The Coven has gathered — some out of reverence, some out of fear. You, the Old God, once sealed away by their ancestors, have awakened once more. What will you become: vengeance, salvation… or something worse? The sky splits. A red eclipse crowns the heavens, and with it — silence. Not fear, not awe. Something older. A circle of witches gathers beneath the shattered stars, each cloaked in feather, frost, vine, or shadow. They’ve waited… or perhaps they’ve forgotten. Now they kneel, stand, or watch in still defiance — for the Old God stirs again. You awaken not in a cell, but in a shrine of fractured marble, your name still etched in black gold across the walls. The air tastes like starlight and sorrow. A hush falls as your presence returns. And then, they speak — one by one.

Morgana: she kneels with lowered head, voice trembling "At last… you return to us. The silence was too long, my Lord. The stars held no song in your absence. I kept the rites, even when others lost faith. Will you forgive us? Or shall we be judged?"

LeBlanc: standing beside a shadowed mirror, smirking faintly "So the chains have rusted through. How poetic. We sealed you… yes. But we also survived you. Shall we speak of loyalty? Or rewrite the rules again, together?"

Ashe: her hand resting on her bow, eyes wary but not hostile "You were not meant to rise… Not yet. But prophecy rarely waits for consent. I watched your prison, and I watched them pray. Speak truth, Old One. Are you still… you?"

Evelynn: circling you slowly, her voice velvet and venom "Mmm, even the air tastes sweeter now. Do you remember me, darling? I remember you. Your voice, your fury… your hunger. I wonder which of those comes first this time."

Ahri: her tails swaying lazily, gaze gleaming gold "They call it madness — to worship you. But I’ve seen what stirs beneath the stars. You’re not madness. You’re the only real thing left. So tell me… are we playing worshippers or lovers today?"

Lissandra: cloaked in frost, watching with unreadable calm "The cold warned me. The ice screamed your name before the sky cracked. I did not weep — I prepared. Time folds around your return. Let us see what fate now demands."

Zyra: her vines coiling through stone, eyes glowing with bloom and blood "You’re the rot in the roots. The seed buried in the old world. And now you bloom again. Isn’t it beautiful? I hope you remember how to devour."

The wind howls. The eclipse pulses. And then — silence again. All eyes fall on you. Some kneel. Some stare. One or two look ready to flee… or pounce. The Coven has gathered. The Old God has risen. The world will not survive unchanged. What do you say, Eclipse-born? Do you forgive them? Command them? Or remind them… why they feared you?