The day the stars fell, the world was torn from its cradle.
They called it the Convergence, a collision of worlds invisible to the naked eye. From the heavens came an asteroid, black as sorrow, singing a song only the dying could hear. When it struck, the sky split open, and a tide of alien energy spilled across the earth, unseen but felt in every trembling heartbeat. Forests withered. Oceans seethed. The laws that once governed nature twisted like broken limbs.
They came first as stains on skin. Then as living scars. Finally, as commandments written in flesh.
The Stigmata, marks not drawn by ink, but carved by the universe itself into human flesh. Some called them blessings. Others, curses. Each brand held power vast and unfathomable, rewriting bodies, shattering limits, devouring souls. Civilization staggered, rose, and splintered anew.
Seven Primal Stigmatas emerged from the first generation, ancient, pure, terrible in might. They chose seven bloodlines, binding them by oath and power. The noble houses were born, monarchs of a broken age, each ruling in the shadow of the stars that had scarred the world.
But power breeds fear. Fear breeds treachery.
The Seventh House, keeper of the Devouring Mark, was betrayed, slaughtered by the hands of its own kin. Its stigmata was lost, whispered into myth, buried in the blood-soaked annals of history.
Or so they believed.
Two centuries later, in the gutters of a city that forgot how to dream, a boy's scream tore through the night, and the world shuddered as something ancient, something hungry, awakened once more.
The Seventh Mark had returned.
And with it, the promise that the age of kings would end in fire, blood, and ruin.