The storm roared across the valley, grief woven into every lash of smoke. Ashbound torches flared, Emberkin shields rose, but the sheer weight of despair pressed down like a mountain.
Then the storm parted.
Marlic himself stepped forward, ember eyes blazing, spear dripping with shadow. His presence was heavier than the storm—every breath of the valley seemed to falter.
Kael's voice rang out, steady but strained. "He comes. Hold the line!"
The champions surged ahead, but Marlic cut through them like smoke through flame. His spear struck, tearing torches apart, scattering warriors.
Elira staggered, the crown pulsing violently. Memory whispered in her chest: "He is grief incarnate. But grief is not his alone."
Marlic's voice thundered across the valley.
"You thought silence was mercy. You thought dawn had broken me. But grief does not die—it grows. Tonight, I bring storm reborn. And I will break you myself."
He advanced, every step shaking the earth. The Ashbound braced, but his fury was aimed at Elira.