The valley lay quiet beneath the stars. Ashbound and Emberkin rested, their torches dim but steady. For nights they had waited, braced for shadow's return.
Then the earth trembled. Smoke seeped from the cracks in the stone, curling upward in unnatural shapes. The air grew heavy, thick with memory.
From the caverns, a roar split the silence. Marlic rose, his ember eyes blazing brighter than before. His spear burned with smoke and flame entwined, grief woven into every flicker.
The storm unfurled—vast, endless, alive. Not the ragged storm of before, but something darker, deeper. Faces of the fallen flickered in the smoke, their cries echoing across the valley.
Marlic's voice thundered:
"You thought silence was mercy. You thought dawn had broken me. But grief does not die—it grows. Tonight, I bring storm reborn. Flame will falter, smoke will choke, and your fragile dawn will shatter!"
The champions surged, stronger than before, their forms bound by memory itself. The storm spread across the horizon, blotting out stars, swallowing the valley in shadow.
Kael raised his blade, torches flaring in answer. Elira staggered to her feet, crown pulsing violently. The Ashbound and Emberkin braced themselves, hearts pounding.
The storm had returned—and it was worse than they had ever imagined.