As he drew closer, the storm intensified, bolts of golden lightning crackling around him. The air grew heavier, saturated with Immortal Essence. His wings struggled against the rising pressure, and the temperature dropped drastically, frosting the edges of his cloak.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant voice boomed across the sky, vibrating through his very soul.
"Who dares trespass upon the Sanctum of Origins?"
Aiden stopped mid-flight, hovering in place. His scythe materialized in his hand, its dark flames flickering as if ready for battle.
"Sanctum of Origins?" Aiden muttered, his mind racing. He had heard whispers of a place like this from ancient records—a realm said to contain fragments of primordial power, capable of reshaping fate itself.