The world was silent when Kael awoke. Not the silence of peace—but the silence that followed annihilation.
He lay on cold stone, the air thick with the scent of burnt ozone and something ancient, metallic, and wrong. Above him, the sky wasn't a sky at all. It rippled like liquid gold, threaded with cracks that pulsed faintly as if reality itself were bleeding.
For a moment, he thought he was dead.
Then he felt it—the faintest tug in his chest, a thread of warmth amidst the void. Her presence.
"Lyria…" he rasped. His voice came out raw, like it had been dragged through ash.
He pushed himself upright, every muscle screaming. The ground beneath him glowed faintly, runes etched deep into the stone—divine markings, meant to bind and contain. His wrists bore faint scars from celestial chains, and his blood shimmered faintly, flickering between gold and crimson.
He wasn't dead. He was somewhere else.
