The Hollow bled red light as we prepared to march.
Ash drifted from the ceiling veins, glowing faint like ember snow. The practice grounds behind us were scarred from yesterday's drills—cracks in the obsidian, melted grooves where Selena's frost had fought Malrik's fire, and stains of black blood hardened into glass. My demons stood ready at the edge of the Black Spire. Their armor patched, their blades sharpened, their eyes hollow from exhaustion yet sharp as drawn wires.
We had drilled until silence itself pressed into their lungs. Now, there was no more waiting. The priest was next.
Noa's voice hummed inside the gauntlet.
"Target: city of Lumen, My Lord. Estimated distance—three days by mortal march. With gate compression, one hour."
"Then open it," I said.
Rena obeyed. She crossed her blades in the air and tore a line through reality. Shadows bled outward, becoming a door. Cold wind spilled from it, carrying the faint smell of snow and incense. Lumen waited beyond.
