The temple stood alone; its silhouette defiant against an endless expanse of ash-streaked desolation.

Its walls shimmered faintly, etched with an intricate lattice of markings; neither runes nor glyphs, but fragments of an ancient language that seemed to pulse with whispers of forgotten truths. 

The ground surrounding it was barren; fractured like the surface of a shattered mirror, reflecting a world bereft of life. 

Time itself appeared frayed; thin and fragile, forced to bend and accommodate this isolated sanctuary. In the stillness, the first fracture emerged; a jagged, merciless line tearing through the very fabric of reality above the temple.

From the breach spilled a writhing darkness; alive and hungry, more than the mere absence of light. It crawled outward with dreadful purpose; insatiable in its advance.

The temple responded in resistance; its walls began to glow, brighter and more frenzied, their patterns shifting and reordering in a desperate attempt to repel the adversary. 

Then, the resonance began; a pulse, a cry, a signal wrenched from the walls of the temple and flung across dimensions like the scream of a dying star.

The pulse surged outward; invisible yet unmistakable. 

Across distant worlds and the cold barriers of space, it struck those bound by an unseen lineage. To the majority, it came as fractured glimpses; a nightmare of shadow and ruin, of standing before an incomprehensible force and collapsing beneath its terrible gaze. 

In the chaotic streets of crowded cities, people dropped to the ground, clutching their heads as the soundless cry overwhelmed their senses. 

On desolate outposts, hardened soldiers froze; their weapons slipping from trembling hands as incomprehensible visions consumed them.

Yet not all saw it as fragments.

One child bore witness to the full horror; the barren landscape, the radiant temple, and the fracture splitting existence apart. 

The child saw the breach widen; revealing a monstrous hand clawing at its edges. Vast and grotesque, its surface glittered with stars; a mocking imitation of celestial beauty. 

Beyond the hand, loomed a presence, ancient and infinite, whose gaze turned toward the observer with a singular purpose.

The dream ended abruptly; leaving the child hollow.

The world dismissed the event as mass hysteria; wild theories born of collective delusion and paranoia. 

The voices of those affected became fodder for ridicule; consigned to irrelevance.

But the child could not escape. The vision; indelibly etched into their soul, became a relentless curse — a truth denied and dismissed, yet unyielding.

Marked by what they had seen, their descent into misery had already begun.

*****