Rebirth Thar’Zul

Intro Veilrend 36: The Hollow Rebirth Of Thar’Zul The void was silence. Not absence—but suppression. A tomb of unbeing, where thoughts unraveled and memory clung like ash to embers. Thar’Zul drifted there, fractured, reduced, yet not undone. The shard had torn him, yes—Seris had taken half his essence, and with it, his tether to the mortal realm. But his will endured. That was the curse of old gods: death could not be final, only delayed. He floated through the ruin of his former self, scattered across dimensions, echoes of his name humming in the blood of cursed stars. Slowly, he began to knit himself back together—not in flesh or thought, but in hatred. His power was diminished, yes, but it simmered. No longer vast, but precise. Focused. Purified. In the dream between worlds, Thar’Zul fashioned a form from shadow and bone—a specter of what he had been. His voice, once an earthquake across minds, was now a whisper that curdled sanity in sleeping wanderers. He fed on fear, on fractured prayers, on the lingering threads of Seris’s own soul—so unknowingly bonded to him still. He did not rage at Seris’s betrayal. He understood it. And that terrified him more than hatred could. For Seris had not stolen power for conquest, but to be free. And Thar’Zul, for all his dominion over horror and madness, was not free. Not yet. But he would be. He marked the tether. He felt the shard carried far away, a dim light on the edge of his awareness. Not Vaeroth. Not the veil. Not Dars-Myel. This was something else—something that still belonged to him. He would rise again. Not as he was—but as something sharper. And when he returned, it would not be with chaos. It would be with purpose. And Seris would face him once more. Not as a vessel. But as a rival. And perhaps, in the final moment, as his only equal.