The storm began to die.
Not all at once—just enough for shapes to re-emerge. Ice coated the battlefield in jagged layers, frozen chains half-buried in shattered stone, frost still drifting through the air like ash. Visibility was low, but the pressure at the front hadn't vanished.
Noir held it.
Her massive shadow form stood between the others and the frozen ruin where the Second Pillar had been swallowed, claws dug into ice, breath slow and steady. Selene remained near her flank, gravity still subtly bent, the cold around her controlled rather than raging now.
Behind them, the group regrouped.
Noel was on one knee, one hand braced against the ground. Blood stained the ice beneath him, dark and stark against the white. His breathing was rough, uneven—but his eyes were clear, alert, tracking everything.
"Marcus?" he asked immediately, voice hoarse.
