Ezra stood atop a platform of woven darkness, high above the Matten estate.
The dark base beneath his feet hummed faintly with the breath of the weave itself, anchoring him from the swirling storm that had formed above Blue Moor.
His arms were crossed, his long coat rippling against the wind, his golden eyes locked on the distant horizon.
He'd quickly learned after advancing to the Ninth Ring that he couldn't hide it anymore. No matter how much he used his chameleon tattoo, his golden eyes had always bled through.
But maybe that was a good thing. Now, he didn't have to hide who and what he was anymore.
And that was why he was out here.
He was waiting.
He had been waiting.
The stars above him flickered, almost as if they, too, were holding their breath.
Then, a pinprick of light appeared on the edge of the world.
Ezra straightened.
A second later, the light expanded, surging toward him like a comet.
