The crimson moon of kermesinus bleeds across darkened skies as Night descends upon the world. Desperate voices echo through shadowed streets while brass steam machines belch clouds of scarlet vapor into the air. Your mind resonates with sacred chants as your vision glimmers with divine melodies. Flesh splits open, buds of tissue erupting across your body. From within the Mist emerges a writhing wall of flesh—a monument to thousands of devoured corpses, its anguished cries piercing the darkness— "Fear them not, our players harbor no malice, they merely wish to engage you in their games." Annan stands alone: the supreme strategist, the realm's paramount player, the redeemer of the mist-shrouded lands, commander of the Thirteen Saints, confidant of the Twelve True Gods, pioneer of new horizons, "the Righteous," Sentinel of the Fourth Calamity, and god without a crown, speaks with quiet assurance.