The countdown didn't appear on a screen; it was written in the very sky. The twelve Ignition Relays began to pulse with a low, rhythmic red light, casting an eerie, bloody glow over the ruins of Aethelgard.
23:54:12.
The city was in a state of stunned, paralyzed silence. The "Iron King," Julian Vane, had long since crawled into the shadows of his own vault, leaving his empire to burn in the sun. We stood on the helipad, the wind whipping around us, tasting of ozone, burnt rubber, and the coming fire. The heat was already rising, the air becoming dry and brittle.
“We can't drive to the North in twenty-four hours,” Kael said, his voice tight with a frustration that bordered on despair as he kicked a piece of fallen satellite dish. “The Ley Lines are jammed with the Hive’s interference,
