In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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Obsidian wings gracefully flapped, slowing his descent: the transition from flight to walking was artful. It looked effortless. His wings tucked in as he dusted off his suit, a casual gaze slipping over his surroundings. Nobody was being obvious, which probably meant they weren’t around. The survivors living in Twilight Town tended to be pretty obvious about their existence; which made avoiding them a rather effortless endeavor.
He quickly slipped into the mansion, pulling the door shut, then briskly headed left, past the broken false floor, and descended into the depths. A few of the computers had been restored and were in working order. The screens displayed different cryo chambers: a different little veil of miasma was pouring into them, infusing them.
Reaching into the inner left pocket of his suit, he retrieved an Osmosis Amulet and held it up, iolite gaze examining the curious little trinket. Its dark crystalline form shimmered in the computer’s dull reflected light, and Kalos’ lips curled softly upward in a pleased grin.
