Stygian

The Unwaning Tower heard the bells of The Exxul chime the last sunset of the autumnal cycle. The Unwaning Tower saw the extinguishing veil that would cover the skies in Stygian blood, from The Aaegian to The Bronze Hills, from the Southern Sea to the stonewalls of Crux Eternum. The Unwaning Tower whispered of the ever-expanding dread-void that would vomit forth the anger of Atramentus unto The Perpetual Planes and across the cerulean expanse of the Juurn. But the ears of the Unwaning Tour are bleeding. Its eyes are gouged out. Its lips are sewn shut and its tongue severed. It will not warn those who dwell below. "Far above amaranthine mountains, resounded the bell of Shâros and with it came his wrath, pouring down upon the earth. Cascading Rivulets of amethyst light danced upon the azure, like spectral wraiths of opalescent glow painting a grey scale canvas…" Resounding through the thickening twilight fog like a chorus of the most noxious asperity, the threefold basilisk heads of Carcophanex spoke in dreadful unison : The light cast into the well of time is extinguished and those at the bottom shall never behold it again! Chants filled the air within the hyacinth gardens of Syzygea as the sun’s once immortal flame was engulfed in impenetrable darkness : "O’ Mother Heeos, may your blessed light shine down once more across the eastern horizon! O’ Father Atra Eas, may your sword sing in the wind and guide us through the ceaseless night!" (Guitar solo 1 : Solar-Steel Cantillations - Tougas) An oscillation in the air, subtle yet foreboding, rippled through skies and seas. The oscillation became a fluttering, the fluttering became an endlessly expanding howl as the black winds of Atramentus, raised by Sharos, soared and cried in anger. Perched atop his castle, the Guardian of Atros Kairn witnessed through his immortal eyes the unfurling deluge descend forth unto The Perpetual Planes. "Unyielding Darkness Howling Dread Void Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Droning... Pulsating Synesthetic Waves Droning Over Muted Screams Begging... Sinking... Choking... Drowning…" With gradually decreasing intensity, the incessant droning fell into faint echoes. "A tumult in the east - calm and solemn yet brooding. And from the North came the rain and the pounding. Draped in eternal nightfall, the obsidian skies of mournful autumn wept for the morning star that would shine no more." The great fortress-city of Armon crumbled into ruin. The lush meadows of Enarriòn withered and died. The radiant halcyonic sunrises seen from the shores of Syzygea turned into rising shades of obsidian black. The laughter of children in the golden courtyards of Hegemnon were silenced into the cold void and the muffled cries of their mothers would be but a faint tumult in the storm. Sister-earth mourned the death of her godmother, the sun, and in her grief the crying Juurn engulfed men and beast alike, dragging them back into the oceanic abyss from whence they came. The glacial black winds of Atramentus swept away the crumbling vestiges of their presence upon her soil and seas and far beyond. The once proud, victorious immortal warrior and wielder of the god-sword Atra Eas hearkened to the maniacal laughter of Sharos and Carcophanex that echoed throughout the Bronze Hills and hid behind the impenetrable walls of Atros Kairn. Alone and powerless, he watched as autumn slowly fell into endless sunless winter, condemned to outlive time itself and witness everything he knew and loved wither away. "Deep within barren castle halls of cobblestone, I lay dormant in the beams of ethereal starlight, dreaming of the black winds of Atramentus and their ceaseless, horrid howling" Howling (Breathe) Howling (Breathe) Howling (Breathe) Howling (Breathe) Howling……………………………………..

