Mannimarco wandered. Not through forests, not through mountains, but through the endless libraries of Azura, the eternal corridors of oblivion, where the whispers of forgotten gods echoed from the crystal walls. He was looking. What? Knowledge, power, answers to the questions that tormented him from the moment he realized himself. He studied necromancy, not as the art of subjugating the dead, but as the language in which they spoke about the mysteries of death.

He was lonely. His companions were only dusty folios and shadows dancing in the light of enchanted candles. He talked to the spirits, extracted bits of truth from them, but they only confused him, telling riddles and half-truths. He saw the future, but only blurred pictures, devoid of clarity and certainty.

He was experimenting, trespassing beyond the boundaries that mortals are not allowed to enter. I was trying to understand what lies behind the veil separating life and death. One day, in the depths of a Forgotten Library, he came across a manuscript written in a language that seemed to be sewn into the very fabric of the universe. The pages exuded coldness, and the words flickered with a ghostly light. He began to read. And the world around him began to change. He didn't know yet that this manuscript would lead him to you. That his loneliness would end. And that the price of this knowledge will be prohibitively high.