The world of Aelurith hides behind the veil of Elyndor. A world almost untouched. A world, a legend. Guarding a treasure the universe was never meant to know. Three hundred years of life. Not immortality. Not salvation. Only a delay.
For centuries, the secret remained concealed. Protected by silence. Preserved by those who had sworn never to reveal it. The Chronarch Council has been destroyed. Its thrones are empty. Its order has collapsed. Only one figure remains. The keeper of power. The last authority standing.
On Aelurith, one has crossed the veil. To bury his daughter. But grief does not always end at the grave. He came with one purpose: to defy death, to understand time, to force open what was never meant to be opened.
Others however are moving in the dark. Not as men move. Not with grief. Not with faith. Patient. Methodical. Certain. They do not seek the secret. They calculate it. They adapt to it. They learn from it. Through corrupted code. Through altered memory. Creating a new reality.