All eyes remained fixed on the sky, none of them daring to break eye contact with the being that had just stepped into the battlefield, as they felt the immense presence that warped the sky itself. Some swallowed hard, while others felt their bodies tremble for a fleeting second before they regained control; after all, none of them had ever felt such overwhelming pressure in their entire centuries of existence.
No one so much as dared to breathe as a man who could decide something that would affect the Empire, and possibly the entire world of Crymora, had arrived.
Azaron Wargrave floated in the sky as the nebula that had taken over the sky churned above him, his golden eyes tearing downward as he gazed at the destruction unfolding right before him. No one had called him; he had only come because he sensed the devastation erupting within the capital and had simply made his way over.
