The world held its breath.
Twin cries split the stillness, not like the wails of newborns, but like the resonance of fate being spoken aloud. One was sharp and golden, slicing through the dark like sunlight tearing across storm clouds. The other was low and echoing, filled with the quiet gravity of an ancient night. Seren held both against her chest—bloodied, trembling, her skin etched with sigils not of her choosing but of something older.
Kael crouched beside her, still clutching the edge of the broken altar. The ground beneath them pulsed, not with heat or tremor, but with silence—terrible, godly silence.
And then… he appeared.
The Judge.
Towering, cloaked in pale robes that whispered as he moved, his face ever obscured by the mask of bone and frost. In his hands: the Book of Endin
