The night air was thick with tension, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and smoke. The city of the Eastern Kingdom had become a labyrinth of shadows, fires burning in scattered districts, and the echoing clang of distant clashes resonating through the streets. Arabella stood atop the highest watchtower in the city’s heart, her cloak billowing in the wind, golden light of Aerthalis glimmering faintly along her arms.
Below, her loyalists crouched in hiding, awaiting her command. Her pulse was steady, her breath controlled, yet every instinct screamed that the real challenge was imminent. The entity within Reagan knew they were here, and it was preparing its trap. Marcus hovered silently above, wings folded close, but his presence was undeniable—a warm, golden aura that flickered like s
