The air inside the Verdant Verge was unnaturally still.
Mist clung to the blackened trees like breath frozen mid-exhale. The ground, littered with carcasses of mana beasts, steamed faintly from where their blood soaked into the ancient stone surrounding the Gate.
General Ivaan stood in the middle of it all—coat torn, eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than determination.
He didn't look like a commander now.
He looked like a man possessed.
Blood smeared his hands up to the elbows, and his voice was a low murmur, rhythmic, guttural—each syllable echoing faintly against the inner layers of the sealed gate before him.
The gate's surface shimmered like obsidian water, carved with symbols that pulsed between gold and crimson as if uncertain which it preferred.
"Tahl iren vas'ruk… seln ah'thor…"
"By essence bound, by blood undone…"
He stepped over a slain beast, dipping his fingers into its spilled essence and dragging the red-black streaks across the stone.
