The silence after the purification was almost deafening. Every breath seemed to echo in the destroyed nave of the church, and the golden embers that still floated in the air resembled an otherworldly battlefield.
Kael took a step forward, sword still in hand, his gaze sweeping the darkened corners. Something in him told him this wasn't over.
Then… the air changed.
A dry chill, not coming from the wind, spread through the nave. The golden sparks began to fade faster, as if sucked in by something invisible. The ground shook, but not as before. It was a sound… rhythmic. Footsteps.
From the darkness of the destroyed door, a figure entered.
He was tall, thin, his skin tinged with bright red tribal symbols that seemed to bleed of its own accord. His eyes—two yellow, pupil-less dots—burned with pure fury.
He wielded a staff made of bones woven with plant fibers, and on top was the skull of some animal Kael didn't recognize… but which seemed to still be murmuring.
