Smoke.
The sky burned like paper doused in blood. Screams stitched the wind, echoing from far below the obsidian tower that reached beyond the clouds.
At its peak, the throne of Lord Magus Blackwood stood, sculpted from bone and dragonsteel, jagged with the blades of fallen kings.
Lyrium opened his eyes again, this Lyrium.
This version had black armor fused into his flesh.
Red runes carved into his skin pulsed like veins.
His hands trembled with power that cracked reality itself.
And beneath him… a world ending.
His doing.
He stood alone.
Not by fate.
But choice.
Because he had killed everyone.
A voice came from behind.
Soft.
Familiar.
"Do you remember me, now?"
Lyrium turned, and saw her.
'Margaret?'
Or… this world's Margaret.
Her hair was soaked in ash, her eyes red from weeping, her once-golden armor shattered and bleeding light.
A sword pierced through her abdomen, his sword.
Still glowing with her blood.
"You told me you'd save this world,"
