Thunder crackled across the blood-streaked skies as Valerian stood before the fractured pillars of the ruined sanctum. Ash drifted in the air like falling snow, each flake carrying the acrid scent of burned magic and spilled blood. His wounds still ached from the recent battle—gashes along his ribs where the Shadow Wraiths had nearly claimed him, and the deeper cut across his shoulder that refused to heal properly despite Lira's ministrations. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the maelstrom churning inside his chest.
The obsidian seal embedded there pulsed with each heartbeat, responding to something in the air. Something wrong.
