The chains inside Cyrus seemed to pulse with anticipation as Cyrus, forced by Ross's will, slowly rose.
His body moved with a grace that belied the turmoil of his mind, hands tracing precise sigils in the air.
Mystical energy erupted, glowing lines and runes spiraling outward, intertwining with the very fabric of the world.
The ground beneath him quaked as spiritual power surged through the land, rivers of energy flowing like molten silver into the sky.
Cyrus Thorn chanted, his voice booming and commanding, yet every note carried the invisible weight of Ross's control.
The spells he cast were magnificent and terrifying, capable of reshaping the environment, altering the flow of energy, and bending the very essence of life.
The World Heart—a crystal of unimaginable purity and power—was something both delicate and indestructible, depending on how one perceived it.
To the wise, it was the soul of a world, the core that sustained the flow of time, energy, and life itself.
