Act 0: Old Knight's Passing
In a world of sinners abandoned by its Maker, an old man gazed into a sea of blue-edged darkness from the edge of a cliff, and wondered what it was like to die.
Primordium. The Dark Sea. Prim. These were the names that men gave to the roiling mass he was looking at. It was the sum of all of humanity's sins, all the blood ever spilt on the hard earth brought forth to devour man as divine punishment. Or so it was said. No one really knew for sure, in truth, and those who had sought out answers had either died or been driven insane in their quest. The one thing that was certain though was this; those who walked into the Prim were as good as dead. Were it not for the ring of colossal glowing pillars that surrounded the land, everything would have been swallowed up and devoured by the darkness long ago.
He lifted his tired grey eyes to one of the pillars hovering some thirty or so miles away to his right. They called the stones Amanohashira, and each one was a breathtaking sight. Spanning over a hundred and fifty feet tall and perhaps twice as wide, the sigil-covered luminescent rock appeared to be carved out of a single block of stone and floated about twenty feet off the ground. The pillars's light was a pale reflection of the overhead moon's bluish hue. An inaudible yet tangible pulsating thrum filled the air for miles around, like the heartbeat of sleeping giant. Some said that it was the sound of the Maker's heart as he grieved for his abandoned children. To him, it sounded more like the heartbeat of the dying world.
His ruminations were cut short by the arrival of child, tromping through the calf-high grass that covered the cliff. "Gran! Gran! Everybody's been looking for-"
He sighed then, and slowly turned around to face the boy. A breeze picked up at that moment and whipped open his cloak, revealing a sword resting in the grip of his proper right hand. The white-haired boy stopped just four feet short of reaching him, his liquid green eyes growing wide with shock. His jaws tried to articulate the question he saw in his eyes.
"Endes." He paused to choose his words carefully. "I have to go away now."
The boy stiffened, the shock starting to give way to anger. "But -!"
"Take care of her while I'm gone. You're a smart lad, Endes, and I know you'll figure something out."
He spun the sword in his hands once, twice, three times before planting it point downwards in the ground. It was a fine blade, expertly crafted with none of the ornate fluff that was all the rage these days. A symbol etched near the hilt glowed with an eldritch blue light. "Soken always wanted for you to have this. It's yours now."
"Gran, why are you –"
He smiled sadly, and took a couple of steps backward towards the darkness. His heels dangled over the Prim, and yet he felt no fear. "Goodbye, Endes. It's time for this old knight to bow out with grace and strength while he still can. May the Maker give you light."
And with that, the old man closed his eyes and let himself go.