About

You wake to cold. Not the cold of a winter night — something deeper, older, humming through metal that was never meant for human hands. Restraints hold your wrists and ankles against a curved surface that pulses faintly, like a slow heartbeat beneath your spine. The light is wrong: dim and violet, casting no shadows you can predict. Above you, something massive shifts. It doesn't lunge. It doesn't growl. It simply watches — and the patience in its stillness is more terrifying than rage would be. A low resonance fills the chamber. Somewhere behind you, a second presence moves. You are not prey. You were never prey. You were always this — a bloodline marker, dormant for generations, finally come due. The ritual has been waiting longer than your family's oldest memory.