A blinding crimson flash split apart the heavens above the Eldros capital, bathing the sprawling city in blood-red light. The brilliance was so fierce it seemed to scorch the storm-darkened skies themselves, and for an instant, day and night were overturned.
Down below, terror spread like wildfire. Merchants abandoned their stalls, soldiers froze mid-step, and nobles peered out of their carriages with faces pale as bone. The air quaked with an oppressive pressure that slammed into the heart of every soul, leaving no doubt as to the origin of this power.
This was no natural phenomenon.
This was the king.
Before a single prayer or curse could rise from trembling lips, the crimson figure vanished. The only proof of his presence was the scar he left behind in the heavens—a rift in the storm. Clouds were sundered cleanly apart, split into two colossal halves stretching tens of kilometers across the sky.
The heavens themselves had been torn by his will.
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