The ancient shrine deep within the realm's sacred forest had been abandoned for centuries, its weathered stones bearing the scars of countless seasons and forgotten conflicts.
Moss-covered pillars formed a perfect circle around a central altar where rituals had once been performed to commune with the realm's most ancient ancestors.
The air itself seemed heavy with residual magical energy that had accumulated over millennia, making the surrounding trees grow in twisted and unnatural.
Xùyán knelt before the altar in the darkness, his bandaged neck throbbing with each heartbeat as he traced complex symbols into the earth.
The humiliation of his defeat still burned in his memory—not just the physical pain of being used like a toy, but the crushing realization that Grim's power exceeded his own by such a vast margin that their confrontation had been less a battle than a demonstration.
