The fog lifted. The void-walker was gone. Only Ren remained in the crater, arm blackened, chest heaving faintly.
No silence followed. The sky was still alive with fire. Thousands of mages clashed across the horizon, streaks of flame, lightning, and frost colliding like storms. Screams folded into the roar of magic. The ground itself had become a battlefield of collapsing trenches, shattered wards, and burning ruins.
But in the center, all eyes fixed on the descent from above.
The remaining commanders did not wait. They came together.
The second to land was a figure of wings—obsidian feathers tipped in violet fire. His frame was lean, armored only in strips of black metal. His face was sharp, cold, his eyes hunting. When his wings spread, ash rained from them. He looked only at Ervin.
