The Fatesworn cleared the center of the Radian market for me, dragging corpses away and shoving aside blocks of rubble and ruined carts. I stepped over a broken wheel, holding my tail clear of a cracked stain of dried blood. Once I had space, the soldiers pulled back, eyes lowered reverently, a few whispering prayers. My stomach knotted beneath the weight of their faith. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Ninth level. A realm of myth and legend, reached by only a handful in any age. The peak of mortality. The threshold of immortality. To transcend it meant becoming a person whose every step shook the foundations of the world.
Selena, the most talented elf to live in over a thousand years, had trained for literal decades just for the chance to reach those heights. Then there was Soltair, blessed by the gods, with the resources of an entire world at his disposal. And Luke, who had broken and pillaged kingdoms and empires, stealing their power and Shards for himself.
