****For all my wonderful fans that fueled my passion for writing and were there at the start of my career as a writer, I'd like to introduce you to my first novel! You can read more at .com/ Thank you all so much for your support and for giving me the courage to aspire to reach for my dreams*****

The night shadows crept over the horizon like an ebony canvas, sweeping across the lands with its phantom limbs, foreshadowing the tumult that was imminent. The coming day was eclipsed by a dark magic long left sleeping, swallowing the light in its unforgiving possession. Melancholy winds shuffled through the silence of doom, like poison its transparent fingertips meeting flesh for the first time in over a thousand years, reaching to the souls of all that had forgotten; murmuring in their vulnerable ears. The world became desolate and cold, abated by its worst fear… the end of times. It had begun.

It was the end of the light.

The tarnished hearts of the condemned shifted restlessly in their hollow cages, woken by the beckoning of their master's call. Murmurs broke through the shield that had imprisoned him and caressed the ears of all the beings of the world, silken threads of sound that whispered sweet serenity even within the chaos, voices so soft that all strained to hear, endearing them all to the angelic sound, the whimsical vibrations that echoed from a mouth they knew not. Promises- it knew them all, granting priceless gifts to appease all the desires, all the appetites, and all the power.

Truculent oceans quaked from the velvety caress of the voice, leading the untamed waters to crash upon the shoreline, altering the sands until surrendered to its clutches. The farthest reaches of the seas, deep with the crevices of its unfathomable levels, shifted restlessly until lava spewed forth from its opened heart. Blood red magma never hardened from the waters meet, heated by the voice that still echoed throughout the universe. Lightning ripped through the skies, scorching the ground with its angry electricity as thunder echoed its fury and the sirens that were born of the skies wailed. Their tears drenched all the worlds, their cries making millions crumble to their knees and grasp the ears to drown out the horrendous sound.

A cynical grin spliced his lips, curving slowly with the sweet anticipation of revenge. The cornerstone of his power had been revived; he could feel its presence beckoning him, taunting him with how close it was to his grasp. He listened to the thoughts of the underlings that now wandered these worlds, their vain attempts to soothe their woes. The echoes of his titles made him laugh mirthlessly; the King of the Forsaken, Soulless Shadow, Soul-eater, and so many more just to avoid calling him by his rightful name. Too long he must have slept, for they dishonored him with their meager attempts to declare his personage. He had vanished into mere tales of horror and myth, thousands of years leaving only fools to replace the once wise men that feared his name. Soulless he very well may be, but he was by right and by blood, Tal' Kenai, god of the suns.

It was a name the world would never again forget.

"Brahk ti' marra," he hummed to himself, stretching out his claws rigidly as he sensed the presence of those he hated most.

The gates of Xil'vallore remained closed, the home of the gods and the almighty Fate-Weavers, whose hands cradled and destroyed every life in existence. Impenetrable they declared their walls, hosted with magic deeply rooted past the age of creation to ward off all that dare venture near, but what of one born within their sacred walls? Their arrogance would be their downfall, but he could smell their fear, the way it wreaked like rancid blood. It was intoxicatingly sweet to his nostrils, the unease of his enemies and the demise they had yet to comprehend.

A chortle of laughter echoed through the empty chamber; the once grand throne room he ruled his subjects within, passing edicts and controlling his empire; reduced to the catacombs of a grave. Burgundy curtains haggardly draped the windows that bore no light, for his world had been cast into darkness long ago. Dust lay thickly on the marble floors and the creak of servants no longer haunted the halls, nothing left but his hatred and the empty chest that once bore a heart. Blood dutifully flowed through his veins, prolonging his cursed existence for the eternity they condemned him to live.

Heaving his body forward with a deft lunge, he stretched the coiled muscles of his hind legs. Talons, six from each foot, unfurled effortlessly and dug deep ravines into the marble beneath him. Their blood would soon drain eagerly like an overfilled basin and drip from his hungry mouth, tainting the earth with their treachery.

Even the night shadows could not mask his massive form, the unruly mane that crowned his head, silver like the metallic rivers of Sanore, contrasting to the obsidian eyes that possessed nothing put malice. His snout was long, two great fangs breaching his lips and stretching ominously like razors that gleamed in the hollow light of the moon, eager to pierce flesh and bone.

"Sire," a cloaked man bowed in the entrance, proceeding only at the nod of the mighty head, the two dark eyes observing him distantly.

The lion that's breadth nearly dwarfed the room, whose silver mane and dark brown fur thickly covered his elongated back and tree trunk like legs, quirked his head to the side in cynical amusement. How they let escape the key to his power was more than foolish, for within their haughty ignorance so had they sealed their fates and that of all the worlds.