Commander Aerin Voss stood at the edge of the city wall, her eyes fixed on the impossible sky above.
The stars were flickering. Not like before, when the Creator had begun its reset—this was different. The stars were dimming, one by one, as if something was drinking their light. The moon was pale and sickly. The air was cold, colder than it should be, even for winter.
"The Ancient One," she whispered. "It's really here."
Commander Marcus stood beside her, his face pale and drawn. He was young, barely thirty, but his eyes held the wisdom of someone who had seen too much. "What do we do, Commander? How do we fight something that created the Creator?"
Aerin's jaw tightened. She was young, barely twenty-seven, but she carried the weight of her lineage on her shoulders. Great-granddaughter
