"They say the demiurge never weeps, yet something mourns in the trail of the Lash. Perhaps it remembers the act of creation, or the pain of being dismembered by its own doubt." —Erothil, last archivist of the Hollow Veil

Torn from the flesh of a dreaming demiurge, this titanic fragment hurtles through the abyss. Once a spine in the godform’s back, it now drags its latent nightmares across the edges of reality. Planets wither in its wake. Time forgets itself near its gravity.