With every step forward, something was stolen.
A face forgotten.
A name misremembered.
A reason to keep going, fading like breath on glass.
Valeris staggered for half a moment, blinking as the name of her first blade slipped from her mind. She grit her teeth and pressed forward, eyes locked on the tower's distant center—a pulsing throat in the shape of a spire, drinking in their resolve with every heartbeat.
The air itself conspired to devour them. Each inhalation came with cost. Each exhalation returned less than it gave.
It was not an illusion.
It was Sovereign design.
This place was not meant to test them. It was meant to erase them.
But Asher stood still.
And bled.
Not from wounds. Not from weakness.
He bled on purpose.
He extended one arm, palm open to the sky. A long, slow cut across his wrist. The blood didn't fall; it rose, steaming with lightless energy, glistening crimson-black under the gnashing sky.
Bloodlit Dominion.
