A group of thirty black-robed figures stood gathered before a massive boulder, deep within the shadow of the forest. Silent. Still. Waiting.
The night was thick with darkness. The full moon hung high in the sky, cold and heavy, like an omen cast from the heavens. The air bit at the skin, but none among them moved or sought warmth. They had come with purpose, bound by a command they dared not refuse.
Then, without warning, a man appeared atop the boulder. He stood tall, proud, and unmasked. His hair was streaked with grey and black, a sign of age and battles past.
His eyes, though wrinkled at the edges, burned with fire—sharp and alive. He looked down at the gathering, and they straightened, drawn to his presence.
With a voice that cut through the night, he spoke.
"My brothers and sisters… tonight, we take back what was stolen from us! Tonight, we rise! What we claim will lift us above all others, and make this world kneel before the will of our Lord!"
