The pillar of smoke along the eastern skyline was no delusion.
Kael stood upon the cliff's edge, cloak streaming behind him, as flames from High Vareth seared the heavens with hues of fire and blood. What had been a fortress of quiet—where Watchers had ruled in golden cloaks—was now an open wound on the earth. Their rule was done, but its death spasms had only just begun.
Armed forces scattered below. Some ran away, bewildered and deprived of the fantasies that once had sustained their loyalty. Others dropped to their knees—not in defeat, but in awe. For in the skies above the smoldering towers, the First Thread shone, uncoiling into new patterns. The Loom no longer dominated their minds… but it hadn't disappeared. It waited in ambush, waiting patiently, offering not orders—but alternatives.
Elira stood at his side, her eyes fixed on the burning city. Her hair flowed behind her, strands snagging bits of unearthly silver.
