The sky split as Ezra flew, his shadow streaking across the clouds like a blade drawn against heaven.
The wind parted before him. The stars themselves dimmed in his wake. Every fiber of his being was filled with power, Eighth Ring power, no longer restrained.
His Aura flickered behind him like wings made from stormfire and shadow, and the weave bent lovingly around him, guiding his path.
A second later, he stopped in midair.
Before him stood the fortress.
It didn't look like a fortress, at least not to the naked eye. It shimmered like a trick of the light, as if the world itself was trying to forget it existed.
The building seemed to shift between states, warping in and out of perception, wrapped in the kind of power that should have made it invisible to all.
But Ezra was not all.
He was the Prince of Darkness, heir of the Progenitor, and the weave obeyed him.
Not even Nihil, another relic could stop him.
