Darius lay propped against the stiff infirmary pillow, his body a map of aches, though the sharp pain in his chest had dulled to a faint throb. The bruises from last night's match lingered, but they were nothing compared to the chaos in his head. His thoughts spun, caught in the grip of a vision that wouldn't let go: Lucien Ashford, the hero he'd once shaped in frantic late-night writing sessions, standing in a wasteland of shattered stone. Lucien's eye glowed a sickly purple, radiating a power that felt wrong, like a crack in the world itself. He'd been clashing with Ren, Darius's brother, the Star Visionary, in a storm of magic that tore through everything. The raw destruction, the sense of doom—it wasn't just a dream. It felt like a glimpse of what was coming, and it scared Darius to his core.