The Varaksha’s Curse

The Void Plains had been silent for eons, a realm of forgotten shadows and echoes of lost souls. But Lyssara's ritual had done more than summon the wraith—it had disturbed something far greater, something that should have remained undisturbed.

As she and the warlocks made their way back through the mist, the whispers changed. No longer were they mere temptations and illusions. Now, they were screams.

The ground trembled beneath their feet. A low, guttural vibration rippled through the air, so deep it seemed to shake the very fabric of reality.

Lyssara halted. The warlocks, sensing the shift in the Void's energy, exchanged uneasy glances.

"Something is watching us," one of them whispered.

Before Lyssara could respond, the mist ahead of them began to swirl violently, parting to reveal a figure unlike anything they had seen before.

A Voidborn.

It towered above them, its form ever-shifting—part shadow, part living abyss. Its body was humanoid in shape but impossibly distorted, with elongated limbs that seemed to stretch beyond the limits of reality. Its face was a void in itself, a swirling mass of darkness punctuated only by a single glowing sigil where its eyes should have been.

"You have taken what is not yours."

The voice was not spoken—it invaded their minds, a deep, resonant force that sent searing pain through their skulls. The warlocks staggered, clutching their heads.

Lyssara gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain standing. "I am Lyssara of the Ashen Circle," she declared. "We take what is necessary to shape this world anew."

The Voidborn did not move, but its presence grew heavier, pressing down on them like an unbearable weight.

"Your kind has forgotten the old laws," it said, its voice ancient and emotionless. "You take, yet you do not offer. That which was sealed shall now awaken."

Lyssara's blood ran cold. The old laws…

The Void was not merely a place—it was an entity, a force that consumed and created in equal measure. The Ashen Circle had always believed they could take its power without consequence.

But they were wrong.

"Master Malrik must be warned," one of the warlocks muttered, stepping back.

But it was too late.

The Voidborn raised a single clawed hand. The mist exploded outward, and the air ripped open behind it, revealing an abyss far darker than anything they had seen before.

From that abyss, something began to rise.

Massive, writhing limbs clawed their way through the tear in reality, each one covered in pulsating veins of violet fire. A deep, inhuman growl shook the ground. What emerged was not a mere creature, but a force—something that had been buried within the Void for a reason.

"The Sealed One stirs."

The Voidborn's voice was not a threat, nor a warning. It was a statement of absolute truth.

Lyssara knew then that they had made a mistake.

A terrible, irreversible mistake.

She turned to the warlocks. "We leave. Now."

They did not hesitate.

As they ran, the Void behind them twisted and roared, the presence of the Sealed One spilling into the world. The mist turned to black fire, consuming everything it touched.

The Voidborn did not pursue them. It merely watched.

And as Lyssara fled back toward Malrik's stronghold, she realized something chilling—

The Void had never truly been contained.

And now, it was waking up.

To be continued…