Hours had passed since Strax had arrived with his wives and his mother...
The afternoon was tinged with crimson hues, as if the sky itself had been wounded. The once-green grass of the garden was scorched, fragments of magic floated in the air like golden ash, and the battlefield before the mansion had become a living crater of shattered energy.
Strax opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was the sky cracked by magical lightning—two figures clashing in the sky, so fast that the space around them trembled.
His body still ached. Magic still coursed through his blood like shards of crystal. But he was conscious.
Around him, everyone was on the ground. Beatrice lay beside him, panting, covered in soot. Cristine was slowly healing, surrounded by the remnants of what had once been a divine shield. Yennifer and Kryssia lay unconscious, huddled beneath a dome of broken defensive runes. Even Xyn, the precise phoenix, was injured, a deep gash on her left arm.
