Far below the Heavenly Realm. Below the golden clouds. Below the radiant courts. Below the divine order that governed existence. There was darkness. Not the simple absence of light. But a living darkness. Ancient. Patient. Hungry.
The Under Realm did not exist on maps of heaven. It was not acknowledged in divine assemblies. It was not spoken of in celestial law. But it existed, nonetheless, coiled beneath reality like a serpent beneath fragile glass.
Waiting. Watching. Listening.
At the center of that endless abyss stood a throne carved from something that had never known light. It was not stone. It was not bone. It was something older. Something that remembered the moment before creation decided it preferred order over chaos. And upon that throne sat the God of the Under Realm.
He did not glow. He did not shine. He consumed. Darkness clung to him like loyal servants, whispering into his ears, feeding him secrets stolen from the cracks of existence.
