The void rippled again.
Where Magnus had fallen, silence reigned. Stars flickered in the distance like nervous witnesses. The battlefield was scorched, frozen, and torn — but not still.
Not yet.
Because far away, above a broken moon and beneath a twisting aurora of leftover energy, three figures stood in a loose triangle.
Two of them radiated power. One stood still.
Mael.
The Absolute Monarch of Balance. His presence was… odd. Not loud, not cold, not warm. Just present. Real. Tangible. Like gravity, like breath. He wore simple white and black robes that shifted color with each step. Around him, scales floated — not made of metal, not made of magic — but something heavier. Older. Scales of reality, tipping ever so slightly depending on his thoughts.
Across from him, the second figure adjusted his gloves.
Joshua.
