On the edge of the known world, Sorion met Va'Zhul the Mindweaver — an elder of the Ryautjan Kroot, who had stalked countless dying worlds.

Va'Zhul offered a gift:

A helmet, crafted from relic-tech older than stars, that could pierce the veil of dark matter.

When Sorion donned it, Earth peeled away like a mask.

Beneath the cities, the oceans, the mountains — pulsed a nightmare:

A World-Spider, vast and hungry, its many eyes watching humanity, waiting.

Sorion’s blood chilled. The war was not coming.

It had already begun.