The dawn that came was not dawn at all.It was fire.
From the high ridge overlooking the devils' expanding domain, Kaelion watched as the horizon bled crimson and gold, the last remnants of morning light consumed by the writhing clouds of infernal energy. The ground itself pulsed like a living wound, and in the distance—the silhouette of a palace rose.
Once, that structure had been the Arena. Now, it was something else entirely. Black spires stretched upward, crowned with flames that never dimmed, and from its heart, a pillar of red light surged toward the sky, splitting the world in half.
Kaelion's grip tightened around the hilt of his greatsword as the wind howled. His armor was scorched from days of relentless skirmishes, his cloak torn to shreds. The sigil of the Vanguard fluttered faintly at his chest, half-burnt but unbroken.
