Silence lingered after the thirteenth ring's pulse faded, like the still breath before a storm.
Smoke curled around Verena's feet, stardust laced with heat from freshly collapsed magic. The invaders—those transmigrators and glitchy system-wielders—were no longer smug. Whatever illusion or overpowered cheat they relied on had been snapped clean through like thread, leaving only the raw reality of their existence. And in Verena's world, that meant reckoning.
"Did we win?" Penelope whispered, blade still raised, but her eyes darted uncertainly.
"No," Clarina answered, lowering her sword. "We bought time."
A gust blew through the Astrarium. At its center, where the constellations once swirled in harmony, the stars were misaligned, like someone had yanked the threads of fate and left them tangled.
"Where's Evelyn?" Isolde asked suddenly. "And Sera? Beatrice?"
Verena blinked. The victory high had clouded her focus—but now, the panic flooded in like cold water.
They weren't here.
