The skies over Crimson Ridge had turned a bruised purple, the lingering scars of celestial warfare still streaked across the heavens. Clouds churned like wounded beasts, pregnant with lightning but holding back the storm as if the world itself held its breath.
Elizabeth stood on the high balcony of the Flame Spire, her golden hair rippling in the wind, the Solbrand resting across her back like a promise. From here, she could see the remnants of battle. Craters from divine fire dotted the horizon. But the land was healing. Slowly, stubbornly.
She could sense the whispers even now. Fainter, but not gone. The Forgotten God had been sealed again, yes but some part of it had lingered, embedded in the world like splinters in a wound.
Lucian stepped beside her, his jaw tight.
“We received wor
