The storm had passed, but the scent of scorched earth still lingered. Ashes floated in the wind like falling snow—soft, silent, but heavy with loss. Leonhart stood motionless, eyes locked on the scorched remains of the Judgment Hall. The "Flame Scale" had decided, and its judgment was irreversible.
Kaelen's blade still quivered in the ground, half-melted, a relic of a choice that cost more than just steel. Around them, the crowd had dispersed, leaving only silence, broken by the creaking of weakened wood and the distant call of crows.
Elaria approached, blood smeared on her armor, her eyes dim with the weight of truth. "It wasn't supposed to end like this," she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain.
Leonhart clenched his fists. "Nothing ends the way we expect in a land ruled by ruins and fire."
A sudden gust of wind carried something else with it—an unnatural chill that pierced through the ash and heat. Leonhart turned. In the shadows cast by the ruined tower, something began to move. Not a beast. Not a man. A shape... impossibly tall, cloaked in darkness, eyes glowing with infernal light.
The shadow had no face, but its presence alone screamed a thousand silent horrors.
(INSERT IMAGE OF SHADOWY SATAN HERE)
Elaria stepped back, her hand moving to her dagger. "That's not a survivor…"
"No," Leonhart murmured. "That's a warning."
The figure didn't speak, but the air itself began to tremble. Cracks formed along the cobbled path, and the ground pulsed beneath their feet. A voice, not spoken but heard in their minds, echoed:
"You carry the weight of a crown forged in betrayal… Do you think fire will cleanse what fate has already cursed?"
Leonhart stepped forward, sword drawn. "I don't care what fate says. I'll carve my own."
The figure laughed—no, not laughed… it vibrated through the world itself like a collapsing mountain. Then, in a blink, it vanished, leaving only black mist that dissolved in the rising light.
Elaria looked at him. "That was no illusion."
"No," Leonhart said. "It was a reminder. The war hasn't even begun."
From the tower's rubble, a single shard of obsidian pulsed faintly. Elaria reached for it, but Leonhart stopped her. "Don't touch it. Not yet."
"But what is it?"
He turned to the horizon, where the clouds began to gather once more. "A piece of him. A fragment of the truth. We're not fighting for a kingdom anymore, Elaria. We're fighting for something older… darker."
She swallowed hard. "Then we need more than swords."
Leonhart nodded slowly. "We'll need every forgotten power, every lost oath, and every shattered alliance."
He turned his back on the ruins and began walking toward the mountains. The ashes behind him stirred, like whispers chasing his steps.
A war was coming. But not of steel and blood alone.
A war of shadows