The sea was silent.
Not the silence of absence, but of reverence, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Beyond the black chasms of the Shivering Sea, past the trenches where even light dared not wander, there lay a structure that time itself had forgotten.
It did not crumble, nor decay.
Its spires still pierced the abyss, its walls still shimmered faintly with runes that no mortal hand could replicate.
It was not a ruin. It was a promise sealed in eternity.
The Abyssal Host of Submareth encircled it on every side.
An army of leviathans and knights, of armored sirens and abyssal mages, all floating in a formation so precise it seemed choreographed by the gods themselves.
Their banners rippled like sheets of living flame in the dark water.
The runic glow of their armor traced rivers of light through the depths, illuminating the seabed until it looked like the night sky inverted.
