The Immortal’s Vow

Lost in the Void

꧁༒☬𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮☬༒꧂

In ancient times before mortals recorded the world in memory, the gods emerged from the primordial void. Born of creation’s first breath, they were more than beings—they were power incarnate, shaping the raw chaos of the Cosmos into form and purpose. 

Among the pantheon was Aureon, god of light and justice, whose radiance illuminated the heavens and brought order to the shapeless expanse.

Yet, creation was not enough. 

The gods sought something fragile yet enduring, something to reflect their magnificence. 

From their divine will came the mortals, fragile beings bound by the chains of time, created to live, love, and perish.

Thus was born Nerathia, a realm where the immortal and the mortal coexisted. 

Aureon and his kin bestowed gifts upon this fledgling world: light, wisdom, protection, and the inevitability of change. 

For a time, harmony prevailed. 

The gods watched their creation flourish, and mortals grew under their guidance.

But where light prevails, shadows linger. From the uncharted corners of the Cosmos came the Umbravus, ancient beings of darkness, decay, and corruption. They crept like a spreading blight, infecting the hearts of mortals and threatening to unravel the gods' careful design.

Aureon rose against the encroaching shadows, leading the pantheon into a war that raged for millennia. 

The heavens split, the earth burned, and the clash of divine powers carved scars into creation itself. 

At last, the gods prevailed, banishing the Umbravus to a shadowy prison, severed from Nerathia for eternity.

Peace returned, but it was a delicate, fragile thing. 

The gods turned their gaze back to their creation, yet within Aureon’s heart, an imperfection stirred—a forbidden desire he could neither suppress nor ignore.

From this longing, a son was born. 

Zarekth, the product of Aureon’s brief union with a mortal woman, was a paradox given form. 

Half divine, half human, he embodied both order and chaos. 

Where Aureon was a beacon of justice, Zarekth was an enigma, his power raw and unpredictable.

The Umbravus, though bound, had not been destroyed. From their prison of shadow, they watched and waited, sensing opportunity in Zarekth’s existence. A fracture had formed in the perfection of Aureon’s world, and through it, the darkness began to seep once more.

Zarekth, though innocent of intention, became a conduit for their return. 

Shadows bled into the realm, twisting the hearts of mortals and gods alike. The fragile peace shattered as chaos swept across Nerathia.

Aureon, the beacon of light, vanished. 

Whether he fell in battle, succumbed to despair, or transcended to some unknown fate, none could say. Leaderless and broken, the gods retreated, leaving Nerathia to its turmoil. 

The blame fell squarely on Zarekth.

Once a being of potential, he was now a threat to everything the gods had built. 

Betrayed by his kin and abandoned by the mortals who feared him, Zarekth was cast into the Abyss of Oblivion, a prison of unfathomable depth and impenetrable darkness.

He was sealed away along with a spell:

“By power dark and vengeance cold,

We bind thee now, whose fate was foretold.

In shadowed depths where none shall see,

To chains of night, we sentence thee.

By blood and blade, by fire’s might,

We cast thee down from heaven’s height.

Thy name, once feared, shall fade away,

In the endless dark, no light of day.

By earth and bone, by time unbroken,

Let this be the curse now spoken.

Thy hands shall never grasp the throne,

In the Abyss, be lost—alone.

By ancient oaths and secrets sworn,

Be bound where stars and suns are torn.

Let silence claim thy whispered lies,

In void’s embrace, thy power dies.

By fear and fury intertwined,

We cast thee down, bound and confined.

To the Abyss, where time shall cease,

Let Zarekth sleep, and chaos release.”

The Abyss of Oblivion swallowed him whole. 

Its black stone walls pulsed with ancient magic, twisting the fabric of reality and warping the very concept of time. Shadows clung to the walls, whispering secrets of despair to any who ventured near.

In this forsaken place, light did not simply diminish; it was devoured. The air hung heavy, choked with a malevolent force that pressed on the soul, driving all who lingered into madness.

Zarekth, once a being of divine power and mortal yearning, became a ghost in the annals of history. His name, once both feared and revered, was reduced to a cautionary tale whispered in shadow. 

His existence was forgotten, and his power, sealed and restrained, faded into legend.

Yet the Abyss was not a place of stillness. The ancient curse held, but the threads of destiny continued to weave, undaunted by time or confinement.

In the void where he was entombed, Zarekth waited. His slumber was not peace; it was a storm held in check, a tempest contained within the fragile barriers of divine magic. 

Time twisted around him, the past and future bleeding into one another until the distinction ceased to matter.

The gods believed they had secured their victory, but even they could not foresee eternity. 

The Abyss pulsed with life—slow, deliberate, and inevitable.

One day, the chains would weaken. The curse would falter. 

And when it did, Zarekth would rise.

Whether to save, create or destroy, only fate could decide. But when he returned, the world that had abandoned him would tremble. 

His name, spoken once more, would not be in reverence but in terror, heralding a reckoning that neither gods nor mortals could escape.

For legends, no matter how deeply buried, have a way of returning. 

And Zarekth, the forsaken son of light and shadow, was not yet finished with the world of Nerathia.

The Abyss sighed—a low, resonant groan like the exhale of a dying star. 

Zarekth’s form remained still, bound in ancient chains that glimmered faintly against the void. 

Yet the air grew heavy, thick with a tension that rippled through the prison. 

The darkness around him shifted, pulling inward, as if answering a call that had not yet been spoken aloud.

In the depths of his mind, dreams bled into memory, and memory into prophecy. 

One truth remained constant: the world had abandoned him, but it could not outrun him. 

Somewhere beyond the Abyss, the balance began to tip.