"Truth be told," the man said finally, voice low, gravel-drenched, "he's bad news… even for us."
The woman didn't argue. How could she?
Far beyond them, Daegon stood like a god reborn. The corrupted pearl pulsed in his grip, and the sky obeyed it like it owed him everything. The streets had fallen into hush, not panic. Not yet. Just awe. That was worse. That was always worse.
She looked up. The stars were still fading. The dark winter had touched everything. Slowly. Softly. Like the world was being rewritten from the top down, line by line, molecule by molecule.
"Back in the day…" she said, her voice strange with something like reverence, "he uprooted half the gods who now kneel for the Dark Pantheon. That was when he was still the Guardian. Before he fell."
The man nodded, eyes narrowing. "Back then, he didn't just protect. He purged. Any divine that dared drop corruption on his land didn't leave with their soul intact."
