The wind howled through shattered fragments of the Sanctum, carrying the ash of a shattered and withered thing. The sky bled above—red and purple stripes twisting through the heavens like veins on a corpse god. Kael leaned on the verge of the crumbled platform, his cloak buffeting him, his eyes rapt in the eerie hollowness out there.
Elira moved to stand beside him, quiet, her expression unreadable. Her hair, now streaked with the whitest silver from their fight against the Watcher, caught the sickly starlight that filtered through the torn veil of the sky. The storm had passed, aye, but the world they knew was gone.
"This isn't our world anymore," Kael said, his tone low, his fingers still tender from the Voidstorm's last blast. "It's changed."
No," Elira replied, her voice soft but firm. "We have."
