The air was still warm after the explosion in the sky had faded.
The once-violent waves of energy that had shaken the very fabric of space slowly dispersed, replaced by a lingering heat gentle, almost like the dying breath of the flames and magic that had devoured one another. The violet light that had danced across the heavens dimmed, turning into a soft gray dust that drifted away like fallen starlight.
Sylvia stood motionless amid the ruins of the battlefield, her crimson eyes fixed on the silver-haired man before her…
Decarabia.
He remained composed, standing tall and graceful, as though nothing had happened. And yet, this was the same man who had just stopped an explosion strong enough to obliterate half the underworld… with one hand.
"When you're ready," he said calmly, his voice gentle yet carrying the weight of authority, "the gate to the sixty-eighth floor is close by. I'll guide you there."
