The silence that followed the collapse of the Obsidian Guardian was not the silence of peace; it was the heavy, suffocating quiet of a tomb.
Kassian lay sprawled in the black snow of the plaza, his silver hair fanned out like a broken wing. The golden radiance of his "Memory Flame" had vanished, leaving him pale and dangerously cold. Ten feet away, Arkon was slumped against the base of a rotating sphere, his breathing shallow, his eyes clouded with the kind of magical exhaustion that could turn a man's blood to slush. Only Damon remained upright, though he was leaning heavily on his silver sword, his gaze flickering toward the mist-shrouded towers with the hollow stare of a man who had reached his absolute limit.
And then there was Vera.
