Not gold. Not white. But blue.
A violent, radiant blue—electric and alive, the color of something not meant for this world.
It tore across the firmament like a blade. Not slow like a comet, nor wild like a storm. Direct. Sharp. Intentional.
Alaric's heart slowed. His breathing didn't match it.
Every rune on his chestplate ignited in sequence, pale amber light flickering to life across the ceremonial etching that only glowed during moments of oath-binding or spiritual collision. His crown hummed. The spirit gems inlaid along the parapet crackled, threads of soul energy sparking from one stone to the next.
His eyes never left the sky.
The blue trail fractured mid-flight, splitting briefly into three before coalescing again, then vanishing beyond the southern ridge like it had been swallowed by reality itself.
The sky healed behind it. But the weight remained.
