Before the rise of cities that scraped the sky, before the carving of names into stone, before even the whispers of the first true civilizations, there was the hum. It resonated deep within the nascent world, a symphony of raw energy and untamed potential. From the molten core to the swirling heavens, a power pulsed, waiting to be shaped.
In those primordial ages, beings of immense power walked the unformed lands. They were not born of flesh and blood as the later races would understand, but woven from the very fabric of existence – shadow and light, earth and storm, life and the void. They were the shapers, the dreamers of reality.
Among them was a consciousness that drifted through the nascent shadows, a being of fluid darkness and ancient knowing. It observed the burgeoning world, the chaotic dance of creation and destruction. It saw the sparks of potential, the echoes of futures yet to be. And it felt a hunger, a yearning to anchor itself, to influence the unfolding tapestry of time.
Millennia spun into epochs. The great shapers faded, their names becoming whispers in the winds of creation. The raw power they wielded fractured, splintering into myriad forms, some lying dormant, others finding resonance within the emerging life of the world.
In time, the whispers of the ancient power began to stir again, drawn to moments of great upheaval, to individuals touched by the echoes of that primordial hum. Sometimes, it manifested as a flicker in the shadows, a sudden surge of inexplicable energy, a voice that resonated not in the ears, but in the very soul.
And so, the stage was set. The forgotten power waited, dormant yet aware, its influence a subtle undercurrent in the flow of time. When the right catalyst appeared, when a certain touchstone awakened its ancient resonance, the echoes of the before-time would once again ripple through the world, shaping destinies and unraveling secrets buried deeper than memory itself. The Crimson Stone was such a touchstone, and its awakening had begun.