The old ruins of a forgotten civilization stood silent in the gray morning haze, shattered stone and weather-worn carvings hinting at histories long buried. Yet within its skeletal remains, a storm of power was ready to ignite.
Wulf and Isolde stood with calm determination, their boots scraping against the broken stones as they stared down Zedrich. He remained seated atop a fractured pedestal of marble, his black cloak draped like a shadow across the ruins. The broken body of the royal guard lay still, the blood still seeping into the cracks of the earth.
"You've caused enough pain," Wulf said, his voice low and edged with restrained fury.
Isolde flexed her fingers, her stance taut. "We end this now, Zedrich."
Zedrich lifted his gaze, his crimson eyes unfazed, lips curling into an enigmatic smirk. "So you think."
Then it began.
