The Gemward Tribe exploded into chaos.
"Impossible!"
"That's ancient magic—we haven't seen it in centuries! How the hell could an outsider pull it off?!"
"The crystal on his forehead… that's a king's mark!"
"Don't tell me… was he chosen by the land itself?"
Fear. Rage. Confusion. It spread through their ranks like wildfire.
"Enough!"
A furious voice tore through the uproar.
"He killed our chief! I don't care who or what he is—that's a death sentence!"
Rational thought evaporated, buried under swelling hatred.
The warriors moved almost in unison.
Each one reached inside their robes or armor and pulled out a jagged, golden crystal—not quite gemstone, not quite artifact. More like a chunk of energy itself, raw and dangerously unstable.
The surface shimmered with deep rips in space, like the crystal was distorting reality just by existing.
They didn't hesitate.
They hurled them skyward.
One.
Ten.
Dozens.
