rastq12

Betrayed. Forgotten. Forsaken.

When Kael Ardyn, heir to the noble house of Ardyn, is framed for a crime he didn’t commit, his world crumbles in an instant. Branded a traitor, hunted like an animal, and cast into the dreaded Abyss, he is left to die in the depths where no mortal survives.

But Kael is no ordinary man. In the darkness of the Abyss, he awakens something ancient—something that should have never been disturbed. The Primordial Abyss speaks to him, offering knowledge, power, and vengeance beyond mortal comprehension.

Now reborn as the Abyssborn, Kael is no longer a forsaken noble. He is a harbinger of ruin, an entity that should not exist in the mortal realm. Armed with abyssal power and a thirst for retribution, he will ascend from the darkness and carve his legend into the world.

They thought they had buried him.
They thought they had won.
But from the shadows, the Forsaken King shall rise.

Abyssborn: The Forsaken King

It swallowed everything—sight, sound, even the sensation of time.

He didn't know how long he had been falling. Seconds? Minutes? An eternity? There was no ground, no sky, only the endless, consuming abyss.

Faint at first, like the echo of something long buried. Then louder, wrapping around him like unseen tendrils.

Kael's breath hitched. The voice wasn't coming from any single direction. It was everywhere—inside his head, around him, beneath him, part of him.

Flashes of war. The taste of blood. The weight of a crown.

These memories—they weren't his. They couldn't be.

But then why did they feel so real?

"Your soul has forgotten. But your throne has not."

The darkness stirred. Shapes moved in the void, shifting like living shadows. And then, ahead of him, something began to take form.

It was tall, inhumanly so, draped in robes woven from the abyss itself. No face. No eyes. Just an empty void where a face should be.

It studied him, as though seeing through him—down to the very essence of his being.

"You stand at the threshold, heir to the Forsaken Throne."

The words rang in his skull, each syllable carrying a weight that pressed against his very soul.

"Will you claim what was stolen from you?"

"I don't even know who I am," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The figure's presence deepened, the abyss itself seeming to breathe with its movements.

"Names are fragile things, easily lost… easily erased. But power? Power does not forget."

The words unsettled him. Not because they were wrong—but because they felt right.

This throne, this power… the abyss itself…

Had it always been waiting for him?

"The throne calls. The choice is yours."

A path unfolded beneath his feet, woven from the abyss itself. At the end of it stood a second throne—not the one in the chamber he had fought in, but an older one.

Ancient. Cracked. Drenched in forgotten power.

He didn't know if this was a trap. He didn't know if accepting meant losing himself.

But deep down… he already knew his answer.

Chapter 9: The Abyss Calls