The sky burned.
What had once been a grey, lifeless horizon now shimmered with cracks of light and shadow tearing through the clouds. The ruins of the Citadel of Ash were nothing but molten rubble, and from its heart rose a spiralling column of black flame that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The group stood at the ridge overlooking the devastation, the wind whipping around them, carrying the faint echo of a voice that wasn’t wind at all.
“Freedom… at last…”
Zephyr was the first to speak, voice trembling despite his usual calm. “Tell me we didn’t just release whatever made that sound.”
No one answered. Even Thorne, whose confidence had rarely faltered, gripped his sword tighter, his knuckles white.
Eryndor stood at the edge of the ridge, his gaze locked on the rising storm of energy. The fa
