The basin left by the Titan's fall still smoked. Fragments of his spear glowed like cooling stars, sinking into molten stone. Ash drifted down in sheets.
Across that ruin the next commander stepped. Her form was not large, not armored. Instead, she was absence wrapped in flesh. The air bent around her, light thinning where it touched her cloak. Her movements carried no sound. Every step was a subtraction.
When she appeared fully, a ripple spread across the field. Spells faltered in mid-flight. Chants stuttered. Mages who had been locked in combat turned their heads despite themselves. Their instincts screamed that the void itself had gained shape.
Her pale eyes fixed on Ren. Then, deliberately, they slid to Elara.
Elara drew a breath through her teeth, clutching her ribs. Her golden light sparked faintly at her palms but could not take shape.
