Kael stood motionless atop the broken tower, the cold wind buffeting his cloak, causing the fabric to tear slightly at the charred edges.
Below him, the city burned silently—a graveyard of stone and smoke.
The pulsing glow emanating from the mountain was hypnotic.
Each time the mana flow vibrated, he could feel the resonance echoing within his own body—a living, irregular frequency, almost... conscious.
He narrowed his eyes, his fingers touching the surface of the tower, feeling the slight tremor beneath the cracked stones.
"How did it get to this...?" he murmured, his voice trailing off in the wind.
It was impossible.
Even for a place like Azalith—built on centuries of enchantment, protected by divine seals, and sustained by mana circles that rivaled ancient temples—this was too much.
The living mountain, breathing pure mana... it was something not even the oldest records described.
