The wind changed.
Not the wind of weather or whim, but of power—an ethereal tide stirring the world's deeper roots. From the Frostbound Mountains' northernmostsummits to the dune-littered desert of the Azure Sands, something etherealstirred kingdoms, peoples, and long contented elder beings.
Two names now ruled the world: Ainz Ooal Gown. and Regis Vortigern.
One ruled in the shadows of death.
The other, in the inferno of rebirth.
Ainz's Growing Anxiety
In the silent halls of Nazarick, Ainz sat on the Throne of Kings, surrounded by silence, but never alone. Albedo satbeside him, her face expressionlessbut her mind keen and full ofnervousness.
The light projections hovering in front of them displayed a burgeoning webof magical energy—seeping like veins across the landscape. The expansion of the Eclipse Imperium had not ebbed. It had accelerated.
"How did he come to acquire so many leyline points in so short a time?"Albedo asked softly.
"He's playing the same thing we did,"Ainz breathed, voice even and quiet. "But quicker… harder. He's notskulking about as we did. He's carving his name in the world with steel and legend."
"Should we send him an attack?"
"No," Ainz said again. "If we strike too soon, we tip our hand. If he is a player.or whatever the case may be, we mustsee more."
"Then… should I deploy the Shadow Scouts?"
Yes. And send Demiurge. I want his report."
Albedo bowed and vanished into darkness.
Ainz lay back, watching the map as redrunes gradually formed the Eclipse Sigil over a land in use.
He could sense it in the marrow of his bones—though they were long dead.
A storm was brewing.
Regis – Architect of His Own Myth
In the Obsidian Spire again, Regis wason the highest tower, cloak streamingin the bitter wind. At his feet was a city that hadn't existed months ago—Eclipserath, capital of Imperium. It thrived now, black-and-gold banners streaming across towers, streets lit byarcane torches and magical constructs that made life functional and strangely beautiful.
He looked not as a king over his realm, but as an artisan over his masterpiece.
Beside him, Zeraphis kneeled, his face bruised from his recent bout of sparring with the Obsidian Juggernauts—colossal, thinking siege-creatures wrought of pure soulsteel and void-magic.
"Your people thrive, my lord. But there is strife to the east. The kingdoms become suspicious of your advances."
"Good," Regis answered brusquely. "Fear is the seed of surrender. They will come to the table or burn."
He turned, retreating back into the tower. Within, awaiting him, stood three figures hooded in heavy veils.
The Ashen Ambassadors, Regis' newly formed caste of political agents.
"Report," he said.
"The Elven High Council has receivedyour request for a diplomatic envoy,"the first responded, voice dainty but firm.
"The Dwarves are willing to trade mithril for leyline technology," the second said.
"And the Beastfolk Tribes… they offer warriors. In thousands. Not for territory or gold. For faith," the thirdadded.
Regis smiled.
"The world is in motion. And soon… it will dance to my beat."
A Glimpse at the Broader World
Down in the distant lands far fromboth Nazarick and the Imperium, the rest of the world stirred in whispers.
In the Western Reach, the Crimson Choir, a neutral cult who worshiped forbidden knowledge, began chantinghymns of praise to an imminent "Eternal Eclipse."
The Draconis Theocracy, who had capitulated to Regis' standard only weeks before, experienced bizzarevanishing among its noble class.
Ancient Volcanic City of Emberdeep, long dormant, sent a message by magical flame: "We wish to speak with the King of Ash and Eclipse."
Regis' legend was no longer growing.
It was spreading.
An Internal Threat Emerges
But in all of this triumph, a darknesscrept up.
Deep within the Sanctum Vaults, only Regis and his closest friends dared toenter, forbidden magic began to stir. Vaults containing relics from prior to his conquest began… to tremble.
A sealed throne, built not of metal but glassy voidstone, began to hum with life.
Ysilia, ever the first to sense such abnormalities, warned Regis at once.
"Something from the past has awakened, my King. A spirit tied to your past. or your future. Shall I seal it once more?"
Regis looked at the throne—knowingit, somehow, past memory and reaching deep into instinct.
"No. Let it awaken."
"Do you… remember it?"
"Not yet. But I will."
The throne pulsed once again, this time in sync with his heartbeat.
The First Contact – Nazarick's Shadow Moves
In the forest around Vael'tharn, one of Regis' outer protectorates, a moonlitdistortion mirror appeared.
From it stepped Demiurge, in human attire, with a dozen Shadow Scouts.
Their mission was not conquest.
Not yet.
It was observation.
But when Demiurge reached the borders of the province, he paused. His eyes, behind glasses, narrowed.
"What. is this feeling?"
Magic permeated the air—not raw, but arranged. Purposely. Engineered. His senses detected divine-level enchantments, reminiscent of what Nazarick itself employed to defend its borders.
He examined a nearby rune-stone, lips curled into a grin.
"Interesting. He's building a new world using relics and rules. not thatdifferent from our own."
But his eyes grew wider a bit as he felt something else.
A gaze.
From somewhere—nothing—a powerwas looking at him.
Not hostile.
Not fearful.
It was curious.