Annette stood, her chest heaving. Each ragged breath escaped in visible puffs, white vapor cutting through the frigid air.
Dawn should have brought bitter cold, but this battlefield had blazed so fiercely that everyone had forgotten winter's bite was supposed to claim them.
Her fires, after all, belonged to one of the ancient Heritages of Drifters—power whose roots ran as deep as Reimgard itself.
Her family, her clan, stood among the oldest and most formidable, even though most wielded hammers instead of swords.
Annette's eyes swept the scene, wide with disbelief. Relief flooded through her first—she had survived. The thought should have comforted her.
But... who could have done this?
Her gaze trembled as it took in the sudden, absolute freeze that had claimed everything and made the air terribly cold.
Then her eyes found the Leviathan.
Her legs gave out. She hit the ground hard.
