The storm reached its height. Lightning tore the skies. Shadows rose like tidal waves. Umbrael emerged from the roots of the First Tree, his form vast and broken—half-star, half-nightmare.
His voice echoed like thunder: "You had your chance. The light failed. I will end it properly."
Lucky stood before him, not with fire—but with stillness.
"I don't come to defeat you," she said. "I come to show you what you could've become."
Her words weren't a spell. They were a mirror.
And for a heartbeat, Umbrael hesitated.