The warhorns faded, but their echo hung like a curse across the Ember Summit.
Darin stared across the field of fire and steel, his warhammer shaking slightly in his hands. Below the fractured ridges, the armies of the Scarred Flame spilled across the far horizon like an endless tide. A thousand banners. Siege constructs. And somewhere, deeper still, the Rift pulsing behind it all.
And yet—
None of it moved.
Not yet.
Not as the champions clashed.
Not as the air itself stilled.
The duels is still ongoing.
[The Sorceress]
They had stopped mid-air, suspended in a stillness that hurt.
Not for lack of power.
But memory.
"You don't have to do this," the Sorceress said, her voice quieter now, barely audible above the floating stones and swirling energy.
Her sister's corrupted form flickered slightly. "Don't I? You think this is a choice? This is purpose. The world needs an end. Not more hope."
"There's still time."