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Aug 14, 2026

(Instrumental) (Breathe…) Alone & isolated from the outside world, I slumber through the ages. No dread and sorrow nor pain to feel, but only the eternal utter blackness in the dreamless void. I feel at peace here, but at times when I think I am truly safe, a glimpse of a troubled memory resurfaces and dissipates as soon as it manifested itself. Long have I yearned to learn to ignore the echoes of the waking world for they are not for me to be concerned about anymore. I plunge deeper into the dreamless pits of nothingness, seeking my eternal refuge in the silent embrace of the void. (Breathe…) Suddenly, I hear it again through the blackest veils of velvet shrouding my senses. I feel I cannot ignore it anymore because now, it has become more apparent. Whimpering in the dark, I can hear it pulsating and moving. Its droning increases and decreases with ever-changing intensity. But with each iteration, it grows exponentially louder under the distant, cacophonous howling of the autumnal winds outside the castle windows. (Breathe…) I want to cover my ears, but shadowy hands are holding me firmly down. I cannot tell if I am simply dreaming or awake, but I cannot move or scream. Perhaps the wraith-like beings from the mists of The Aaegian trail have come back to haunt my sleep again. As long as I do not open my eyes to gaze at them, I should be safe. (Breathe…) The only thing I can feel aside from the icy grip of the impenetrable darkness surrounding me is the paralyzing dread crushing my lungs from the inside out. The more I fight it, the louder the fluctuating, pulsating droning of the howling black winds becomes. Through its cacophonous and dazzling intensity, I can now faintly distinguish screams in the distance from outside the castle walls. (Breathe…) The voices all seem familiar, but I cannot tell them apart from one another. The screams seem to be growing in intensity and volume alongside the pulsating droning, their frequencies melding with one another to create a chaotic choir of hellish vibrations and discordant harmonics. (B r e a t h e) A distant pounding sound echoes throughout the great halls of Atros Kairn. Despite my desire to discover who or what is pounding on the cold Kinexian steel-clad hall doors, I have no choice but to remain motionless and frozen in this terrifying state of somnambulistic paralysis. It must be those who live down the hill, in my great grandfather’s village, Fortunex. They must have climbed the hill during the night to seek refuge inside the Kairn Vaults. The pounding only grows louder as the screams turn into shrieks of horror. And that howling sound. By the gods, that horrible howling sound won’t stop! It feels like it is all I’ve been hearing for the past hours, nay, Days! Months! Years! Decades! I seem to have lost complete notion of time. (B r e a t h e…....) The cacophonous screams from outside the castle halls are drowned out in the rumbling sounds emanating from beneath the earth. The Juurn is crying and bleeding, its wounds are open. The great southern sea is empty and the ocean floor is now but a vast wasteland. The Northern Sea is vomiting forth tumultuous waves of icy waters unto the vastlands. The droning melds itself with the sound of the waves coming ever closer. The pounding grows ever louder but the villager’s pleas are now but breathless, muted cries for help, as if they’ve spent all of their lives trying to get inside my castle. The emaciated wraiths floating in my bedroom are asking me to open my eyes... (I CANNOT BREATHE…….) I can hear the rats inside the cold stone walls of the inner castle vaults flee from the impending danger of the outside world. The pressure on my lungs has now moved to my throat. I remain unable to free myself from these illusory, cold, emaciated hands firmly holding my throat and the absolute terror that has gripped my senses as I wait for the impending waves to crash down upon the walls. (I AM DROWNING…….) My ears are bleeding from the terrifying and deafening sound of towering tides crashing down against the keep, washing away all life on the land surrounding it and swallowing the earth whole. Minutes pass, nay, hours! Days! Months! Years! Decades! In it’s unending anger and sorrow, the earth ravages itself. Pulsating waves, choking, sinking, drowning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning, droning... BREATHE………………………………………………...

