In front of me, Garrum walked forward, his broken silhouette swaying beneath the torn light of the sky. His steps left smoking imprints in the ground, and the shadows behind him seemed to stretch open like a path. He wore that sick smile — the one men wear when they've lost everything and no longer seek victory, only the destruction of whatever reminds them they once failed.
I gathered what little breath, clarity, and mana I had left.
I knew there weren't many openings left, but I didn't need an opening — just a spark.
My fingers tightened around Lyseria. The staff trembled faintly, tired as well, as if it knew what I was about to do.
— "H₂… O₂…" I whispered.
Mana condensed in my palms, invisible at first, then the air began to glow around Garrum. He froze, wary, his gaze flickering between confusion and instinct. Too late.
The spark ignited.
