The Cendy Labyrinth, once a tomb of forgotten kings, now breathed with a deceptive, hollow stillness. The echoes of battle had faded, leaving behind only the scent of scorched stone and the lingering taste of ozone. It had been days since the Hollow Echoes, Rayne's elite phantom troops, were scorched into ash by our labyrinthine traps, but the true war had only just begun.
Above ground, the battle lines had twisted and coiled like vipers in a death dance. Rayne's forces, battered but not broken, had regrouped after their staggering loss in the labyrinth. They were now pressing Layla's remaining surface troops, who struggled to hold their ground in the treacherous Gloomroot Narrows. We knew Rayne wouldn't stop. His pride, shattered and remade into a burning obsession, would not allow it. And neither would I.
Because this time, the battlefield wouldn't be just terrain. It would be a crucible.
And the Phoenix would answer.
