"...by the time of the second age, any semblance of the once powerful Eternals had long faded to dust. What remains are mere legends and songs, and relics buried so deep for so long that no one, not even the long-lived Jins, can recall where."

The sound of scribbling had been echoing through the vast empty halls of the ruins for several hours now. Though the sky had long faded from the golden glow of sunset to the cold darkness of the moonless night, it did not hinder her in the slightest as she continued to write furiously on her book.

Despite the speed at which she was writing, the words nonetheless could put any artist to shame. Her eyes shining like an owl in the night, the girl continued to study the faded carvings on the wall, in some long forgotten ruin of more ancient and chaotic times.

Creatures of the night, seeing an apparently helpless girl showing her back towards them and unfocused on her surroundings, began circling her. Yet despite having targeted their prey, the Bloodhounds have yet to go for the kill, even beasts fear death after all.

Not a single hair out of place nor a single scratch on her pale white skin could be seen. This helpless girl nonetheless exuded an aura of darkness to any creature foolish enough to enter into her space.

And just before dawn broke, she finally stood up and packed her things. Donning her white coat, her eyes no longer shined, but began glowing a deep red before several yelps of pain sounded all around her.

Soon it became quiet, not a trace of life existed as she picked up her belongings, and finally her most prized possession.

Staring at the scythe in her hands, she offers a small prayer to the skull that adorned the tip of the handle of her scythe before finally silently moving off.

Even deep in the earth, she had no problems navigating her way back up to the top of the basalt cage encapsulating the ancient temple, where a vast wasteland spread out before her eyes, no suprise seeing as she was so close to the Origin.

Here only the strongest may survive, even a newborn Direwolf pup could overpower a small company of soldiers and level a few small hills. Where it not for their preference for flux rich environments, such threats would have long wandered around the world. Life as it is known today would never have been possible.

Only heresay and legends remain of the paradise that once existed here when the Eternals called this place home.

"If only you could see this place."

She whispered to no one in particular, as she gently strokes the head of her beloved scythe.

And once again she walks off, deeper into the wastelands. Her destination, the center of Origin. Looming over the horizon, the Moving Mountains and cold snow awaited her as she walks into the horizon.

For a month she walked, stopping once every few days to rest. Food was scarce but her race required little sustenance, allowing her to travel long distances with relative ease. Cold biting at her, but finding little purchase on her enchanted clothing.

The ever changing terrain of the Moving Mountains brought great difficulty to navigation, but her destination was easy to locate even in such conditions.

"The closer to the center, the harsher the environment."

If the blizzards above the clouds didn't kill you, the sweltering heat of the lava rivers below would. If even that could not deter you, perhaps the eternal Elemental Storm may kill you, or at least slow you down enough for you to die from a fatal mistake navigating the terrain or to the creatures that lurk this hell on earth.

It was said only fools come here, or those seeking death. Yet despite this, there are known to be several tribes of Kind taking refuge in such places.

One such tribe of was called the Calrissi. There she would aim to rest before pushing off for the center.

Even assured of her invincibility, she was anxious and worried. Already she had faced several Ancient Dragons and Fire Wyrms. While the Ancient Dragons were amicable enough to glean some lost forgotten knowledge into the past, the mindless Wyrms were another story.

She herself almost died when she was surrounded by five at once. A week's worth of fighting and several injuries, and yet she was still alive and strong.

Here, even an immortal could die.

Finally she chanced upon a lone Calrissi gatherer, who showed her the way back to his village.

Having existed for more than a Millenium the Calrissi village was a work of pure art. Seeking refuge in similar basalt covered ruins and obsidian cages, a result from ancient battles during the First Age, resulted in the constant maintenance of these ruins.

A prime location for someone like her. Their culture and lifestyle a result of their environment, still taught her much. They sang songs of Reza, an old Eternal best known for his use of lava and fire.

Even their name came from the old tongue El Ca Li Reza, meaning the followers of Reza. Some hypothesize that it was perhaps due to the Calrissi once being a tribe protected by Reza during the wars in the First Age.

Even so long after his demise they still worshipped and prayed to him.

As interested as she was in their culture and first hand stories recited by some old Jins, she still had a goal.

Many legends and reports from the centuries that followed since the end of the Second Age told of a weapon built right in the center of the Origin. While the actual usage or even the effects of said weapon had been lost, it is known that the weapon was what started the wars during the First Age. It is called the Valyon, translated it means the last resort.

No one knows how it works but some myths say it is the perfect Reaper, having collected the souls orbs of even the Eternals themselves.

It harnesses the soul orbs and produces Aether, a mythical fuel for many ancient weapons of mass destruction.

The creation of soul orbs is well known, although extremely outlawed. Extracting the souls out and containing it in a vessel, one attains a form of immortality.  Living Weapons are created this way, by splitting the soul and containing it in a weapon, the blade will never deteriorate nor break in battle as long as the wielder was alive, and the wielder will never die as long as the blade never breaks.

However, if one instead extracts the energy from the soul orbs, weapons that could even harm an immortal could be created.

Replicas of the Valyon have been made over the centuries, but none have been able to reap the soul as efficiently. Studies have shown that even with modern improvements, soul reaping machines have only been able to produce less than one percent of Aether compared to the rumored perfect efficiency of the Reaper.

A divine creation of the Eternal Yph. And also her biggest mistake.

Many attempts have been made to recover it and all have failed. Perhaps she would fail too, but she must do it.

She must. It is her sole purpose.

And so after procastinating in town for several months, learning of the Calrissian culture and sharing her own knowledge, finally she steps out towards the center.

Not even a day had passed and she regrets her decision immensely. Constantly battered by hail and lava rocks spewing from the surrounding eruptions, barely able to see through the poisonous fog enveloping the landscape.

Upwards and upwards towards the point where heaven and earth were said to meet.

For days in end she scaled the cliff, and everyday was a heavier burden on her. Slowly the weight of he realms rested itself on her shoulders.

Finally, just barely twenty feet from her was the Valyon. It was a deceptively simple in design, a tesseract encapsulated withing a glass like sphere. At the center a shining light.

Perched on the top of the mountain she was on, she climbs the wall separating her from her goal.

Fifteen feet more, she notes the delicate carvings on its surface, shining and glowing as she approached.

Ten feet more, more and more it felt like she was reaching towards the sun. The pressure too much, as she almost lost her grip of the cliff.

Dropping her possessions to lighten her load, she tried to crawl the last five feet. Her vision slowly fading.

She could only remember reaching out, her hands outstretched, almost touching. The light blinding and heat burning, the wind freezing.

With her last few gasping breaths, she recites an oracle.

"In their image she will be born, the vessel that has cradled her. Repentance be from they that bound them, as they awaken from the cradle that chained her."