The sanctum lay in ruins.
Dust drifted through the air like ash after a fire, settling over cracked pillars and shattered masks. Silver blood pooled in streaks across the stone floor, glowing faintly even as it cooled. The Watchers who still lived lay writhing, their oaths broken, their masks shattered, their voices whispering fragments of vows that no longer bound them.
Kael stood at the center, his crimson aura wrapping him like a crown of shadows. The Devil’s Dagger dripped silver ichor, its runes pulsing as if feeding on the sanctum’s death. His smirk curved faintly as he looked up at the remains of the moon above.
The great stone carving had cracked wide, a third of it broken loose and smashed against the floor. Chains that had once bound it now hung broken, swaying faintly in the
