The sky burned in shades of molten gold and ash, the kind of fire that made even the bravest hearts quiver. Arsene stood at the top of the Archmage's Tower, feeling the heat brush against his face, smelling the acrid smoke curling upward like a living thing. Below, the Eternal Citadel—a city he had nurtured and protected for decades—was collapsing. Flames consumed the streets, towers crumbled, and the wards that once held the city together shattered like fragile glass.
He didn't flinch. Not because he was fearless—he wasn't—but because he had survived worse before, and he had seen this coming. His eyes narrowed, sharp and green, as he observed the chaos below. The Council—the seven mages he had trained, mentored, and trusted—stood in the plaza, their combined magic tearing through the city's defenses. Betrayal had a voice, and this was it.
At the center of it all, Lyra Valenne moved like a predator. Her silver hair shimmered in the firelight, her eyes cold and determined. She carried a blade of pure light that cut through the smoke and dark like sunlight through water. "Arsene!" she shouted. "Give us the Core! Please! You don't have to do this!"
He studied her for a long moment, and a small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Do this?" he murmured. "Do you even know what you're asking? The Core isn't for you, Lyra. Never was."
"You're insane! You're destroying everything!" she yelled, stepping closer, trying to make her voice heard over the roar of the fire.
"I already destroyed it once," he said quietly. "But not this time. Not if I have a say."
The seven mages on the plaza raised their hands, and streams of pure energy arced toward him. Sigils flared in the air, pulses of raw mana that shook the tower beneath his feet. He could feel it in his bones, a low hum that seemed to vibrate the very air around him. The floor cracked slightly, but he didn't move—he never moved in panic. Not ever.
The Core thrummed against his chest. A crystal of time, dangerous and forbidden, and very much alive. It pulsed as though recognizing its master, as though it had been waiting for this moment for centuries.
"You'd risk everything to save yourself?" Lyra's voice was trembling now, uncertain.
Arsene's grin widened, a dangerous edge to it. "I am not saving myself. I am reclaiming what was stolen."
He slammed the Core to the balcony floor. The world around him slowed. The flames froze mid-air, smoke twisted backward, and the Council's attacks distorted as if reality itself was resisting their assault. He stepped forward, feeling time bend, as if hesitant to resist him any longer.