The Derigoth Chrono Mages were revered and feared, wielders of time’s endless threads. On the battlefield, they bent moments to their will, freezing enemies mid-strike or rewinding wounds as though they never existed. Yet, this power came at a price.
Not everyone could endure the chaos of bending time. The weak-minded succumbed first, their sanity unraveling like a frayed tapestry. For even the best, the toll was inevitable. Each spell fractured their essence, and their blood, once vibrant, slowly turned black—a mark of temporal corrosion.
In a quiet moment after battle, a veteran mage, her veins dark as obsidian, stared at trembling recruits. "You think time is your tool," she rasped. "But it’s a predator. It always takes more than it gives."
The recruits shivered, watching her hands tremble as she clutched her staff. She smiled grimly. "And yet, we wield it—because someone must."