[???]
Bad luck.
A laughable concept.
When one was an Inheritor, when one was chosen by their God, when one was elevated beyond the reach of mere mortals, bad luck should have been beneath them.
After all, they stood at the peak.
The chosen few.
The best of the best.
And yet Reynard felt like the unluckiest man alive.
The winds howled across the desolate expanse of their battlefield, a vast and lifeless stretch of scorched earth and rock. The ground beneath them, once sturdy, now seemingly quivered.
Inheritors.
Those that stood at the precipice of transcendence, honed by the gift of Arcane Ascendance, granted power so vast that even the strongest of warriors could only dream of reaching their level.
With such immense power, one would assume that standing upon the battlefield should feel empowering.
It did not.
