The field that once burned beneath Ryon's command had become a wasteland of glass and whispers. The ash had cooled, but the air still trembled — not from wind, nor from life, but from something ancient and unseen. The aftermath of the serpent's emergence had left more than ruin; it had left memory imprinted upon the land. Each shattered stone still hummed faintly with the echo of that colossal roar, as if the very marrow of the earth had been frightened into silence.
Ryon stood at the epicenter of that silence.
