Worlds split. Realms bleed.
And through it all flows Prāṇna - the breath of life-the last thread holding existence together.
Only the rarest warriors can master it, soul-forging weapons with focus so absolute that a whisper of doubt shatters it.
Each strike carves a piece of their life.
Here rivers remember.
storms listen.
stone itself may rise to protect... or crush.
A place where heroes are not born but forged in fire, in silence, in sacrifice.
When the sky stops mid-breath and the wind chokes on silence... the next chapter is about to be written in blood.
Because beyond the light stands Kali, the Devourer of Ages - his hunger so vast, even time gnaws its tail to escape him, and his blood-clan, the Corrupted Lords bound by fragments of his will, his shadow touches every corner of the realms. Face them all... -and the world itself may hold its breath.