Reed stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been the eastern wing of the Citadel of Midnight, his newfound powers thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. Three days had passed since his transformation into a Primal Warden, and still he struggled to contain the raw energy that coursed through his veins. The sigils etched into his flesh pulsed with an eerie blue-violet light whenever he exerted himself, as they did now—casting ghostly shadows across the rubble-strewn corridors.
Behind him, the remaining structure of the citadel continued to crumble, its foundations undermined by whatever stirred beneath. Varkath's domain was collapsing, both literally and politically. The lord himself had vanished in the chaos—fled or buried, Reed couldn't say with certainty.
