For sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six years, the Obsidian Lock had held. Empires had risen and turned to dust beneath the moss that swallowed their crowns. Oceans had claimed continents, then retreated, revealing new valleys for new kingdoms. The very stars had crawled across the sky, redrawing the maps of gods.
They had forgotten fear.
He raised a hand, expecting to feel the resistance of the world’s magic. It had been a torrent when he was imprisoned, a wild ocean he had learned to poison. Now, he felt… nothing. The magic was gone. Drained. Or perhaps just hidden. el mago oscuro renace despues de 66666 anos
He did not need to reclaim power. He was power. And the people of this new, clean, logical world had just made a fatal mistake. For sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six years,