Crimson Crystal Mountain, Octopus Valley – Greater Himalayas…
The air jet roared like a metal beast as it landed on the snow-kissed peak of Crimson Crystal Mountain.
Wind howled through the valley, swirling flakes of ice and dust as Housekeeper Antony stepped out, his boots crunching against the cold, red-hued earth.
Below the snowy cliffs, the ancient structure of the Das Ancestral Palace stood stoic—carved directly into the mountain's blood-colored rock, glowing dimly under the twilight sun. This was the sacred heart of Octopus Valley, where every breath held the whispers of generations.
Patriarch Raja Das stood tall in his fur robes, flanked by his sons and a few trembling elders. His face was grim. Fierce. His hawk-like eyes fixed on the large metallic boxes that Antony's guards began unloading.
"What… is this?" one of the elders muttered, stepping back as the stench hit them.
When one of the crates accidentally flipped, a bloodied hand dropped out, frozen stiff.
