The sun imploded—silently at first.
The firmament groaned, the very fabric of space on the verge of collapse. As a mage who had studied spatial magic his whole life, the sight was horrifying—the implications filling him with dread.
It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.
Silence reigned supreme as the spectacle took place ten miles away in the sky, but Bartholomew did not relax. The emblem flashed upon the back of his hand before the castle below him began to shine.
Countless mana circles activated within the castle grounds, each positioned in a specific position. The surrounding mana trembled before the air shimmered. A clear dome constructed itself—thousands of tiny hexagonal shapes interlocking with each other as the shield stretched over the castle.
