish.

The laws and lore of the Starlit Realm, the currents of its future, the truths of the reality beyond…

All of it—every secret, every edge the human wielded as a seer of time—now lay within Draven’s grasp.

Past, present, and future danced in a tempest within his ancient mind.

Yet, amid this deluge of knowledge,

He found himself adrift, unable to define the realm he called home.

A game? Its history gleamed with a depth rivaling any reality, woven with vibrant races and civilizations, each soul pulsing with its own will and wisdom.

Reality? The arrival of these “players” imbued it with the marks of a game—spawning beasts, a world carved in numbers, factions and mentors freely imparting arcane secrets to these newcomers.

The realm’s natives greeted the players without a flicker of surprise, as if they were but ordinary kin.

A strange world, indeed.

And what of himself?

Draven lowered his gaze to his titanic form, a mountain of ebon scales gleaming with unyielding might.

The human’s memories revealed a bitter truth:

He was no savior.

He was the ultimate evil, the culmination of this game’s saga!

In plain words, he was the Final Harbinger!

Thus had Caelum Veyne named him Sovereign of Calamity, Lord of Finality.

From the human’s memories of the game’s lore,

The Celestials had spoken a prophecy: a calamity would rise, bearing the power of ruin to scourge the continent. Unchecked, its tyrannical flames would reduce the world to cinders.

Against this doom, players of righteous factions descended upon the Starlit Realm, growing ever mightier, slaying wild beasts, and conquering perilous trials.

In time, fated heroes would rise, destined to challenge the Final Harbinger,

The legendary Lord of Finality—Draven Zorathar himself!

Yet the full saga remained cloaked in shadow.

When Caelum crossed the tides of time, the game lingered in its mid-to-late chapters.

Players waxed mighty, and the world’s mysteries began to unfurl,

But the end lay distant still.

The so-called Final Harbinger had yet to step into the light.

Even so, whispers of the Lord of Finality wove through the shadows of grand trials and world-shaking events, kindling fervent speculation among players, who yearned for the day the game’s climax would unfold.

What majesty would the dread Lord of Finality, the mighty Final Harbinger, command?

Through the renown of the Twelve Pillars of Ruin and the echoes of world-shaking events, Draven’s presence as the Lord of Finality loomed ever larger.

Yet it was but a game. Some players, enthralled by his villainous might, revered his domineering, tempestuous charisma—a dark allure unmatched.

Among them, his name burned bright with a strange, magnetic renown.

“…”

Having devoured it all,

The ebon-scaled dragon, a vision of terror incarnate, narrowed his eyes with a glint of mortal cunning, his vast dragon orbs shimmering with the light of ancient wisdom.

“Lord of Finality? Sovereign of Calamity? Titles worthy of my name!”

He raised his gaze to the smoke-wreathed heavens, a wry, defiant smile curling his maw.

Who, roused from aeons of slumber, would rejoice to find themselves crowned the world’s destroyer?

Celestials? Prophecies?

What right had they to chain his fate?

“Since the game has begun, O lofty ones, if you dare wield pawns that burn the hand, then let us play this game!”

Draven’s eyes blazed with a cold, unyielding fire, his voice a low, chilling murmur that seemed to echo through the ages.

He had craved only the peace of slumber!

But if those veiled in shadow sought to ensnare him in their schemes, to cast him as their pawn, to bend the tides of fate—

Then he would meet their challenge!

Let them test their vaunted “Purifying Tide” of salvation

Against the raging inferno of his world-devouring wrath!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The Far South Forbidden Expanse quaked with earth-shattering roars, a terrifying aura sweeping across its desolate reaches.

It was as if the apocalypse had dawned—life withered, ruin descended!

Roar!

A dragon’s cry, deafening and dread, tore through the heavens.

In that instant, every heart across the continent trembled, seized by a nameless dread.

Instinctively, all eyes turned southward.

The South!

The Nameless Dread had awakened!