Worlds split. Realms bleed. And through it all flows Prāṇna - the breath of life-the last thread holding existence together. Only the rarest warriors can master it, soul-forging weapons with focus so absolute that a whisper of doubt shatters it. Each strike carves a piece of their life. Here rivers remember. storms listen. stone itself may rise to protect... or crush. A place where heroes are not born but forged in fire, in silence, in sacrifice. When the sky stops mid-breath and the wind chokes on silence... the next chapter is about to be written in blood. Because beyond the light stands Kali, the Devourer of Ages - his hunger so vast, even time gnaws its tail to escape him, and his blood-clan, the Corrupted Lords bound by fragments of his will, his shadow touches every corner of the realms. Face them all... -and the world itself may hold its breath.