The midnight hour had come and gone, and with it, Reed's plan to free Shia had dissolved like mist before dawn. No opportunity had presented itself—the guards doubled, the wards strengthened, and the Archon's presence a constant, hovering threat that permeated the Tournament grounds like poisonous fog.
Instead of fleeing, Reed found himself standing in the Tournament's central arena once more, this time beneath a sky that seemed wrong. The normal blue had been replaced by a swirling maelstrom of purple and black, clouds spiraling around a central point directly above the arena. The very air tasted metallic, charged with arcane energies that made the fine hairs on Reed's arms stand on end.
