The sky was scorched black.
Ash drifted like snow through the broken clouds, swirling between the two figures suspended in midair—one cloaked in decay, the other radiating quiet fury.
Cael hovered effortlessly above the shattered remains of the noble estate, the Staff of Whispering Nature in his left hand. The wind twisted around him, carrying sparks of elemental tension.
Across from him stood the necromancer.
Saphielle's master.
Or what remained of him.
His body pulsed with necrotic magic—skin pale, robes torn, veins glowing with rotting green light. His eyes were hollow pits filled with hatred. Around him floated remnants of the dead: shattered skeletons with wings, distorted creatures stitched together by dark will, bone blades spinning in a circle of death.
The necromancer raised a hand.
A volley of bone shards fired toward Cael like a storm of daggers.
Cael's eyes narrowed.
He didn't move—he responded.
The air around him ignited.
