All Ten Thousand Ruins Fall Silent

The truth behind the ancient cataclysm is the opposite of every version passed down orally among the tribes of later ages. The darkness at the root of all things cannot be killed or driven away. Wherever it enters, it turns that realm into part of itself. The ancient powers tried to sever it, tried to burn it, even tried to dilute it with the blood of countless living beings. All of them failed. So they did something else: they shattered the realms themselves, reducing thriving worlds to barren ruins like piles of bones. They destroyed their own traditions, severed the lines of inheritance, and buried themselves in the deepest reaches of the ruins, turning their own laws into the cores of the locks. The shattering of the heavens was not the end of a defeat. It was the muffled sound of a prison closing. Every ancient ruin is one brick in this vast cage, with ruin veins linking one to another like joints connecting an entire skeleton. Sleep is not death. It was the beginning of the watchmen's vigil, a watch that would stretch on for so long that its end was beyond sight. Every later account, mockery, and expression of pity concerning the "vanquished" was founded on a misunderstanding, and that very misunderstanding is the safest disguise for this seal.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.