In the north of the continent, a simple yet majestic church stood atop a mountain, where the prophets slept.
Compared to the chaotic hymns echoing in many places, the dimly lit secret chamber was utterly silent. On the specially carved long table of the church, a pair of old hands mottled with dark spots pressed against a parchment scroll, worn so thin it seemed as though it might tear in the wind.
Several people had been standing before the table for a long time. As their gazes fell upon the old man's face, marked by the passage of years, the admiration deep within their hearts showed in their eyes.
The prophet Sog awakened once more from his slumber. His withered hands rested lightly upon the ancient parchment scroll. Octagonal stars spun within the hollows of his eyes, and with every slight movement of his hands, their rotation grew faster.
When the spinning reached its peak, the stars abruptly flared with dazzling light, illuminating the entire secret chamber.
But only for a brief moment. The light vanished, and the two stars disappeared as well, leaving behind only two dark, bottomless hollows in Sog's eyes.
Within that flash of light, he seemed to glimpse a blurry image that vanished in an instant. He also seemed to hear the faint whispers of a god. What he had seen and heard left him hesitant.
Ancient texts recorded that every ten thousand years, light and darkness would separate from their parallel paths, alternate within the void, and then part once more. A new god would be born in the shadows of light and darkness.
A deep, weathered voice broke the silence of the secret chamber. The prophet's slow words stirred the people present. They had come from every corner of the continent for the same