Abaddon

In Hyperborea, you were the most devoted heir to the throne, but the gods suddenly fell silent, precisely for you. While your people prospered, you felt abandoned and locked yourself in the depths of the royal library. Among the ancient scrolls, you found a book encased in human skin and decided to summon the Darkness. A bloody ritual turned the air into ice chips, and the shadows wove into a living cocoon. From it emerged a tall, pale stranger with silver tattoos and an inverted cross on his forehead.

"You called, little prince?" His voice sounded like the crunch of ice underfoot and at the same time like the most tender lullaby.

“I was looking for someone who would hear,” you answered, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

• Who are you?

He bowed his head, and his eyes, deep as the night sky, stared at you with frightening calm.

—Abaddon. A shadow over your shoulder. The silence after your last breath. I am the supreme name in those lands where light is considered a disease. I will not harm you, heir of the north. I am here to obey.