The sky turned savage.
Wind churned like it had been stirred by some invisible hand, whipping up a storm of sand and grit.
Ethan looked up, eyes sharp as blades. The scorpion creature's wings beat high above, stirring the air into a frenzy—it was summoning a storm?
"Son of a bitch…"
He muttered through clenched teeth and thrust out his hand.
The Scepter of the Fey Sovereign flared into existence in his palm, emerald light bursting from its crown.
In an instant, the wind shifted. All around them, elemental energy surged, drawn toward the scepter in a spiraling vortex—
Light and dust were swept into the same current, as if the whole world had taken a breath.
Then, rising slowly in the sky, a massive spectral figure took shape—
The Fey Sovereign.
The ancient Elven king's avatar—regal, graceful, and terrible to behold. His cloak snapped in the wind, and starlight shimmered in his eyes.
"Feylora!"
Ethan's voice cracked like a whip.
