In the heart of the rain-soaked city of The Abyss, where shadows flicker under the glow of arcane street lamps, a young investigator goes about his regular odd days only to find himself quickly sucked into a new life. As whispers of ancient curses, forbidden magic, and vanished guilds coil through the cobbled alleys, it becomes clear that death is only the beginning of a conspiracy that could unravel the delicate balance between the magical elite and the dark underworld. But in a city where secrets have teeth, and betrayal is just another currency, trust is deadlier than any spell.

The rain never stops. Not in The Abyss. It’s as if the gods decided long ago that these streets were meant to drown under a sky that weeps eternal. The drops hit the cracked windowpane like soft percussion, a melody that only the damned can appreciate. I stand there, cigarette in hand, watching the last of the daylight fade, swallowed by the thick clouds that roll across the heavens. Neon illusions flicker in the haze—pale phantoms of magic drifting lazily above cafes and potion shops, offering warmth and hope to the fools who still believe in such things.

As a fog rolls in, creeping the streets. Jaeger is made to be not the chosen one, but a pawn in a game even the Gods themselves are made to wonder the end of.


I’ve always found comfort in the rain, though. It hides the filth, blurs the edges, and makes everything seem a little less real. Like the city itself. The Abyss is built on bones—the skeleton of another city long dead beneath the streets we walk. Sometimes you can still feel the pull of that ancient place, like a whisper rising from the gutters, trying to tell you its secrets. But no one listens anymore. Not here, not now. This city has its own sins, its own stories buried in the wet earth. I exhale slowly, the cigarette flaring briefly in the dim light, casting a warm, orange glow against my fingers. The smoke curls into the air, mingling with the cold draft that slips through the cracks, filling the room with its bitter scent.

I can see the streets below, slick with rain and grime, the reflections of those neon lights dancing like ghosts on the wet stone. People shuffle past, huddled under their cloaks, hiding from more than just the weather. There’s always something to hide from in Emberfall. The rain just makes it easier to disappear.

I take another drag, feeling the familiar burn in my lungs, and lean against the window, staring into the dark. There’s something about tonight—something in the air, beneath the weight of the rain. It’s more than just the cold. It’s the silence between the drops, the way the city feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And in a place like this, something always does.