He hovered with ease, casting a long, cold shadow over the frozen tundra below. Astral light pulsed from his form in slow, rhythmic waves, bathing the frost-laden clouds in pale illumination. His body, clad in shimmering silver-blue armor, radiated a biting cold that seeped into the very air. Yet it was not the armor that caught Achilles' eye.
It was his bones.
They glowed.
Brilliant.
Otherworldly.
A stark, undeniable sign of Celestbone Stage Ascension.
His skeleton burned with a light so pure, so compressed, it was as if stars had been captured and fused within mortal flesh. He did not need to move or speak. His mere presence carried the weight of an empire.
The Throne of Glacivane.
An Emperor of Ice and Bone!
His gaze was already locked onto Achilles, calm and implacable, carrying the depth of one who had ruled longer than most could fathom. Around them, the air trembled, the snow at Achilles' feet stirring in reverent swirls.