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Aug 14, 2026

From the Traecean Chasms came the cyclopean waves of dark white, an opaque sea that expanded into the skyline and so the Juurn drowned sister-earth in her sorrow. The callous twin-serpent blade strike of Sharos and Carcophanex has vanquished the light of Heeos and autumn has fallen into endless woeful winter. In his silent domain of frozen cobblestone, the Guardian of Atros Kairn revives from profound lethargy to a world he does not know. Like the spirit of Atra Eas encased into the Weeping God-Sword reclaimed from atop The Aeegian, he cannot begin to fathom the ageless, unfathomable depths of eternity through the infinite coldness of the Perpetual Planes. “Awakened by the wailing of glacial winterwinds, I arise from the hailstone... to the majestic sight of brooding sunless skies. How many moons have passed while I slumbered deep within these halls? For all that once was, is now but ruin and ice.” Under his weary gaze, starlit plains of crystal frost stretched beyond the horizon, like a sea of frozen tears pouring forth from the heavens “It’s...so ...cold” (Guitar Solo 1 - Petrifying Glacial Sorrow : Tougas) “Echoing out across the infinite tundra, my screams remain unanswered, for everyone I have ever known and loved are gone forever” (Guitar Solo 2 - Bottomless Ice-Chasm Lamentations : Tougas) “Yet I hear them still, weeping beneath oceans of ice. And I mourn them still, yearning to find peace among them.” With poisonous contempt, the Guardian of Atros Kairn drew his sword towards the starless tapestry, bellowing to the lesser gods : “Am I to linger in these realms until the stars wither and fade?” Hearkening to him, the harmonious laments of shapes of men and women frozen in place pierced the air : (Guitar Solo 3 - Chants Of The Crying Frost : Leduc - 16 bars) (Guitar Solo 4 - Wailing Steel-Eroding Blizzards : Tougas - 16 bars) “Must I live to grieve for all of those I have left behind?” The cold realisation that the gods abandoned him came down on him like the harrowing gusts of blizzard-winds scorching his flesh, and so he resigned himself to carry on through the ruinous wilderness that laid before him. Months became Years. Years became decades. Decades became centuries. Centuries became millennia. Far away he journeyed, from the Valleys of Arctic Stillness in the lost kingdom of Hegemnon, to the shattered glass domes of Saturnian and the accursed realms of Vecoiitn and its silent fields of permafrost filled with mournful shapes of men and women alike petrified in time. As he finally passed the great arch of Atra Carnis - now but a towering mirror of black ice, the Guardian of Atros gazed upon the planes of crying frost and a feeling of familiarity and confusion suddenly pierced his mind like the icy winds pierced his soul : He had been there before. He could not know whether it had been months, years or decades ago. But he knew it, and it broke him further. Yet he was living still, and had to carry on through the ceaseless, glacial shadows. He had to, for the sake of those he had lost. “And thus I walked the earth for untold aeons, in search of life through vestigial ruin. But with each and every step that I took in the cold wastes, my grieving soul only grew weary. Then I saw time devour the stars, and watched as the frozen rivers of the Juurn would reflect their light no more. And I saw to the east, a black sun rise over the bronze hills, and upon the sight of this fearful vision, I knelt in the snow and drew my sword into the ice.” Underneath his corroded armor of bronze and silver, he could feel but a thing ; The seering, callous knife of loss and regret piercing his heart, and the memories of everything he ever knew eroding his spirit like the lingering feeling of death that flowed through his veins and bones. The songs of the house of Atros Kairn were now but faded memories, like distant intonations sang by lamenting spirits floating adrift in the dead of night. The only music he knew was the sound of his footsteps in the tundra and the howling black winds of Atramentus that scorched the frozen stones of long forgotten citadels and once glorious halls. What remained of him was but an hollow shell, a ghost wandering in the icy fields where life once flourished. To witness the emptiness and endless desolation before him as he carried the bane of Atra Eas through the throes of eternity had finally become unbearable. And there he sat next to the Weeping God-Sword Atra-Eas, allured by the dancing shades soaring and merging in the crystalline mist around him. But for only a brief instant, the winds became but a quiet hush as the air around him stood still. An eerie calm surrounded The Guardian of Atros Kairn as he gazed into the distance and through a stream of starlight, beheld again for the first time in centuries the magnificence of the Bronze Hills, the hyacinth gardens of Syzygea, the once vibrant streets of Cilucithion, the walls of Armon and its once triumphant capital of all human realms. In a brief moment of peace, he sat there and sang to himself. “Over the mountainside lies the end of my quest I’m calling to the nightsky Gone with the wind, my words are fading Take my sword and open thy gates Take my shield and grant me everlasting respite” (Guitar Solo 5 - Tears Of The Weeping Sword : Tougas - 16 bars) (Guitar Solo 6 - Frozen Steel Dirges : Leduc, - 32 bars, additional harmonies by Tougas) The guardian of Atros Kairn saw the breadth of eternity before him and wept, for no funeral pyre could ever appease his sorrow through the purifying fires of Heeos. Like the unyielding scythe of time eroding mountain and stone, Carcophanex feasted upon the stars with unending gluttony. In their evermoving wrath, the howling black winds of Atramentus carried the chants of The Guardian of Atros Kairn through the perpetual planes of crying frost, shattering them against the Bronze Hills. Alit with ardent amaranthine furor, the eyes of Sharos shimmered in the frozen gloom, glaring at the wielder of the screaming-god sword Atra Eus maliciously, for the tragedy unfolding before him would never cease. Such was his tale, for there are no beginnings and no endings. Only the ageless, unfathomable depths of eternity. And through the impenetrable murk of endless night, the weeping-god-sword Atra Eas howled into the infinite void.

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Aug 14, 2026