Legends spoke of a forgotten agreement—a pact made between Summoners and the Old Gods of the Splinterlands. It was an oath sworn in whispers, binding them to the very magic they wielded. But no one spoke of what would happen if that pact was broken.
Seraphis had always felt... different. Unlike the other Summoners, who called forth warriors and beasts without a second thought, he sensed something lurking beneath the surface. Every spell he cast carried an eerie weight, every battle drained him in ways the others didn’t seem to experience.
It wasn’t until he won his hundredth match that he understood why.
The moment his opponent fell, the ground beneath him split open. Black tendrils of energy coiled around his feet, creeping up his body like a thousand grasping hands. The crowd screamed. Other Summoners reached for their magic, but no spell could touch what had come for him.
Seraphis had unknowingly reached the limit of the Old Gods' patience. A Summoner could only take so much from the Splinterlands before the lands demanded something in return. And now, the price had come due.
As the darkness swallowed him whole, he heard a voice—not one of the Old Gods, but something older, deeper.
"You were never meant to wield this power freely. Now, you shall serve."
And in that instant, Seraphis was gone.
Some say his shadow still lingers on the battlefield. Others claim to see his Summoner's mark flicker in the sky before a great battle. But one thing is certain: The Shattered Pact was never meant to be broken. And whoever dared to summon next... would one day pay the same price.
