The whispers began in the dead of night.
Scattered across the Splinterlands, powerful summoners woke to the same cryptic vision—an abandoned city, swallowed by shadows, where time itself stood still. The name "Nythralis" echoed in their minds, though none could recall ever hearing it before.
The City That Never Was
Legends spoke of a forgotten kingdom, one that had vanished from history as if erased by some unseen force. No maps bore its name, no books recorded its existence. Yet, those who heard the whispers felt an undeniable pull toward its ruins, as though a piece of their own souls had been left behind.
Guided by the visions, a reluctant alliance formed. Warriors, scholars, and rogue mages from rival factions ventured into the uncharted lands beyond the Splinterlands' borders. What they found defied all reason.
Nythralis stood untouched by time, its spires reaching into a sky of swirling dusk. Statues lined its silent streets—figures frozen in fear, their faces twisted in horror. It was as if the entire city had been turned to stone in an instant.
Then the shadows began to move.
The Watcher in the Dark
A presence stirred within the city's heart. A being neither living nor dead, neither god nor mortal. It did not speak, nor did it attack. It only watched.
Each step deeper into Nythralis brought a weight upon the travelers’ chests, a pressure that grew heavier with every breath. The warriors readied their blades, the mages their incantations. But no enemy appeared.
Then, the realization struck like a thunderclap.
They were never meant to find this place.
They were never meant to remember.
And now… they never would.
As the first among them turned to flee, their form flickered. A ripple passed through their body, and in an instant, they stood frozen—motionless as the statues that lined the streets.
One by one, the screams fell silent. The last survivor’s breath hitched as they turned, meeting the gaze of the Watcher in the Dark.
The final whisper echoed through the abandoned city.
"Welcome home."
