Far from that place—
Al had already reached the edge of the coastline. The beach was cloaked in a dim, heavy darkness, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night.
The clock had long passed three, and his body felt like a husk drained of vitality. His eyes had returned to their normal color, though fresh traces of blood still lingered at the corners, staining his lashes like fading war paint.
The faint, echoing voices of his subordinates still trickled through the glyph connection, but he hadn't answered a single one. Not yet. His focus wasn't on them; it was on himself.
He ran his senses over his body, checking for abnormalities. Nothing seemed out of place. And yet, the previous event… everything about it had been utterly strange.
He lowered his gaze to the ancient sheet of parchment clutched tightly in his hand, the surface cold and rough against his fingertips.
