The silver-cloaked figure raised its hand, and the air screamed with raw power, the rune map's glow surging toward Camelia like a wave of molten light. She stumbled back, her own light flaring instinctively to shield her, but the force pressed hard, heavy with ancient energy that made her knees buckle.
Sylvara lunged to her side, claws extended, ready to strike the figure, but a pulse from its silver amulet knocked her back, sending her skidding across the dirt.
In the Spire, Morgath's chant grew louder, the crypt's shard pulsing in sync, as if calling the guardian across the void. Atherion gripped his sword, his eyes fixed on the cracking seal, its chaotic energy leaking like smoke.
Morgath stood before the relic, her silver amulet blazing, her voice a fevered hymn to the "Keeper of Light." The shadowy form behind her grew clearer, its eyes glowing like embers, not Lucifer's, but something older, its presence chilling the air.
