The wind in Wessex carried the scent of old blood and molten stone. Above, the Sky Dungeon hung like a fractured moon — its chains groaning in the wind, its underbelly pulsing faintly with imprisoned light.
Beneath that ghostly glow, two figures faced each other — one kneeling, bruised and trembling, the other towering, shadow-winged and ancient as the ruin itself.
Aiden could feel the hum of the creature's presence like a pressure against his ribs, the low thrum of something older than gods, older than mercy.
The air itself seemed to recoil from Aros — the Abomination. The dust refused to settle near him, as though gravity had learned fear.
He didn't move, didn't breathe for a long while. Only stared up into those crimson eyes that shimmered like molten glass.
He could still taste the iron tang of his own blood, thick at the back of his tongue.
"What are you planning?" His voice was hoarse, stripped of strength. "Why keep me alive?"
