The sky was bleeding.
Smoke clawed its way upward from the broken remains of the Black Palace, choking the heavens in hues of crimson, ember, and ash. The once-proud spires emblems of power, memory, and rule had fallen, twisted into blackened metal and splintered stone. The earth groaned beneath the weight of gods and monsters, and the wind carried with it not just dust, but the wailing ghosts of everything lost.
Cambria Vale stood at the heart of the ruin.
Her armor was scorched, the gold dulled and fractured. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Every inhale carried the scent of burnt magic and scorched history. The crater before her still glowed with unquenchable flame, black fire licking the air like the tongue of a serpent. It hissed, pulsing with a hunger that hadn't been sated by destruction.
Her eyes locked on the center of that pit.
Where Knox had stood.
Where he had burned and risen.
The Flame That Devours hadn't consumed him.
It had crowned him.
