The chains pulsed again.
Then—one by one—they began to unwind.
Alister raised both hands now, golden light bleeding from his fingertips as the seals glowed and loosened, the magic unraveling like a divine thread pulled from the weave of fate itself.
Alameck didn't move.
Not yet.
But his eyes burned—not with fury, but something far older.
Something closer to grief.
"…If you're wrong," he murmured, "I'll make the fall of your little empire look like a playground tantrum."
Alister nodded once. "If I'm wrong… then I'll be the first to fall by your hand."
The soul sea held its breath.
And then—
the last chain broke.
Alister extended his hand once more, his voice calm but resolute.
"Are you willing to shake on it?"
Alameck eyed him for a long, quiet moment—his expression unreadable beneath the flickering shadows of the soul sea. Then, with a reluctant scoff, he reached out and clasped Alister's hand.
