There was no warning this time.
No soft descent.
No flicker of light.
No illusion dressed in peace.
One heartbeat he stood in the canyon.
The next—
He was staring at flames.
Seminah burned.
The sky above was choked with smoke, and the town he had fought so hard to remember—the one the illusion tried to make him stay in—was nothing but ash and screaming. Buildings collapsed in on themselves. The wind carried the wails of the dying. Shadows raced through the streets like beasts, tearing down everything in their path.
And at the center of it all stood Argolaith.
But not the man who now stood in the trial.
Another version.
Twisted. Burned.
His armor was blackened and cracked, his eyes glowing gold, and his hands—
They held a torch.
The other Argolaith turned slowly.
Smiling.
