There is a world, not quite a planet, that exists outside of what we understand as time. Almost a bubble universe, inside our own universe. A world floating in space, light-years from the planet we call home.
It is no ordinary world. It was created, not born. Created for one purpose only.
No one knows exactly who created it; this phenomenon, this anomaly in space.
It's a bleak place. Death stalks the alleyways of this world, stinking of dread and fear. The sun never shines there; it is lit by many torches blazing a path through the darkness. Shadows linger in every corner; dark, twisted, horrifying. In this world of secrets and danger, the lines between reality and nightmares blur.
You cannot describe its years in terms of human time. You cannot describe anything about it in human terms. But I have tried, for the benefit of the humans involved in this tale.
For the majority of the time, the world was abandoned. Desolate. No wind rushed through empty, staring buildings. No voices shattered the eerie silence that descended. It was a time of ghosts and darkness, even more so than when it did have occupants. When our story begins, no human had ever set foot on this world, or even heard of it. The rumours and stories had yet to reach Earth. However, the human world is a tiny, tiny portion of our universe.
Throughout the 'alien' population, it had become a legend. It gained a reputation for all that's strange and wild and dark.
But what the truth behind the stories was, no one knew. There were rumours, of course. But what really happened during the times when there were living beings on this world, that fuelled the rumours, was unknown.
One name was repeated throughout all the stories and rumours, one phrase was whispered around the galaxy.
The Shadow Games.