Keal stood in the center of the burning island, the ashes of his battles swirling at his feet like memories refusing to die. The wind carried the scent of ozone and blood. Thunder cracked overhead, but no storm followed.
Instead, the sky parted.
And six figures descended.
They did not arrive in smoke or light. They simply were—stepping onto the blackened earth like they had always belonged there.
Ava. Lima. Seraphina.
Nyra. Kaelen. Siora.
Each wore armor gilded in modern enchantment, emblems blazing on their chests—insignias that meant nothing to Keal but carried authority nonetheless. Their faces were calm. Unmoved. Cold.
He dropped the sword in his hand, staring in disbelief.
“Ava…” he whispered. “Lima… Sera… Kaelen—”
They did not respond.
Ava’s eyes scanned him like she was an
