The wind carried the smell of burnt iron and mana dust.
Kael stood motionless on the edge of a fallen tower, his eyes scanning the streets below.
There were no more screams, no echoes of combat. Only the distant crack of crumbling stone and the muffled roar coming from the mountain.
Power lines ran through the city like incandescent rivers, all converging on the same point: Azalith Academy.
Kael followed the movement with his eyes, observing the irregular dance of the magical currents. They weren't natural. They didn't form this way on their own.
"Magical signatures…" he murmured. "A hundred… no, thousands of them. All heading to the same place."
His jaw tightened.
"What the hell happened to this city?"
Ahri replied inside his mind, soft but charged with tension:
"I feel it too. There's something strange about these flows. They're remnants of spells, fragments of summonings... and lives. As if all the energy had been forcibly ripped away and now redirected upward."
