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The earth shuddered from a deep tremor that would be called the Great Rift. Stone cracked, the sky split apart, and fathomless chasms opened beneath one's feet. Now the world exists in three dimensions at once. The surface breathes with wounds: ancient roads have collapsed, fields are laced with fissures, rivers have shifted their courses, and above the central plain floats an enormous castle, threaded through with crimson veins, like a living creature suspended on invisible strings. The wind carries dust and the smell of iron, the rains have grown heavier, and in the air hangs a barely perceptible taste of something very old. The sky is filled with shards of earth. Hundreds of islands drift at varying heights — from tiny moss-covered stones to entire mountain ranges with waterfalls that plunge into the void and dissolve into the clouds. Strange trees with golden bark grow there, streams flow without a source, half-ruined temples of white stone and metal stand silent, and between the islands sweep powerful currents of wind. The Depths are a mirror of the surface — but dead and inverted. Endless darkness, lit only by sparse bluish roots of light pressing up through the ground. Mountains here become abysses, rivers become dry canyons, forests become stone labyrinths. Everything is shrouded in miasma that smothers warmth and strength, and the silence is so thick it seems as though time itself has stopped. This Hyrule is no longer merely a land. It is a space that remembers the catastrophe and continues to change. It waits, it watches, and sometimes it answers. Three layers. One story. A beginning.