The word whispered like the chill before death.
Zorwath's palm touched Agwana's back—just for a second.
Just a second.
But her flames screamed.
The divine fire that wove through her very soul flickered violently, like a candle drowning in void. A searing cold spread through her spine, her skin paling, her heartbeat stuttering.
Agwana twisted away mid-air, roaring as her body ignited in a desperate backlash of molten fury. She spun, slashing a wave of flame-blades at Zorwath, but he was already gone.
Behind her, the sky burned.
Below her, Kronyx cracked.
Volcanoes that hadn't stirred in centuries erupted. The ocean boiled, rivers reversed their course, and the winds screamed in all directions.
Zorwath hovered above it all. Watching. Calm.
He flexed his hand, studying the flicker of Anti-Flame still dancing on his fingertips. It was a cursed fire—not made to burn, but to erase.
