Chapter I
A realm of iron and ash
A thousand winters ago the gods bled out on their own altars. What they left behind festered — the Blighted Realm, stitched together by rusted oaths and forgotten kings.
You wake in the ash of a burned camp with a rusted blade and no memory of who you were. Warlords carve up the ruins. Something beneath the Sunken Sanctum has begun to dream again.
Every hero is a small blade against a great dark. Every choice — the pact you swear, the rival you gut — writes another line in the ledger of the realm.

The Blighted Realm
Multiple zones. Multiple nights.

























































