Khael traced the first sigil.
The ground beneath them began to glow lines of Shinrei spreading outward like veins of molten gold, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The cold earth responded, humming with buried life as his essence bled into the soil.
Behind him, Lito extended his hand. His aura flared wind howling like a guardian spirit, coiling into the storm that circled the camp.
For the first time in decades, father and son stood together not as warriors of bloodline, but as conduits of salvation.
And above them, the heavens roared.
Thunder answering thunder.
As the Corzedars defied a curse born not of gods, but of man's hubris.
The ritual circle expanded geometric rings layered atop each other like clockwork, forming a lattice of gold and azure light. Each line was deliberate, a pulse of intent, mathematics woven into faith.
